In numerology, 13 can signify independence, creativity, and solid foundations. Or, on the flip side, it can signal chaos and misfortune. James Petralli, White Denim’s frontman and principal songwriter—born August 13—sees both sides clearly. And so does 13, the band’s thirteenth album. It holds those contradictions comfortably in one hand while the other reaches for something richer, stranger, and more openly human than anything they’ve made before.
CONE has long championed the Austin outfit. We caught them tearing through a 95-minute sweatbox set at Rough Trade Bristol back in December 2024. So, it’s gratifying to report that 13 keeps the fiery streak alive. While 12 arrived as a sunlit, melodically buoyant record, its follow-up is wonkier, bolder, and brasher in equal measure. This is the sound of a middle-aged dad making sense of the world through art and turning it into something that feels absolutely thrilling—at least most of the time.
The opener “(God Created) Lock and Key” wastes no time announcing its intentions. A smoking, big-strutting rock and roll number, it’s White Denim at their most visceral. It’s the kind of song that sounds like it was born in a room full of people who can feel each other’s sweat. There’s zero doubt that, once they’re back on the road, it will land like a lightning bolt live.
“Chew Nails” shifts gears with the ease only a band this well-drilled can manage. Slide guitar and flute soften the edges into something mellower, hazier: a stoned, unhurried groove the band has been quietly refining across their last few albums. It’s the first indication that 13 knows when to accelerate and when to let things breathe.
Not all experimentation lands. “Keep Me Calling (Baby)” sees the band swinging boldly into white reggae territory and stumbling face-first. As strange as it is to say, it veers into the kind of awkwardness that sits near the spirit of Peter André’s 1997 pop novelty “Mysterious Girl.” Whether that reference lands depends entirely on which side of the Atlantic you grew up on. Either way, it just doesn’t work.
Luckily, tracks like “Ruby” more than right the ship. Channeling the Rolling Stones at their most expansive, it’s all sunshine, barbecue, and cigarettes—reminiscent of White Denim’s Texas roots and of America, at its finest. Big country, big confidence, big vibes: it’s the kind of track that reminds you exactly why this band has earned 20 years of loyal listeners.
The tension between the moments where ambition soars and overreaches defines 13 as a whole. It’s certainly bolder than 12 and more willing to take a swing regardless of where it lands. But that boldness comes at a cost. The album’s wide-ranging influences—from Scritti Politti to King Tubby, Terry Reid to The Gap Band—are thrilling on paper and mostly thrilling in practice. Mostly.
A few left-field lurches leave the record feeling slightly incohesive. White Denim have been in a state of productive flux for years now, so this isn’t exactly a transitional stumble. The album is simply less consistent than their recent high-water marks. When it works, though, 13 is glorious. And when it doesn’t, it’s the sound of a band too curious for its own good. Fortunately, even their weirdest moments remain good fun.