The White Stripes' Elephant album, feat. Kane Williamson's cricket bat.
The celebrated White Stripes album Elephant was released 20 years ago, on April 1. New Zealand rock ‘n’ roll hobbyist John Baker on how Kane Williamson’s bat ended up on the cover.
Last year Jack White asked us What’s The Trick on his Supply Chain tour. Turn the clock back 21 years ago, to late summer 2002, and I was returning to the United States, a cricket bat in hand, to continue my work as tour manager for the White Stripes, White’s Detroit-based musical duo, doing rather well on the back of their recently released White Blood Cells LP.
The bat is not just any bat; it’s the bat of my cousin, Black Caps legend Kane Williamson, then aged 12. I had been playing beach cricket during the summer holidays with another of our cousins, and the bat ended up with me and eventually travelled back with me to the Motor City. Though it was mooted, I had no intentions to wield the bat in any Peter Grant-type action. [Grant, manager of Led Zeppelin, was the inspiration for the road manager in This is Spinal Tap.]
At the time, we - being Jack White, Meg White, many friends, a never-ending collection of taxidermy, and myself -were jamming “econo style” (that’s a term coined by Mike Watt, who co-founded indie bands the Minutemen, Firehose and later went on to play bass in the reformed Stooges,) in a red Dodge van. The year before I was introduced to the Motel 6s of America, a seedy chain of no-tell motels, where you can check in anytime, for an hour, or for a night. My first experience was after a show in Seattle where we gave an after-show ride to a lovely Eddie Vedder [Pearl Jam guitarist]. His car had broken down. It was in a Motel 6 room where I also saw my first episode of Curb Your Enthusiasm (The Beloved Aunt episode) and later that year we woke up in a cheap hotel in Memphis to the news of September 11.
These weren’t like the family-run motels I was used to back home in New Zealand. Forget being walked to your room by a jovial local carrying a pottle of milk for a cuppa. A collage of exotic sounds, sometimes animalistic, sometimes hysterical laughing, or breathy tones emanated from the rooms, and acrid aromas permeated the neon-lit hallways. Check-in was always with a completely disinterested person.
Pay $69 and have a key thrown at you. It was a crap shoot, not knowing what you might find. We once checked into a room that Dee Dee Ramone had occupied before us and there were still messages for him on the telephone answering service from what might of been his “doctor”. It was a real-life Chinese Rocks. The front desk at the Motel 6s were often staffed by Pakistanis, Indians, or Sri Lankans who mostly had no interest in any interaction with anyone, let alone me and my very Kiwi, and short-vowelled, accent. (In later years I would purposely develop a comical American accent and found I could be understood immediately.)
After a year of unenthusiastic motel receptions, I reckoned in 2002 if I showed up with a cricket bat and a ball at some horrible time in the morning, I might get a little more service. And I was right. Walking towards the front desk like I was heading to the crease, weary eyes would light up to this stranger. So, I pushed it. Late check out - good! Ten to one room - very good! The quietest room - no problem! Two men to one bed? Well, I never asked that one, but touring companion Ben Blackwell and I regularly shared a bed, topping and tailing all in the name of budget rock ‘n’ roll. These requests were all gladly obliged in exchange for a little early morning cricket banter, which would usually turn into a few throw-downs or an impromptu game in the hallway or lobby.
I had discovered the people working at the front desks of Motel 6s were cricket fanatics. Starved of any cricket contact, in a land devoid of any concept of playing with a straight bat, they were literally happy to play ball with me.
So, in 2002 I was able to improve our road accommodation in the US. I left the bat in Detroit in November when I returned to New Zealand. It was the last time I saw the bat until the release of Elephant, and there on the cover it is ... the bat. Williamson’s bat.
Over the past 20 years Kookaburra (the bat, not the bird) has become one of the most famous cricket bats in the world. Arguably, the most famous cricket bat in pop culture. Others may say the cricket bat helped make one of the biggest songs of the 21st century, yet its contribution and origin have never been acknowledged.
There are many cricketing references that run through Elephant. It’s blatantly obvious that the practice of tapping a bat as the bowler comes into make their delivery is the same knock Jack White taps on that raggedy old brown-papered guitar before he plays those defining notes of Seven Nation Army. The rhythm of the song is clearly the same as the beat of a bat as the bowler approaches the crease. His label Third Man has a logo that looks like a set of stumps (or bails), depending on which way you look at them. A post-show White in 2002 was new to the game. He was a sleepy, but curious participant in the late-night cricketing capers, and obviously taking notes. He usually stood at silly short leg where the tapping of the bat could be clearly heard. When I would take the role of captain, I often wanted to place him at third man but my father always told me not to take the piss out of one’s employer while on the clock. Besides there wasn’t really the room, and putting anyone at that position in a social game of cricket is never going to make them love the game.
I’d love to return the bat to Williamson. His recent return to form has led the Black Caps to historical victories with batting prowess that was developed many years earlier on this bat. And, as Ian Faith, manager of Spinal Tap, said in reference to his cricket bat, ”Sometimes having a good piece of solid wood in your hand is kind of ... useful.”
I asked Ben Blackwell, my old friend, touring bedmate, nephew of Jack White, partner in Third Man records and the guy who knows everything White-related, a few questions …
Why is the bat on the cover of Elephant?
The cricket bat on the cover is meant to be symbolic of an elephant’s tusk. I think the original cricket bats were made out of ivory, right?
Does Jack even like cricket? Has he played cricket? Why in one variant is Jack in complete whites?
The only direct quote you’ll get from Jack White in this entire piece (100 per cent honest, no joke, I asked him when he just walked into my office): “I like cricket, but I still don’t know what’s going on.” The fact that Jack is wearing all-white on the Australian/New Zealand version of the Elephant cover should tell you all you need to know about where his allegiances lie.
Was the original demo of Girl You Have No Faith In Medicine really Grace You Have No Faith In Medicine - a reference to cricketing forefather Dr W.G. Grace?
I mean, if you’re going to be a doctor AND a cricket player ... I think it’s clear where you’ve put your faith.
Is this lack of acknowledgement a slight at our island nation on behalf of the seven continents of the world?
New Zealand is too special, too important, to be anything other than un-needing of a continent to hold it down.
Will the demo of Seven Nation Army ever be revealed to the world where Jack clearly sings Right Behind My Bat - referring to the third man fielding position? And will Warstic (the baseball bat company Jack owns) ever make a replica of “the bat”?
You know, when Elephant originally came out, I put in an official White Stripes email blast that the six different album covers, when joined together, would reveal the location of a sword in the Legend of Zelda video game. Total joke on my end, but people took it seriously. Anyway, it would’ve been much funnier to tell folks a lie about behind-the-bat and the third man position.
In all seriousness, I would LOVE to see Warstic make cricket bats. I know there’s been ideas floated about taking on other sports ... I think focusing internationally would be badass.
How many copies has Elephant sold in the last 20 years?
The internet says that the White Stripes have sold 4 million copies of Elephant, but I’d wager that’s a low estimate. My guess is more likely 5 to 5.5 million copies. And that doesn’t even consider streaming, where the numbers would be even higher, I think.
Unbound Vol 1 weaves together pictures and interviews with NZ surfers.