Jack Antonoff only wants a life surrounded by his people, and Bleachers’ May 22 release, everyone for ten minutes, is an instrumentally lush, bombastic, and vulnerable call to anyone who cares enough to fit the bill.
The band’s fifth studio album, their first in two years, sees Antonoff preserving an authentic identity at the height of a years-long production stint. Life update-toned tracks often serve as both an exploration of his past and a commentary on the present, all tied together with vibrant, showy instrumentation designed to showcase each band member’s skill and detailed approach to their craft.
The 11-track project opens with full force with “sideways,” a cinematic, era-bending song that evokes the free, nostalgic feeling of David Bowie’s “Heroes.” Lines of elegant strings and swells of pingy flourishes sweetly support the beginning. The conclusion of the first chorus brings bursts of saxophone and an upbeat drive, joining layered harmonies in accentuating crowd-rallying, shouty vocals. A subtle heartbeat sound carries listeners into “the van,” closing one of many tracks across the album that channel Bruce Springsteen’s style and pay homage to a musical influence.
As Antonoff intended, “the van” will not appeal to everyone; it’s a slow hometown anthem that begins with a compelling, hip-hop sample-inspired loop and robust drum kick. It carries an “if you know, you know” tone, with instrumentals that build on the string-forward intro loop. “We should talk” contributes more to this past-centric focus, with simple, draggy instrumentation and polarising autotuned vocals. Antonoff provides relatable lyrical quips directed at an old, distant friend he doesn’t hear from.
“You and forever” is a love-centred standout, opening with a looped, harmony-rich vocal phrase that serves as the song’s foundation. Every musical choice feels intentional, with instrumental lines featuring driving synth and twinkly guitar moments almost dancing around each other. The rock-rooted pickup toward the end fully boosts every line, adding intrigue and well-supporting Antonoff’s vocal fluctuations and musing about his wife, Margaret Qualley.
“Dirty wedding dress” takes on a similar experimentation-heavy approach and theme, opening with an irregularly patterned drum beat that unfolds into something gritty, rough, and twangy. There are notes of funk underneath Antonoff’s raspy, compelling vocals. While it has a well-curated blend of instrumental elements, Antonoff’s investment in a narrative and dialogue about changing life priorities gives the song movement, punctuated with skilful lyrics like, “Now only my people can see me / Only my people come in / Everybody outside talkin’ like they know / But no, they don’t know.” It well represents the album’s theme, an anthem for the close few who like him for him and what he stands for.
“Take you out tonight” follows, with what feels like two disconnected songs in one. The robotic autotune makes another appearance over a soulful, gospel moment before kicking into a high-energy, solo-filled sound. An upbeat guitar and well-executed, mismatched vocal rhythm help Antonoff convey, “I feel a way.” His vocals are hard to discern, reducing the impact of his fiery, sax-accompanied stream of consciousness about fame and social concerns, but crowd-rallying yells and guitar chord strikes command attention.
The energy endures a drop with grief-stricken “i can’t believe you’re gone.” It’s a heavy and necessary pause full of vulnerability. While not essential, synth elements shine on the track, while random saxophone moments pull the listener away from the low-key mood. “Dancing” feels like a polished transition out of the darkness and functions as a continuation of the previous song. It has a lifted, happy-sad tone reminiscent of Antonoff’s time in fun. Despite its haunting, creaky guitar-strummed opening, it sounds like a welcoming, acoustic sing-along with choppy lyrics and a simple sound.
“She’s from before” is a recycled-sounding callback to “dirty wedding dress.” The track’s inclusion feels unnecessary sound-wise, but it is a suitable extension lyrically and still feels engagingly gritty. The song’s closing is its highlight, with raw, unstructured instrumental noodling that introduces “I’m not joking.” The “soul-gospel” palette returns, this time with sweet yet vague lyrics. The piece feels full of elements from previous tracks and odd harpsichord appearances, all arranged into detached, funky, and blurry poetry.
The band closes with “upstairs at els,” which revisits the opener’s sound. Tinny, snappy percussion and radio-filtered vocal lines complement a warm, 80s-influenced sound. The springy bass and synths assist in bringing carefree, casual jam-session energy.
Everyone for ten minutes is an invitation into Antonoff’s world that’s worth taking. While it lacks a sharper through-line, it shows Bleachers at what feels like their most skillful and genuine, demonstrating depth and breadth that gives every type of listener, every one of his potential people, a chance to care.
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