Jack White blows the roof off the Civic Hall in Ballarat for Victoria’s Always Live festival (06.12.24)

Few performers have redefined artistry across recording, live performance and fan service quite as profoundly as Jack White. From the eccentricities of Nashville’s brick and mortar Third Man Records, live shows with no setlist, crew members dressed in full suit and tie and publishing full gig audio and photos after the fact, White has cemented himself as a true ringleader of his quirky traveling circus. It’s a blend of chaos, mastery, and reverence for connection that creates an experience fans crave—a fact undeniably clear outside Ballarat’s Civic Hall on a Thursday afternoon.

Lining up five hours in advance and still finding myself 12th in line spoke volumes about White’s fanbase. 130kms from Melbourne, the queue to the gig was a throwback to simpler times, as fans numbered themselves in line democratically, saving spots for those headed to the nearby supermarket for water and always mingling and chatting to save phone battery for a post show Uber. An enduring legacy of Australian music icon Michael Gudinski, White’s journey to Ballarat as part of the Always Live Festival proved the experiment a success for metropolitan Victoria and its regions.

Excited strangers united by shared admiration queued in the regional town and spent hours mixing and discussing their journeys to Ballarat. From Jack and Meg White imitation costumes to bearded rockers, the magnet that pulls fans to Jack White casts a large net. By the time doors opened however, the unifying force and camaraderie earned over those hours morphed into a rabid scramble for prime positions on the barrier. Having never experienced White live in any format, I was about to figure out what draws that excitement from the motley crew now formed at the base of the stage.

The evening’s sonic journey began with River of Snakes, a Melbourne-based trio led by Elissa Rose on bass and vocals, Raul Sanchez on guitar, and just Dave on drums. Their set was an explosive 30-minute plunge into post-punk chaos. The band are an uncompromising wall of sound that balanced noisy distortion with melodic riffs and punk attitude. Bathed in drenching blue and yellow light, the band opened with an unceremonious, “Let’s do it,” before launching into their set. The set blended raw aggression with Sanchez’s soaring, high-pitched guitar solos flirting with surf-punk and ’60s rock-and-roll, adding a chaotic element to their sound. Rose’s beehive hairdo and retro yellow dress completed the sonic throwback look, cementing the band’s aesthetic as she chugged along on bass.

While their energy was undeniable, there were moments of roughness, some of which is always present as the opening act. This mixed with a fearless embrace of the experimental as Rose joked, “We’re trying new songs—smart” underscoring the bands punk ethos. The set ended with a cacophony of sound as guitar feedback rang out, leaving the audiences ears ringing while buzzing with anticipation for what was to come.

After a relatively brief interlude, the lights plunged the Civic Hall into darkness, and an at-capacity crowd erupted into a deafening roar. White, the ultimate master of unpredictability, defied expectations with an entrance devoid of melodrama. Charging onto the stage as if summoned by the crowds cheers, the artist at a gallop seized the room’s attention from the edge of the stage almost as fast as the lights had dimmed.

It wasn’t just an entrance—it was a summoning. Adorned in a leather jacket with dark sunglasses masking his eyes, the singer looked every part the rock-and-roll genie released from his bottle. Zipping around the stage the artist brushed the strings of his guitar on its stand, unleashing a dissonant feedback that ricocheted through the hall.  He prowled the stage to the soundtrack of his distorted guitar, urging the crowd to engage with a theatrical wave of his hand and drawing screams from every corner of the room.

It was without a doubt, one of the coolest, most rock and roll things I’ve ever seen. Without missing a beat, White snatched up his guitar and dove headfirst into 2024’s No Name album opener “Old Scratch Blues”. The gritty, electrifying tune forced heads to bob and bodies to groove in time, as the boom of the band filled the room.

Often, an artists newest album tracks can feel like an obligation, but that wasn’t the case here. Opening with all new tracks, “That’s How I’m Feeling” was delivered with energy and received ample excitement from the crowd. Shouts of “Ugh! Oh Yeah!” punctuated the chorus like rallying cries, electrifying the crowd and proving that White’s vocal power could hold its own against the unrelenting force of his guitar. Juggling guitars, the gritty slide groove of “Rough on Rats (If You’re Asking)” and the pulverizing “What’s the Rumpus?” later in the set were equal standouts with the latter’s infectious crowd driven “oh-oh-oh’s” a true treat to belt back at the stage. Drummer Patrick Keeler and Dominic John Davis on Bass were also impeccable, following White’s instruction to a tee in flawless fashion.

White’s set was a whirlwind of his career-spanning discography, pulling tracks from his solo work, The White Stripes, The Raconteurs, and The Dead Weather. Each song a chapter in an unpredictable, genre-bending story, with White as the mercurial and eccentric narrator. The raw bouncing energy of “That Black Bat Licorice” melted into White Stripes classics like “The Hardest Button to Button” and the bluesy acoustic sing along that is “Hotel Yorba”. “Top Yourself,” from The Raconteurs, hit with a swaggering bluesy groove while “I Cut Like a Buffalo” showcased the hypnotic edge of The Dead Weather’s catalogue.

White’s guitar work was as mesmerizing as ever, transitioning between slinky, fuzzy solos and chunky rhythms while juggling between guitars sometimes mid song. Tracks like “Ball and Biscuit” and “High Ball Stepper” became showcases of improvised extended jams. Thumping, stomping and grooving around the stage, White was as cool as ever. The singer even took time to brush his hair mid set, a perfectly strange yet oddly fitting moment that felt more rock and roll than it had any right to.

As the main set came to a thunderous close, the crowd demanded more, and White delivered with an encore that was nothing short of a victory lap. “Icky Thump” roared to life, its heavy riffs pulsating through the hall with “Tonight (Was a Long Time Ago)” carrying the crowd to a fever pitch. The true crescendo came with “Seven Nation Army,” the internationally recognized cultural anthem that turned the Civic Hall into a sea of fists pumping in unison as the crowd chanted its iconic riff back in jubilant fashion.

Throughout the show, White was a man of few words. Briefly introducing his band and the obligatory thanks to the crowd, the man let the music speak. His engagement wasn’t in small talk but in the sheer ferocity of his runaway set, forcing the crowd to engage with the music, the energy, and the chaos. Ending with a short sweet, “I’ve been Jack White”, it was the right full stop to a rollercoaster of a show that embodied “show don’t tell”.

Noticeably, the crowd also upheld an unspoken pact: phones stayed tucked away for the majority of the show. This silent agreement seemed to honour White’s well-documented disdain for performing to a forest of glowing screens. Collectively resisting the impulse to document every moment, only occasional flashes of cameras appeared, quickly pocketed after a single snap. The experience harkened back to a time before gigs became fodder for Instagram, but more than that it felt like an act of mutual respect between the audience and artist.

In a way, Jack White added another title to his already impressive resume as a recording artist, singer, and multi-instrumentalist: time traveller. By drawing his audience into an experience free from the trappings of modernity, the music felt more communal and with each turn of my head to the back of the theatre, rarely was a phone pointing back at me.

For all his eccentricities, Jack White is an artist who thrives on connection. In Ballarat, he transformed a modest Civic Hall into a cathedral of sound, his stage presence as joyous and infectious as his iconic riffs. Never once did this gig feel like an obligation, an extra date in an already packed itinerary in Australia. From the front row, I could be convinced White was performing for a sold out Madison Square Garden or Wembley Stadium. The blend of spontaneity and precision, tradition and innovation, left the crowd (myself included) exhausted and exhilarated. This wasn’t just a concert; it was an experience—a masterclass in artistry from a ringleader at the peak of his powers. A circus I’d love to run away with.

It can’t be understated. Jack White live is like a rock and roll Willy Wonka, a mad scientist in his lab concocting one diabolical blues riff after another like a live invitation to rock and roll Fantasia. Switching between guitars like lab beakers while his suit donned minions chase him around, White doesn’t run away from feedback and noise and mess. He saunters into it like the lane of an orchard to pick the ripe fruit from the rotten and deliver the sweet bounty of rock and roll with no limits. It’s a rollercoaster somehow at rest upon the crest of a drop and a freefall simultaneously.

The energy inside the Civic Hall belied its humble walls. White’s infectious swagger, masterful musicianship, and the thunderous joy of his greatest hits created a transcendent atmosphere that defied the venue’s modest scale. Sadly, for most of Australia, the chance to witness this rock-and-roll maestro live has already passed, as much of the tour is sold out. But if you ever get the chance—any chance—don’t hesitate. Jack White live is not just a concert; it’s a rite of passage for anyone who loves music in its purest, most exhilarating form.