Jack White didn’t just play Sydney’s Enmore Theatre on December 13, 2024—he claimed it, conquered it, and left it smoldering in his wake. This was no ordinary gig. It was a sermon, a séance, and a sonic storm all rolled into one. If you didn’t snag a ticket, don’t despair—start planning your heist now, because missing this tour is like saying no to a handshake with one of the last remaining rock ‘n’ roll chaotic luminaries.
The evening began with an air of electric anticipation, as Sydney’s music faithful packed into the historic Enmore Theatre.
In a burst of blue light—a nod to No Name, his latest and arguably greatest solo album—Jack White and his band unpretentiously stormed the stage. White wielded his guitar like a weapon, attacking the first notes of Old Scratch Blues with a ferocity that announced, “Sydney, you’re not ready, but here we go.”
Here’s the thing about Jack White: he doesn’t appear to be following a setlist. He doesn’t even seem to acknowledge the idea of structure. His band—Patrick Keeler on drums, Bobby Emmett on keys, and Dominic Davis on bass—seemed less like musicians and more like psychic mediums, tuned into White’s wavelength as he careened from one track to another with manic glee. One moment it was a riotous call-and-response anthem, and the next, one of the many hits of the White Stripes’ oeuvre, delivered with the raw energy of a freshly discovered garage band.
White didn’t just take the stage; he unleashed a metamorphosis. One moment, he was a fiery preacher summoning the ghosts of the blues, and the next, a mad scientist fusing garage rock with molten riffs. Backing him was the audience, their collective gasp rising and falling like a symphony of raw, electrified awe.
Though White was the undeniable focal point, his bandmates were more than mere sidekicks—they were accomplices in this musical caper. Keeler’s drumming was a masterclass in controlled chaos, honouring Meg White’s minimalist style on tracks like Hotel Yorba while adding thunderous flair throughout the set. Davis’ basslines slithered and stomped, while Emmett’s keys added just the right amount of celestial weirdness.
It was their sheer adaptability that truly stole the spotlight. With no setlist to anchor them, White showed no mercy—plunging into songs without warning, signaling with nothing more than a glance or the stomp of his foot. Yet, instead of faltering, they flourished, transforming chaos into a masterstroke, making unpredictability the beating heart of the night.
The cozy confines of the Enmore Theatre amplified the magic, wrapping the crowd in an intimacy that made surrendering to the moment irresistible. Each riff, every lyric, and every raw, guttural yell felt electrifyingly close, as though the entire room was hardwired into White’s amp, pulsating with his energy in perfect sync.
The encore was the cherry on this electric sundae. A triumphant Steady, As She Goes from the Raconteurs elicited a crowd-wide singalong, punctuated by knowing smirks as White slowed the tempo, teasing the audience before exploding back into the chorus. And then, the inevitable closer: Seven Nation Army. That riff—written in Melbourne over two decades ago—shook the Enmore to its foundation. Thousands of voices joined in unison, not as fans, but as a tribe.
Summa summarum, Jack White’s show at the Enmore Theatre was a reminder of what live music can and should be. Unpredictable. Unfiltered. Unforgettable. It was the sound of a master reclaiming his place in the pantheon, not with nostalgia, but with a fierce determination to prove that rock ‘n’ roll is still very much alive and thrashing.
If you have a chance to see Jack White on this tour, don’t think—just do it. Call in sick, sell your grandmother’s antique lamp, or barter your soul at the crossroads. Whatever it takes. Because when the dust settles, you’ll want to say you were there, in the eye of the storm, when Jack White reminded the world that rock isn’t dead—it’s just been waiting for him to (re-)light the fuse.
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Words by TW.
Photo courtesy of TW.