ALBUM REVIEW: Bleachers – every one for ten minutes

Image by Alex Lockett

Bleachers’ latest outing feels like Jack Antonoff fully stepping into the long American shadow of widescreen rock romanticism and finding, surprisingly, new room to breathe. Buoyed by Springsteen-esque nods, its anthemic verve is undeniable – given his estimable work with the likes of Lorde, St. Vincent and Taylor Swift, Antonoff is clearly no stranger to life-affirming rousers built on yearning, momentum and the stubborn belief that communion can be wrested from private wreckage. Yet the album’s true triumph lies in how scale never overwhelms specificity.

Sideways barrels forward with restless ardour, while We Should Talk rides an infectiously danceable synth groove toward catharsis. Elsewhere, You And Forever shimmers like devotion refracted through static, and for all the crackle of its restless swagger, Take You Out Tonight simmers with tenderness and ache. The standout, though, is She’s From Before, whose folksy charm briefly lowers the album’s emotional temperature without sacrificing depth – then comes Upstairs at ELS, hushed but expansive, arriving like dawn after a sleepless night.

Bleachers sound fully themselves here: earnest, oversized, deeply moving. Even the quieter moments pulse with longing and resolve, bridging loneliness to fellowship.