And I'll Find Me a Soapbox Where I Can Shout It...

Today is throwing me all the way back to 1975.  I wasn't here yet, but some of my favorite people happened in 1975.  And today Jack White is 40.

I remember the first time I really paid attention. 2003. There was buzz around this new lo-fi "band". A boy and girl, just a guitar and drums.  A front man from Detroit with a weird ex-wife-sister situation who looked like the not so scary corpse in an R.L. Stine story.  Seven Nation Army was all over the radio.  There was every reason I shouldn't be interested. But a friend gave me a copy of Elephant, and I couldn't bring myself to get out of my Honda Civic until I had heard the very last track.  Including Ball and Biscuit which I re-played probably four times before I could let it go.
Ball and Biscuit, for me anyway, is the single most sexy song recorded in my lifetime.

This man doesn't steal glances, he looks long. He watches, he leers. And he dares you. He flicks his cigarette and lets the curtains catch fire. And then he smolders.  He kisses deep, he holds tight. Not desperate, but sure.  He doesn't give a shit about dinner, or dishes.  He goes down, dives deep, devours. He worships. Dirty and predatory and longing and high. Seven minutes in heaven.

That is a song, Mr. White.  And I thank you.  Happy Birthday.