If I could ask for any skill in the world and actually get it, I would very much like the badass writing of the Rolling Stone’s fabulous editors. The best of the best when it comes to pen and paper – that’s what I need.
Then I’d take my place in the front row at a Jack White concert and make the review he deserves.
Because I’m missing so many words when saying anything about this guy who bends and breaks the sound like he owns it. Or about the way he’s holding the guitar, making every single girl in the crowd fantasize that that’s her waist instead. Or about the blue melancholia charming its way into your heart with pushy, yet so gentle blues moves.
By day and by night, Jack White is an inspiration.
Pictures don’t grow on trees, you must have heard.
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