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Hard workin', hard rockin' - White Mystery, baby!

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(Steven J Wilson)
At the ripe old age of thirty-two, Chi-town's Miss Alex White has been banging out the rock tunes since she was a teenager. I first encountered her in 2005 with the release of her Miss Alex White and the Red Orchestra album. I reviewed it, for the Kansas City Star, I think. I liked it. It was noisy – brash and bruising, but with a marination in soul music that was refreshing for a bratty kid. Her guitar playing was confident, within its limited range. You know, like Johnny Ramone or somebody. She was cool. And as a singer she already hinted at something special. She was raw, and powerful, but with a touch of sweet, sweet soul.


In 2008 (or thereabouts) she formed a duo with her younger brother Francis Scott Key White. Using the name of a Fleer bubble gum flavor, White Mystery, the sibling ensemble was launched. Since 2010 they’ve released an album in April of every year. Each one has some good tunes, each one has some klunkers. The sibs tour relentlessly and their records are essentially consecutive souvenirs – merch table fodder, for those who want more after seeing them live, not unlike the way bands in the Sixties cranked out albums every eight months to capitalize on an endless succession of live dates. 

Live, White Mystery is a high energy outfit, flailing with flying ginger hair, thrift store rock star wardrobe, all projected with flair and humor. F.Y. M.S. (uh, Fuck Your Mouth Shut) is 2017's edition of White Mystery, and a final representation of what they are all about. 

 Alex’s guitar sounds are well dialed. She enjoys a crunchy Who-Slade-Mott power chord style or a janglier, sometimes arpeggiated sound closer to a cross between Love and the Searchers-side of the Ramones. She shifts gears between the two often; “Bad Neptune” shows her jangle-pop side, sweet and scruffy; while “F.Y.M.S.” is butt-rock, something akin to what the Runaways might have done if they were given the luxury of being foulmouthed. 
Alex also treads into girl-group territory with “Stand It,” replete with call and response vocals and a “hit me and it felt like a kiss” sort of theme. “Full of Light” is a tuneful garage-rocker that wouldn’t sound out of place on fellow Chicagoan Liz Phair’s Exile on Guyville. So, you get the picture – White Mystery records are grab bags of rock ’n’ roll party favors. 

 This music don’t aim for high art, it’s entertainment, Alex knows how to make the best use of her talents and brother Francis is an explosive, uninhibited drummer. He drops a beat here and there, but never blushes, and comes back thrashing as if to say “I meant to do that.” It’s music to jump about to, music to bang your head to, sweet to - party music for one, two, or a crowd. On F.Y.M.S. , White Mystery isn’t so mysterious. What you see (and hear) is what you get, two kids from Chicago having one fun, wild ass time playing rock ’n’ roll. 
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