Jack White has found God mode.

At his killer Powerstation show, the Detroit rocker ascended.

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He arrived on stage like he’d just stuck his finger in a power socket. He kicked, he thrashed, he hopped, he yelped. He strangled his many guitars like he meant them harm. He played each song like it might be the last time, like it might be his last time. He performed like he had a point to prove and he had nothing left to lose.

After each song, he turned to the back of the stage, brushed his hair back, then prepared to do it again. He told the crowd: “I don’t want to go. I never want to go.” He played like a man possessed, which is fitting as Jack White doesn’t look like he’s ever seen a beach; with dank locks hanging over his pale face, his vibe remains ‘terrifying villain from The Ring movie’.

In front of a sold out Powerstation crowd, Jack White ascended. His first guitar solo came about 10 seconds in, a cascade of noise that tumbled around then erupted into the bluesy howl of ‘Old Scratch Blues’. That frenetic pace never let up. Jack White made his guitars make noises I’d never heard before. Sometimes he did the same thing with his voice.

It was a night of very few cellphones, an up for it crowd and approximately 60% guitar solos. They came during songs from The White Stripes, songs from The Dead Weather, songs from The Raconteurs, and songs from his solo stuff. All of them were different, varied, and masterful, played like someone was about to pull his plug out. All of them ruled.