Stop pretending you like “polite” music—here is the raw energy you actually need.

Song of the Day: “Derecho Demonico” by Jack White

Jul 20, 2026

If you were hoping Jack White would finally settle down and release a tasteful, acoustic folk album telling sweet stories about the “good life,” Frozen Charlotte is here to inform you that you are listening to the wrong guy. Released July 10, 2026, on Third Man Records, White’s seventh studio album is essentially the musical equivalent of a heavy-duty power tool left running in a room full of glass ornaments—it’s loud, reckless, and unapologetically in your face. Some might argue the record is a bit “same-y”, but when the vibe is a screeching, feedback-drenched power chord and distorted vocal, it’s hard to complain too loudly. It’s a fun, aggressive, and refreshingly uncomplicated addition to a career that has frequently been anything but.

Following the 2024 surprise drop of No Name, which felt like a necessary system reboot, Frozen Charlotte finds White digging his heels deeper into the “crank it to eleven” philosophy. While No Name was the sound of White finding his footing again, this record is the sound of him sprinting, tripping, and somehow landing on his feet while playing a guitar solo. He’s ditched the overly experimental bloat that occasionally plagued mid-career efforts like Boarding House Reach in favor of a tight, four-piece unit—Dominic Davis, Bobby Emmett, and Patrick Keeler—that plays with the chemistry of a band that actually likes being in the same room. It’s a classic rock record, sure, but one that sounds like it was recorded inside a thunderstorm.

For me, the undisputed standout is “Derecho Demonico.“ If the rest of the album is White testing the structural integrity of his amplifiers, this track is where he accidentally punches through the wall. It features one of the most obnoxious—in the best possible way—riffs in recent memory, swaggering along with a stuttering, caffeinated energy before spiraling into a solo that sounds less like a guitar and more like a malfunctioning theremin. It’s the perfect distillation of what this album does right: it doesn’t try to be clever or profound; it just wants to make sure you aren’t falling asleep at the wheel.