Jack Antonoff explains how loneliness shapes his Bleachers songs and why concerts function like church for him.
A conversation with the Bleachers’ mastermind about how music can emerge from feelings of loneliness – and what it’s like when the sounds come onto the stage and, with the help of the crowd, a religious-like feeling of community is created.
ME: Many of the new songs revolve around the fear of being alone. When was the last time you felt lonely?
JACK ANTONOFF: Every day, in different ways. There are different types of loneliness in life – very concrete, but also existential. You can always go back to what you once felt. I’m not lonely right now – I’m very lucky to be married. But there were times when I was very lonely, and that feeling still lives in me. There is always something lonely in songwriting. You hear something in your head that no one else hears and you desperately want to make it tangible. That’s why I write songs. Sometimes there’s an emotion that you really want to show through music – something like: “This is what it feels like to be me.”
Does that mean you don’t make music to escape loneliness, but to learn to rest in it?
I want to escape her and at the same time go deeper into her. This is almost the same for me. It’s like the difference between mowing the lawn and caring for the lawn. Every person has their own path. In any case, it’s trying to find your way through something. In the end, it’s about growing and changing.
Are we more connected or isolated today?
On a spiritual level we are very connected – because what we as humanity are currently experiencing is existential. We all share this feeling of not wanting our meaning to be taken away from us or marketed to us. On the surface, however, we are quite separate from each other. That’s why it’s important to me to bring people together and remind them how deep our connection is.
Is a concert a place of real connection for you?
For me, a concert works like church. It is a place where people come together because they share a feeling that they can hardly describe otherwise. They celebrate it and mourn it at the same time. I’ve never really been religious, but what people describe in terms of church – this idea of community – I’ve always found in music. A place where you are part of something bigger.
EVERYONE FOR TEN MINUTES seems very self-contained, almost conceptual. Was that planned or did it just happen?
The music tells you what it wants. At the beginning I always have plans, like I want to be Pet Shop Boys or someone else – and in the middle of the process I completely forget these ideas. Then all that’s left are the things that feel right from a gut feeling, and that’s why I build everything. I’m interested in writing about things I don’t fully understand and pursuing sounds that feel new. Then I’m like a baby looking at the sky.
In the songs on the new record, closeness often quickly turns into distance. Why does this change appeal to you?
Some things are forever, others just for a phase – relationships, friendships. I always wonder: what do they mean when they’re over? Were they worth nothing then? At the moment you don’t think about how fleeting everything is. You don’t sit there and say, “Oh, I love my friends, but I’m probably going to break up with some of them soon.” But the truth is: people change, they come and go. I personally find this change interesting – I also processed it very clearly in “We Should Talk”. It has nothing to do with anger and malice, nothing to do with the accusation: “You did something to me, fuck you!” For me, the thought remains: We had a whole life together. And then it stopped. That’s strange. Point. End of thought. No judgment.
How has digital changed our experience of closeness?
I think we can agree that it used to be better to be outside, hang out with a person in the park, be together and still have different opinions. Today, many simple things seem like luxury even though they are not. Not just me, but many people are noticing this right now. You can see it everywhere, including at our shows: people are trying to break away from the digital again and find closeness. This is not about going back into the past. I want to go into the future – one in which people are outside and together again.
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What do you look for in other people?
A connection that is not so easily explained. You may remember this from your school days: you hate everything, you feel alone, and then you see this one person in the distance in the schoolyard. Maybe she’s wearing the shirt of a band you like. Or you appreciate the way she wears her hair. In any case, the thought comes to mind: “This is one of my people.” This is exactly the feeling I’m looking for. And I try to create spaces where we can experience this together.