There’s a certain charge in the air when Jack White rolls into Chicago—a city whose musical roots and restless energy match his own. For the past two and a half years, the guitar virtuoso has crafted a series of unforgettable, often elusive live experiences throughout the city, each one distinct in venue, vibe, and intensity. From the intimate chaos of the Empty Bottle to the grandeur of the Aragon Ballroom, White has turned every appearance into a pilgrimage for fans. And this week, he returned once more—this time to the Salt Shed—for a sold-out, two-night stand that reminded everyone just how vital he still is to rock and roll.
Thursday night’s show was a masterclass in controlled chaos. It was raw, loud, and beautifully unpolished—exactly what Jack White has spent his entire career defending and perfecting. The set kicked off with “Old Scratch Blues,” a track that leaned hard into White’s scuzzy blues roots, underscored by his signature shrieking guitar work and wailing vocals. From the jump, the packed house was right there with him, a sea of movement and shouts, caught somewhere between a punk show and a revival meeting.
With a tight, three-piece band—keyboardist Bobby Emmett, drummer Patrick Keeler, and bassist Dominic Davis—huddled close like a garage band playing their first gig, the chemistry was electric. The setup was 
A Career-Spanning Storm
White’s 90-minute set was a curated storm that covered nearly every corner of his catalog. Tracks from his Grammy-nominated *No Name* album slid effortlessly between fan-favorite Raconteurs cuts like “Steady, As She Goes” and White Stripes classics like “Hotel Yorba” and the inevitable stadium chant of “Seven Nation Army.” The latter shook the rafters, fans continuing the iconic riff long after White and the band briefly left the stage.
He even made room for a pair of blues covers—Theodore Roosevelt “Hound Dog” Taylor and Junior Wells—making it clear where his heart and inspiration lie. “There’s always that something about coming to this town playing the blues,” White told the crowd. “This is how I want to hear it.”
Thursday night was more than just a concert—it was an homage. Not only to his own journey, but to Chicago itself, the city that birthed the electric blues White so reveres. Even earlier in the week, he was spotted at Wrigley Field catching a Cubs/Rangers game and visiting the new Landmark Records installation at Gallagher Way, celebrating Chicago’s deep blues lineage. “Best of all was the fact that they now have a vinyl record store at Wrigley Field! Selling blues records and the like,” he posted on Instagram. “Who’d have thought that would ever happen, especially in 2025?”
Less Is More
While some critics have pointed to the brevity of White’s recent sets, he’s made his stance clear: this isn’t about bloated encores or rock theatrics. “It’s not a Marvel movie, or a Vegas residency,” he wrote in February. “It’s rock and roll and it’s a living, breathing organism.” And on Thursday night, that was impossible to deny. White didn’t need more than 20 songs to prove that nearly 25 years after *White Blood Cells*, he remains one of rock’s most essential figures.
He doesn’t chase trends—he distills them. He doesn’t rely on nostalgia—he reshapes it. And as Thursday night proved, he doesn’t just play the blues—he keeps them alive
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