TAKE OF THE DAY: “Touring in support of his new killer record, Blunderbuss, the lanky, pale singer and guitarist, wearing black and surrounded by his all-female band the Peacocks (who were all dressed in white), tossed out riffs suggestive of everyone from Chuck Berry, Hubert Sumlin and Keith Richards to Jimmy Page, Johnny Thunders and Joe Strummer, rolled out yarns worthy of Bob Dylan, and conjured the spirit of Bob Wills and His Texas Playboys by giving each of his six-member band a solo. It was as if he’d gathered inside his head many different strains, accents and ideas of pre-digital American music—country, folk, blues, soul, rock 'n' roll and every combination thereof—and was pouring them out through his fretboard-busy fingers and wailing voice. As much as any American musician under 40, White understands the vast well of music that gave birth to his sound, and acknowledges those antecedents in some manner with every lick and lyric… It was a history lesson amplified and bejeez-ified, with White’s killer riffs rolling out of perfectly toned electric and acoustic guitars, played by a man who, though only 36, has already created a body of work worthy of overview—which is exactly what he gave us.”—From Randall Roberts’ review of Jack White’s L.A. solo debut Monday night at the Mayan, in the L.A. Times. (5/2a)