My Jack White obsession

You need to know that this goes way back. Back to those days when I felt energized by the possibilities, enlightened by my ignorance, and motivated by the unknown. Back when I was a teenager in Guadalajara, finding my power from heartbreaks and alcohol, discovering myself and the world around me, fighting against traditional values that pulled me from what I wanted to be. That’s when I heard Fell In Love With A Girl for the first time. Its raw guitars and simple rhythm called me, the fast drums made me move, and the singing melody made me want to sing as loud as I could. That’s how I found out about Jack White’s existence. He found me when I was finding myself.

That was 20 years ago, and a lot of shit has happened since. I’m a new version of me, one closer than what I’ve wanted for myself. I made a home out of Berlin, got married, quit drinking (twice), survived a global pandemic, learned new languages, found pleasure in weed, and got as far away as I could from my catholic upbringing. I was really into writing, tattoos, feminism and my own version of queerness. I fell in love with everyone around me while feeling the warmth from the fire that was consuming the world. My reality was nowhere near being a quiet one when Fear Of The Dawn was released. By April 15th 2022 I knew that I had to wait 81 days to see Jack White with my own eyes for the first time.

Nora was my enabler. She was the one who told me about him coming to Berlin, touring his new album. I immediately listened to it. I remember writing to her: “I’ve listened to it for 30 seconds, and I’m already obsessed”. Even though I needed no explanation for it, I kept trying to find the reason why these particular melodies and harmonies made profound sense to me. I felt like music could be something else, like it was a mystical way of controlling time, inducing hallucinations that only happened in our own lonely minds, condemned to experience them in the middle of our eternal solitude. It felt like Jack was controlling my mind. At first it was scary, but these sounds eventually became a part of me. The expectation of the awaited reef, the comforting drums, and the chants that surrounded me in my new conscious state were on repeat for a while.

I quickly let myself go. I watched too many videos, too many photographs, too many posts and stories that unfolded this creation of his, what he wanted us to see. I built the castle that would keep me trapped inside of this obsession. I was sure that I was being the prey of some witchcraft from Detroit. I had no doubt that the combination of those exact tones in that particular combination of rhythms was directed at my human mind. My reality stopped moving around me to only be able to play back what Jack commanded. It happened fast. I wasn’t able to recognize myself, becoming the embodiment of a strange obsession. My will was giving in. It felt liberating.

The awaited Monday finally came. I felt transformed by an extraordinary kind of vitality that made me unrecognizable. I barely pretended to work that day. This powerful energy was strong enough to remove hunger from my mind. I was too nervous. I avoided my afternoon coffee because I knew it would magnify this trance in an uncontrollable way, and I had to still be able to function. I felt judged by Spotify just because it could tell how many exact times I had pushed that play button. I ran out of reasons not to leave my house, so I took the S7 to the Verny Music Hall one hour before planned. I walked from Warschawerstr. to the venue wondering if more people were in the same trance as I was. The sun on my face, the fresh breeze and the perfect weather were witnesses of my delight.

I was finally outside of the place where it would all take place. Some people were already there, but not many. A few were wearing The Raconteours t-shirts, drinking beers, laughing at life. I had to kill time, so I thought reading would be a good idea. I sat at one of the wooden benches that gave me a great view of the East Side Gallery. At the beginning it was hard to focus, but I was surprised that this same energy helped me get super involved in ‘Photography and Belief’ by David Levi Strauss. Eventually Nora arrived, and we stood in line to enter the venue. After our tickets and purses were checked, we were told to put our cellphones in a small gray bag that we weren’t able to open unless we had a special magnet, like the ones that prevent theft in stores. I knew that I wasn’t going to be able to document any of this because it was stated in the ticket, and also because Jack White’s concerts are famous for this. He wants us to focus on the moment, and not in documenting the moment. The instant you reach for your phone, you separate yourself from enjoying what’s happening. I was happy to be forced to let go of my device. It was like a gift to me.

I had to tame myself. The most logical and simple thing for me to do in the middle of this invisible pandemonium that my mind became, was to make sure that all of the basics were covered: bathroom, water, and gossip. We had time to do all of it in the foyer while we could hear SONS playing in the gigantic room next to us. We both said that we were ready, even though I wasn't. I just wanted to be closer to the moment when I got to see him doing what he does. We entered the concert hall focusing on the opening gig, trying to find a place from where we could enjoy the show. SONS gave me major flashbacks to when I was in the indie rock scene in Guadalajara. Traveling with the band, going to parties, absorbing everything around this small moment where music is actually played. My eyes always go directly to the drummer, like an instinct or a magnet. I think it’s because it’s the only instrument that I can actually see myself playing, like when I was in my early 20s. I enjoyed using my whole body to hit stuff and create rhythm. SONS finished their set with a potent performance, and then we found ourselves waiting for the main act.

The entire room was free-falling into a dark and blue space filled with millennial anticipation. I tried my best to assemble full sentences for Nora to understand, but my mind was trying to grasp what the hell was happening with me, with the world, with music, with rock shows, with tours and their conception. I had to bring myself back to the place where my body was, finding myself in the moment that I’ve been waiting for so long. The expectation was hitting me hard. I tried to balance my existence by focusing my attention on one thing, so I chose the fabric that was hanging from the ceiling above the stage. Its blue was in a different shade than the blue lights above us. I imagined that the curtain would come down, revealing the band in an explosive way. But that didn’t happen.

When the lights came down I was ready to cry. A glare coming from the inside of the blue curtain mapped out the silhouettes of the musicians. I recognized him by his hair. He was playing a guitar. The bass, drums, and keyboards accompanied him in the introduction song. The curtain was welcoming the projection of curved lines that reminded me of Moholy-Nagy's Light-Space-Modulator. I screamed my throat out, noticing that the people around me weren’t expecting that sound coming from a person. I could only open my eyes as much as I could so that I wouldn’t miss a thing. The curtain was slowly lifted from the floor to the ceiling. I saw his face. His skin seemed lighter than I imagined, like he was illuminating, not only shining. His blue hair was perfect. He was wearing the jacket with the stars. I thought it was his way of commemorating the 4th of July. His white boots shined between the blue and the modification of light that my own tears provoked.

And then we heard his guitar spitting the two notes that confirmed he was opening with the first song of Fear Of The Dawn. It made complete sense to start the journey the same way that he thought of it in his record. Every time I listened to it, I got completely lost in the thought of him playing all of the instruments. Making the exact sound that he wanted. Using fasting and the lockdown to create something within his control. He used his body to make this. And now I was looking at the body that thought of the sounds, played them with instruments, and threw it all at us. I was ready to take everything in.

Sadly, It all happened too fast. He sang and played several guitars, changing them multiple times. He moved mainly on the left side of the room, the opposite side of where I was. Some people in front of me were taller, so I had to move a bit to be able to see him at some points. I was surprised that my throat was able to keep up with my screaming, and I just let myself plunge into his performance. I wanted to be close to him but I also couldn’t. There were too many people and I wasn’t in the alert state needed to move between a crowd. I convinced myself that it was enough for me to see his face in the projection behind him. I could still notice the energy that was floating around, this combination of space and time that bounds us together.

When he played Hotel Yorba I saw my past self, that young Elba with her then-boyfriend-and-now-first-husband listening to White Blood Cells. I remember having so much fun singing “one two three four take the elevator at the hotel yorba I’d be glad to see you later” because it felt like playing with a new language through my tongue. Then they performed Fell in Love with a Girl and tiny pieces of my life were remembered by the most altered version of my consciousness. Memories are like a trick played by our minds, and I was high enough to just devour the magic show.

I recognized the beginning of Hi-De-Ho, my favorite song of the album. I wasn’t expecting him to play it because it’s the only song that has a collaboration – in this case, Q-Tip singing some of the lyrics. And that’s when The Ukulele Man came into place. I already knew about the white sculpture because it was all over the photographs of past concerts, and when he played songs from White Stripes a red light illuminated its face. It was the only light that wasn’t blue, so it was quite noticeable. But when Hi-De-Ho started, Jack whispered into The Ukulele Man's ear, singing Q-Tips’ vocals that were amplified on a megaphone coming from inside of the statue. That’s when it all made sense. That’s how he was able to perform the song that makes me feel like he was exploring how to create music while also crafting sorcery.

I found myself breathing in blue and screaming out red. I became a puppet of this impetus that I could only comply with. I couldn’t understand why the people around me weren’t losing their minds to the moment. Was I feeling more than them? Do they not find peace in getting lost between guitars, bass, drums, synths and voices? How could they suppress the impulse of moving their bodies? Where do they scream if not in places like these? Is there anything that makes them explode with their entire body, including their voice? The intensity of the moment made it perfectly clear: I was all alone in this. We're always all alone when we feel. So I felt it all, strenuous and agonizing. 

The band left the stage after they played Blue Orchid. I knew for a fact that they weren’t over because there was no way in hell that he wouldn’t play Seven Nation Army. So I put on a calmer version of myself in the middle of our ultramarine darkness, trying to catch a breath for the final lap of the evening. People started to chant the much awaited song, and I joined them. I didn’t want this to be over, my life in the past weeks had been a ride, and I was about to leave it in the past. The anticipated nostalgia kicked in hard, right when they got back on the stage.

The distinctive drums, and then the unmistakable bass confirmed that Steady As She Goes was starting. I knew this was it, the epitome of our moment, listening to the live version of the song that very well could be the main track of my biopic. Three squares were projected behind the band, appearing and disappearing, like a hypnosis that was trying to guard my sanity from afar. I experienced it as intensely as I could, because I know that death is happening anyway. I’m so sure of my dying that it’s already behind me. It’s constantly whispering encouraging words, making me live because I already am. The limits that defined the difference between what I was and who I was were dissolving into time, washing away our moments. And in this moment, I was performing my existence in one of the most bewildering ways: with rock music, in a dark room, feeling the blood in my veins becoming purple, transforming itself into glitter from within.

Seven Nation Army gave us the opportunity to fuse, all of us in the same room. That’s one of the greatest experiences of concerts: sharing consciously a state of mind guided by sounds. I love that. I was not ready to say goodbye, but I had no way of asking for more. By the time the band ended, my voice was already worn down. I wanted to scream ‘I LOVE YOU!’ but it felt pointless. However, I felt it. And as refreshing as it is, there are multiple ways of showing love. One of them is writing.

As I was walking out the venue, I could tell that my Jack White obsession felt like a safe jump into madness. I had the illusion that I was in control of my own delirium, choosing to listen to the harmony that let me abandon whatever I was faking to be, floating absolutely alone in a vast blue of adored uncertainty, renouncing all sense of control and caution, leaving behind this stupid need of meaning. I’m not afraid of my fixation, and I take full responsibility for my frenzy. All that is left for me to do is to transform this fever dream into art. So that’s what I’m doing.

EQL, July 22

Photo by David James Swanson