R&R
J
ackantonoffhasbeengetting
a lot of shit today. It’s late May, the
samedaynewsbreaksthatbothChris
Cornell and Roger Ailes had died.
FromhisBrooklynapartment,An-
tonoffreactedwithatweet:“RogerAiles
wasasexualpredatorwhoruinedmany
lives,”hewrote.“ChrisCornellwasabril-
liant artist. World was made better and
worsetoday.”Reactionhasbeenswift.His
Twitter mentions have lit up with people
callinghim“stupid”and“terrible”,andin-
sultinghisgirlfriend,LenaDunham.“A
surprising amount of people are saying,
‘But it’s a human life!’ ” says Antonoff, sit-
tingonacouchatElectricLadyStudios.
“Well, what if you spent your human life
endingandruiningotherpeople’shuman
lives?Howmanycopsshotblackkidsbe-
causeofthatrhetoric?Isaidtosomeone
theotherday,‘IwishTrumpwoulddie’,and
they were like, ‘Ahh.’ But he should die. Less
people would die if he died!”
Antonoffgetsthiskindofblowbackalot,
buthealsoknowsthatspeakinghismind
isthereasonhe’sgottenthisfar.Justafew
yearsago,hewastheguitaristandsecond
banana in fun., who scored a Number One
hitwith2012’s“WeAreYoung”.Hewalked
away from the group to create Bleachers,
whereheopenedupabouthisanxieties
andpersonaltragedieswithinbigTech-
nicolor arena-pop arrangements inspired
byeveryonefromBillyJoeltoRobyn.The
projecthasmadehimaherotomisfitswho
mighthavebeenintoemoadecadeago.
Atthesametime,Antonoffhascarvedout
asuccessfulcareerasaproducer,writing
with Taylor Swift, Lorde and others. “There
was something interesting about him,” says
Lordeoftheirfirstfewmeetings.“Icould
imaginemyselfbreakingdownawallwith
him. He’s instantly disarming in that he
asksyouverypersonalquestionsandyou
don’tfeelweirdtellinghim.”
Onthesurface,Antonoff,33,seemsto
have had a charmed upbringing: He grew
upinnorthernNewJersey,thesonofa
successful businessman. He attended a
performing-artshighschoolinManhat-
Gone Now.He listened to a lot of Beat-
les. He became obsessed with stereo pan-
ning and the idea that no musical passages
should repeat without a new surprise.
FriendslikeCarlyRaeJepsenandLorde
droppedbytosingbackup.
The process drove him a little nuts. His
relationship with Dunham (whom he’s
been dating for five years) became strained
at times. He apologises to a loved one on
“ForeignGirls”(“IknowI’vebeenastrang-
er lately”). “That was a really intense one
towrite,”hesays.“I’dtakensuchadeep
diveintomywork,andIhavenofucking
romancetowardartistswhoarejustfuck-
ing assholes. I don’t want to be that.” On
2014’sStrange Desire,Antonoff presented
himselfasaherowhohad
overcome loss, but this
time he found himself
writing from the oppo-
site perspective. “When
you’re in a relationship
for a long time, you stop
becoming the hero and
you start facing yourself,”
hesays.Hethoughtalot
about marriage and what
washoldinghimback(“I
don’tknow.I’mnotthereyet”).
Hetacklesthatthemein“Let’sGetMar-
ried”, which he wrote the day after the 2016
election.HeandDunhamhadattended
HillaryClinton’spartyatNewYork’sJavits
Center.“Oneoftheworstnightsofmylife,”
he says. They went to a Brooklyn diner,
wheretheybrokedowncrying.“IsawMexi-
canpeopleworkingthere,whoaregoingto
getfucked,andI’veneverfeltsoashamed.”
Antonofftellsthisstoryoverlunchnear
his apartment, getting so worked up that
acoupleatanearbytableaskhimtostop
swearing(“Sorry,Iwasn’traisedright,”
he tells them). “I’m just trying to move
forward,” he says. “My biggest connection
withTrumpisthatpeoplearedemanding
stuffthat’snotcrap.Becausethat’sessen-
tially what Trump is: crap. You want to do
somethingofvalue.That’stheultimatepo-
litical statement in my heart.”How a neurotic refugee from a failed emo band became
Taylor Swift’s favourite new producer and a voice for the outcastsBY PATRICK DOYLEJack Antonoff ’s
Therapy Rock
“It was a lot of ego,
a lot of drama,”
Antonoff says of his
last band, fun. “I just
wanted to go home
and write records.”18 | Rolling Stone | RollingStoneAus.com September, 2017
tan, where he dated Scarlett Johansson.
But there was also a lot of pain. When he
was 18, his 13-year-old sister died of can-
cer. He still writes about the loss, and sus-
pects his late sister is the reason he became
a musician. He remembers leaving home to
drive to Florida on a punk tour, at age 16.
“My sister was so sick,” he says. “That kind
of energy in the household puts things in
perspective. It was ‘Do whatever the fuck
you wanna do.’ ”
Antonoff calls his post-high school years
“pretty delusional”. As the frontman of emo
band Steel Train, he spent years “in a van,
smoking pot, playing for two people”. His
bandmates started leaving to get real jobs,
so he formed fun. with two other indie-
rock lifers whose bands
were also breaking up.
The band took off “like a
meteor”, Antonoff re-
members, going platinum
and winning a Grammy
for its hit. But Antonoff
had trouble getting ex-
cited about the music.
When fun. tried to record
a follow-up to their big
LP, Some Nights, “the vibe
was all fucked up”, Antonoff says. “It was a
lot of ego, a lot of drama. And I thought, ‘I
want to go home and write records.’ ”
One recent morning, Antonoff shows off
the studio he’s spent three years building.
Located down a hallway in the apartment
he shares with Dunham, it’s a tiny room
full of Star Wars toys and family photos,
old MIDI keyboards and beat-up pedals.
He stresses he’s no technical expert, but he
knows how to get results as a producer. The
key is working with artists away from the
distractions of a big studio. He points out
the corner where Swift recorded vocals for
her recent hit “I Don’t Wanna Live Forev-
er”. “She just comes over and no one knows
we’re here,” he says. “It always comes out
better when it’s two friends sitting together
wearing headphones.”
This is where Antonoff spent many long
months making Bleachers’ new album,