Atypically for Jack White, who used to throw White Stripes records together in weeks, his second solo album took a year and a half to make. Does the relative sluggishness of the process come out in the material? Not a bit. Lazaretto, named after a place of quarantine for sailors, hurtles between moods and tempos, often within the same song. The title track squeals and yowls like a stir-crazy sea dog, before downshifting into sludge-rock, then breaking out the violins. Temporary Ground, underscored by a sweet slide guitar, is wistful and dreamy, while That Black Bat Licorice is as gratifyingly nuts as its title.