Satisfying the id without any ego

“I’m through ripping myself off,” wailed Jack White, his tongue planted firmly in cheek and his band thundering around him. Er, his band? Yup, the Raconteurs -- the White Stripes leader’s collaboration with singer-songwriter Brendan Benson and Greenhornes bassist Jack Lawrence and drummer Patrick Keeler, which attracted a capacity crowd Wednesday to the Henry Fonda Music Box Theater.

White was the main draw, judging by the roar that went up when he took his place on stage beside fellow singer-guitarist Benson, a veteran, critically acclaimed pop-rock artist himself. That provocative lyric in the group’s tune “Broken Boy Soldier,” from its debut album, “Broken Boy Soldiers,” could have reflected a sense of creative exhaustion with the superstar Stripes, despite the impressive variety he’s wrung out of the deceptively minimalist music from the id he makes with drummer Meg White.

More likely the tune reflected the natural need for new challenges that all good artists crave. Splitting frontman and songwriting duties is a different, and clearly exciting, experience for White, and his and Benson’s combined sensibilities created perfect, thrilling contrasts.

Steeped in the classic rock and pop that both songwriters admire, with likewise classic themes of love and need and joy and regret, the band used every member -- including touring keyboardist-guitarist Dean Fertita -- to the fullest, conjuring up a colossal sound. “Broken Boy Soldier” hit with such intense sonic force that one wouldn’t have been surprised to see fans scrambling afterward to retrieve the tops of their heads from the club’s back wall.

The presentation had a whiff of the Stripes’ theatricality, with the backdrop bearing a giant script letter “R,” plus wafting smoke and a hyperactive light show that enhanced the feeling of ‘70s headbanging rock ‘n’ roll abandon, ratcheted up well past the album’s controlled excesses. That collection has been described as power pop, but it’s more like turbo-powered pop, blending melodic finesse, clever dual vocals and hints of soul and glam-rock with a grittier bluesyness and noisy jams.

The hourlong set shifted confidently from the full-on prettiness of “Steady, As She Goes” to the raw, Zeppelin-esque majesty of “Level” to the momentary tenderness of “Together.” The group’s musical breadth was reflected in the covers, “Headin’ for the Texas Border,” by cult garage-rockers the Flamin’ Groovies, and a take on Ron Davies’ “It Ain’t Easy,” modeled after David Bowie’s 1972 rendition with its fusion of intimately delivered revelation and bursts of rock thunder.

This was timeless rock for now people, and the young crowd loudly approved. The Raconteurs played most of the 33-minute album, stretching out such numbers as the obsessive “Blue Veins” with jamming ensemble interludes and White’s frenzied soloing and distorted vocal exhortations.

White obviously reveled in the group camaraderie, his pale face glowing behind stringy black bangs as he swung around to his mates and occasionally shared a mike with Benson for closer harmonizing. It was another kind of music from the id, a different sort of partnership, and it definitely agreed with him.