Elephant in the Band

Jack White has a slight problem. He’s become a rock star—a really big one. And today, the day after the Cannery show, he seems a little irked, itchy in his snug-fitting vest. He’s less comfortable than the other Raconteurs: poofy-haired Benson, guy-next-door Keeler, and Lawrence in his Buddy Holly glasses. They all seem pretty normal. Not “I went to summer camp with him” normal, but good, straight-shooting, talented guys. White, on the other hand, is wearing pinstriped pants, a pinstriped shirt, a porkpie hat and, gracing one finger on his left hand, an eyeball ring.

He and his bandmates have gathered for the interview, and White’s celebrity looms large over the proceedings before our conversation even begins. “Remember,” the band’s assistant had told me just before I met the musicians, “This is a Raconteurs interview.” I assume that White ordered this reminder. It’s understandable: Bloggers photograph his house (with its unmistakable red chimney) outside Nashville. Music magazines use Raconteurs interviews to write Jack White-Stripes stories. The elephant in the band is stage left at every show. He’s the one everyone is awed by. But he’s not the only guy in the band.

So yes, this is a Raconteurs story, but it’s also very much a Jack White story because The Raconteurs are his band. Not in a possessive or controlling way. I say his to mean something like the assurance of family—that it belongs to all of them, including White.

Once upon a time, White led. Now, he’s with a group of supremely strong players. I ask him if it’s different playing music with men. He jokes, “Of course. Better? Not sure.”

Benson lightly gives repartee: “It’s three guys—we almost equal one woman.”

A half-second of slight awkwardness follows. Other than the wordplay, there is no mention of Meg White in the interview. None. Jack several times refers to “another band,” filling the room with an anxiety akin to the assistant’s reminder.

Benson, good cop of The Raconteurs’ sound—and the talker during shows—is White’s vocal partner, a Louisiana-raised, former Detroit resident who provides stability and balance. During the Cannery show, while White cut pale glances across the room, twirling and running to sing into the distorted mic, Benson held his mark. “Collaborating doesn’t always work,” Benson says. “[But] the differences about [Jack and I] make it work.”

Benson and White are dueling vocalists, friend and foe battling it out verse by verse. Their exchange is central to the new Raconteurs songs “Old Enough,” “Salute Your Solution” and title track “Consoler of the Lonely,” which positions White as lightning-bolt counterpoint to Benson’s disillusioned soliloquy. This tension is the best thing, musically, that’s happened to White since the Stripes’ comet first lit across the skies. It equalizes the band dynamics into symbiosis: Jack White needs The Raconteurs just as much as they need Jack White.