Recommended tracks: “take you out tonight,” “i can’t believe you’re gone,” “upstairs at els”
Similar artists: Maggie Rogers, Phoebe Bridgers, Father John Misty
Two years after the release of their self-titled album, Bleachers is back with everyone for ten minutes, continuing their habit of chasing emotion over any fixed sound or formula.
Bleachers has never stayed in one lane. From the synth-heavy albums like Strange Desire and Gone Now to the more stripped-back, reflective songwriting they’ve leaned into over time, the band has always seemed more interested in following emotion than consistency. No matter how much the sound shifts from record to record, there’s always been a sense that they’re chasing whatever feels most honest in that specific moment.
“sideways” kicks off the record with a bang. The track is about gratitude and grief, loving someone indirectly despite the wreckage. Very New Jersey-sounding, of course. It’s not what I expected as an opener, but it clicks almost immediately. Even with all the chaos in the lyrics, there’s still a real sense of appreciation underneath. Lines like “Gave me home when I had none” and “I love you sideways” make it feel less like a traditional love song and more like loving somebody through every broken part of them.
Then, we transition into “the van,” the autobiographical third single from the record. Ever since its release, the word I’ve used to describe it is “cinematic.” Lines like “I pulled into a Wawa in Philly in 2000 / Blue Magic coming from the speaker at the gas pump” feel so specifically New Jersey that you can picture the entire scene immediately. Underneath the nostalgia, though, the song is really about not wanting to be alone and holding onto the people and memories that shaped you.
“we should talk” follows that same emotional thread, with Jack Antonoff reflecting on people he’s lost touch with and wondering if those relationships can ever really come back. Even with how personal both songs are, they never feel overly heavy-handed. Three songs in, and it’s already clear he’s wearing his heart on his sleeve.
Then, we get into the album’s first two singles: “you and forever” and “dirty wedding dress.” After hearing the record in full, they feel like the perfect entry point. Both circle the idea of finding the one person who makes everything feel a little more bearable, and slowly narrowing your world down to what actually matters. There’s a comfort in how direct they are compared to the rest of the album, and they set up the emotional core without getting in the way of it.
“take you out tonight” is a full-on party track, but it still carries Bleachers’ emotional weight beneath the energy. It opens almost like a preacher delivering a sermon before breaking into a groove reminiscent of “Run-Around” by Blues Traveler. It quickly becomes one of the record’s standout moments, especially with lines like “It’s brutal to be baptized” and “I asked a friend how he was doing, he showed me his monthly listeners.”
The breakdown towards the end of “take you out tonight” is another highlight, especially as Antonoff begins introducing the rest of the band. The moment feels genuinely celebratory and almost demands to become a live staple — either as a tour opener or a band introduction centerpiece. More than anything, it feels built for the stage as much as the studio.
The next two tracks bring the album into devastating territory. “i can’t believe you’re gone” is some of Antonoff’s strongest songwriting to date, reflecting on loss and the unresolved nature of grief. The song feels almost like a hymn, built around the idea that grief is simply the price we pay for love. Rather than offering closure, it accepts that learning to live with absence may be the closest thing to resolution. Lines like “This room is a nightmare, this room is my god” and “These hope-filled lies / These unearned traditions / You repeat them enough, you can live with somebody who’s missing” are crushing, and genuinely made me cry the first time I heard them.
It’s followed by “dancing,” which feels almost cruel to place immediately afterward. Where the previous track sits in memory and mourning, “dancing” is more existential, capturing the experience of surviving grief while resenting survival itself. “How could you let me do this alone / Glory to the ones who were left, hallelujah” stands out as one of the album’s most devastating moments, while “Dancing, shaking / No, dying is not romantic this young” cuts through any romantic framing of pain. “Time is a trap, no compass to get through” deepens that disorientation, like trying to function outwardly while you’re unraveling internally. Together, the two songs form the emotional core of the record, and are some of the strongest material Antonoff has ever written.
As we near the last few songs, “she’s from before” leans fully into an Americana direction, driven by banjo and some of the most left-field production on the album. It’s another example of the band not being afraid to shift its sound if it fits the emotion, with the opening line “I must take myself out now / Or my bed will be tunnels and creeps” immediately setting a darker tone. “i’m not joking” then flips things completely, landing as one of the record’s biggest stylistic shifts with its punchy, almost funky groove built around a simple love-at-first-sight idea. Together, the two tracks show just how wide Bleachers are willing to stretch their sound while still keeping their emotional core intact.
“upstairs at els” feels like the credits rolling at the end of the album. It’s probably the happiest closing track Bleachers has ever made, but there’s still something emotional underneath that lands harder than expected. The song is basically a love letter to Electric Lady Studios, with Antonoff shouting out the people tied to the studio through lines like “Now I’m walking in the Sunday Park with Lee” and “There’s Blu and there’s Rex, there’s Claud in a vest.” It feels incredibly personal, like you’re listening to memories being passed between friends. The callbacks to older Bleachers eras, especially “‘Hard Feelings’ days into ‘Gone Now’ nights,” make it hit even harder if you’ve been following the band for years. It lands as a warm, nostalgic closer without needing to overstate itself.
Overall, everyone for ten minutes feels like Bleachers’ most personal album yet, and also one of Antonoff’s most sonically wide-ranging projects. It moves through huge emotional swings and quieter, more stripped-back moments without ever losing its sense of honesty.
There’s something really happy and healing about it, even when it leans into grief, like he’s finally letting himself sit inside these memories instead of running from them. The title, coming from AirDrop and the idea of being accessible to everyone for only 10 minutes at a time, kind of ties that feeling together — like a brief, intentional burst of connection before it disappears again.
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