It begins with a bass line. A rising and falling low-register melody in E minor, a bass part not actually played on a bass. (It’s an acoustic guitar through an octave pedal. Fun fact.) The drums come in, the thudding heartbeat of a floor tom doubled with a steady kick on the 1, 2, 3, 4. A haunting, whispery vocal is next…but honestly, you don’t need to sit here and listen to me describe what this song sounds like. The ubiquitous “Seven Nation Army” is in your bones.
Right now, without actually cueing the track up, you can hear in your head the moment that Meg White switches up the beat to bring in the snare, creating the effect of a rhythmic acceleration when the tempo actually remains the same. You know the way Jack White snarls and spits the last lyric in the opening verse: “And the message comin’ from my eyes says, ‘Leave it alone.’” You can air-guitar the wordless chorus, where that not-bassline from earlier is echoed and embellished upon further up the fretboard.
To call The White Stripes’ “Seven Nation Army” a big song for them is an understatement. To call it a big song of the 21st century — that also falls a bit short. Yes, it topped the Billboard Modern Rock chart in 2003, was a critical favorite in its day and in the decades since, has appeared in television programs (Westworld) and on the big screen (Suicide Squad). It also took on a massive life beyond rock and roll; it’s a regular chant at sporting events, from MLB to FIFA. It’s been adopted by leaders across the political spectrum, British Labour MP Jeremy Corbyn and U.S. president Donald Trump alike. In short, it is an unbreakable part of the global pop cultural DNA of the 21st century.
“It’s not mine anymore,” Jack said in a 2022 interview with Conan O’Brien. “It becomes folk music when things like that happen. The more people don’t know where it came from, the happier I am. I’m sure many people who are chanting the melody have no idea what the song is or where it came from or why, or whatever. It doesn’t matter anymore, and that’s just amazing.”
The White Stripes in 2003 | photo by Patrick Pantano
It’s tempting to honor his aspirations of quasi-anonymity and let it lie there. But part of the song’s story too is how nobody who was there on the ground floor could tell what a force it would become. The iconic riff was devised while sound checking before a gig at Melbourne, Australia’s Corner Hotel in January of 2002. As Jack recalled in a Rolling Stone interview, “I was playing it for Meg and [Third Man Records employee Ben Swank] was walking by and I said, ‘Swank, check this riff out.’ And he said, ‘It’s OK.’“
When the band recorded their fourth album Elephant at London’s Toe Rag Studios in 2002, the documentary team only captured maybe a minute of footage of them working on “Army.” Neither of The White Stripes’ labels, in America or the U.K., wanted it to be the first single. “It was not considered anything interesting at the moment,” Jack told Conan. “Even when you’ve got it right in front of your face, sometimes you still don’t know.”
And what is “it,” exactly? A song of scorned determination; a song about taking the high road in the face of unwanted attention. To put it more plainly, as Jack does, “The song’s about gossip. It’s about me, Meg and the people we’re dating.” That could allude to the much-discussed 2001 revelation that Jack and Meg were not siblings, but ex-spouses; it could allude to something else. More broadly, it could just be about the smack talk that artists face back home when their popularity begins to explode beyond their regional scene. “Every single one’s got a story to tell. Everyone knows about it, from the Queen of England to the Hounds of Hell.” So what does one do? Fight ‘em off? Go to Wichita, far from this opera forevermore? Or, ultimately, stay the course and “Leave it alone.”
It’s a garage rock “Shake It Off,” it’s Jack and Meg slamming their instruments and shouting in the face of the haters who are gonna hate hate hate hate hate. And it was transformative for The White Stripes, drawing ears into their most vibrant and eclectic album up to that point. On Elephant, “Seven Nation Army” shares track space with an array of sounds from the Meg-sung ballad “In The Cold Cold Night,” to the Burt Bacharach cover “I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself,” the slamming blues of “Ball and Biscuit,” and another mainstream banger in “The Hardest Button To Button.” From there, the band chased further expansive experimentation on the surreal Get Behind Me, Satan and their slamming swan song Icky Thump.
Maybe that story, and those lyrics of remaining steadfast in the face of personal struggle, is what makes “Seven Nation Army” connect so broadly and powerfully. Maybe it’s the killer riff and the sick beat. Maybe it’s both. Maybe it’s more.