Jack White is cool personified.

What is Black and White and Red all over?

So is it possible to have an equal crush on both Jack and Meg White? Because I seriously do. I thought I was more into Jack but then Meg got up to the mic and belted out In the Cold Cold Night, a throaty ballad and I was enraptured. (If you look up enraptured on dictionary.com the sample sentence is: We were enraptured by her singing. No Joke) She has this Deep South beauty to her, she reminds me of a magnolia with her creamy skin and careless dark tresses. I think what really intrigues me is how she exudes this sensation of cool complacence, a calm that has almost a peaceful effect- which is a strange juxtaposition at a concert with such energy.

And Jack. Wow. I think what truly gets me is passion; it doesn’t matter what it is, if you love doing it and do it with everything you have it drives me crazy. To see him toss an errant smile out into the crowd and stop mid-lyric just to say “Hey” to someone- you can tell he is loving it. To feel the energy of a true performer, who wants to be there more than you do, and who has the power to stir a mass in such a positive way is a rare experience. Actually being present for the riff from Seven Nation Army was an inexplicably monumental sensation. He is on another level, a level of genius; which he allows you a glimpse of, fleetingly, through his artistic creativity and vision.

The events that lead up to this phenom unfolded in a somewhat cosmic way. It was if they were strategically manoeuvred around the White Stripes.

Sunday morning: I am awoken by pounding rain on my window. All day the weather flirts with the possibility of clearing up but remains cantankerous.

Sunday afternoon: We depart for the concert armed with garbage bags as extra rain protection. By the time we reach the skytrian my shoes and jeans are already soaked from the torrential downpour. We are all grouchy… and doubting the worth of the concert in regards to our water laden trek. We arrive at Deer Lake Park, the line to enter the concert is all the way down to the road … we wait and wait … it rains and rains.

We are told that umbrellas are not permitted in the venue and must be left outside. Someone has abandoned their umbrella in the crotch of a very moist and gnarled tree. Tracey and I decide to wedge her umbrella as well as another that we find into various cavities, creating a real life Umbrella Tree.

After an hour and a half we gain entry. The clouds crack open and roll away; the sun, held at a distance all day, makes a much appreciated appearance. There is an air of tension hanging over the concert grounds, it feels like the buzz of electricity - but sans electricity, the buzz is being created by fervent people.

Despite the rain people have come in White Stripes appropriate dress, including men’s red western wear complete with white tassel fringe and girls in big floppy red and white sun hats. I am disappointed that I dressed for rain instead of coolness…. I did roll with red and white papers however.

So Jack and Meg appear and the crowd immediately compresses into about half the size and cacophonous cheering erupts from everywhere. The intensity level is apparent right from the start and our soggy feet are a distant memory. Icky Thump comes up and the crowd goes crazy for it and Jack is loving the reaction. My friend leans over to me and says, “This is already worth it and it is only the third song!” The crowd is regaled by the line up both new and old. Jolene is sung with such tortured intensity, I am sure Dolly would be proud; and from the new album, I’m Slowly Turning into You demanded veneration. Hotel Yorba is fun and playful and on numerous occasions we take part in massive sing-a-longs.

As each songs ends we stand posed like children, waiting, eyes wide and attention focused on what’s coming next. It is not just about the music, it is also about the spectacle. Every detail contributes to the story; every element builds towards the White Stripes experience. The duo performed in front of an ardent red wall and as the night progresses their daunting black shadows were cast upon it. Their pseudo brother/sister relationship left spectators pondering, especially as Jack lovingly glances towards Meg and sings to her throughout the concert. We are allowed a glimpse of the rocker world when the lights directed over the crowd are switched on bathing us in a hot red glow. It is almost like we are in a time warp, but what era I can’t pin down.

They end and it feels like they have just started, I am not sure if this is some weird aspect of the show or if they are actually done. The masses holler and cheer for their return, and our wishes are granted. They launch into Seven Nation Army which brings new life to the already epic concert.

Jack White is cool personified.

The climax, for me, was when I was pleasantly blind sighted by We’re Going To Be Friends. I felt like I was about four years old and had been wrapped up in a blanket made of sunshine and love. Is that possible? How can you make another human being feel that way through music? It was the most pure and innocent … winsome even, musical moment of my life. So, for that especially I thank the White Stripes, what an incredible show. I feel so fortunate to have witnessed another’s genius and been moved accordingly. I am so happy that Vancouver was the first stop of the tour, having no knowledge of what was coming made it all the more intense.