Stepping Into the Shadow with Bleachers

Written by Ashley Gallegos

Graphic by Rebekah Witt

In Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night, the 3rd studio album by Bleachers, Jack Antonoff sheds a bit of the latter-day techniques of production the band is so often associated with. Past albums, Strange Desire and Gone Now, were packed with many intricate details for very hyper-specific feelings and sentiments revolving around matters like grief, depression, loss, anxiety, etc. In those and even now in Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night, shadows have become prominent in songwriting. Both lyrically and mentally, the idea of a shadow being that piece that’s hidden dip within the crevices of our psyche where typically, no light graces it. The deepest and darkest parts of ourselves as humans and how that comes to the surface in many relationships, but in this new album, it also finds the shadow being where Antonoff is from: New Jersey. 

Starting the album, “91,” a song produced by Antonoff alongside Patrik Berger and St. Vincent, catapults listeners into a familiar world in terms of the past. Guided by strings, listeners are placed into an entrancing world full of heaviness that is oftentimes hard to escape when experiencing. Lyrics such as “I’m here, but I’ve been gone just a little too long now” is instilled into listeners, a reminder of being frozen in a moment in time where all sense of ourselves has been abandoned. Strings storm in through the song as a jarring alarm but serve as a note of curiosity and a glimmer of hope as the rest of the album unfolds. While the album starts off with “91,” the first official releases to start the album’s era were “Chinatown” and “45.” “Chinatown” drives you right into the shadow that is New Jersey. It’s steered by the lights that are the guitar and synth brazing together, as well as a later feature from Bruce Springsteen. It encapsulates the willingness and eagerness of taking someone to a place that has made you into the person you are, and the hopefulness that can come from all of it makes it one of the standout tracks. It completely makes space for the doorway that has uncertainty and hope waiting all on the other side. 

“How Dare You Want More” serves as that intensely humanizing moment in which we reflect on going through the inescapable feelings of wanting more, of wanting to feel fulfilled and content with life, something, or someone. It holds a mirror to the times we feel shame in asking more out of ourselves or a situation and asks why that is deemed as solely negative. It’s a song that cements itself as part of the edge of the final step towards the other side. It’s this universal feeling and the largeness of sound that reassures listeners that it was made to be played live with an audience singing the sentiment right back. Tracks “Big Life” and “Secret Life” act almost as options being given after confirmation that it’s okay to want more. They pose the clear contrast that represents the ideas and situations that we find ourselves wanting as we grow older and are attempting to figure out what we want in and out of life. “Big Life” is smothered in drowned-out vocals, taking listeners for a dip into a hazy but vocal dream before taking us by the hand into the more subtle vision that is “Secret Life.” With lyrics like “I just want a secret life where you and I can get bored out of our minds,” this song shows a bit more playfulness while simultaneously asking for this other person to shed those layers of walls and create this specific life with him. 

“Stop Making This Hurt” is a glossy demand by Antonoff with piano and sax that burst through with urgency as verbal reflections spill out. It brims with eagerness for more of that next phase without fully being there but knowing it must be done. It raises the question of “How do we get out of this system of constantly holding back and forcing hurt onto ourselves?” that almost everyone knows the language of. Devoid of any hesitation, “Don’t Go Dark” is one of the starker songs. It plays as the part of confronting something that’s solely full of anger and leaves no inch of space for stifling. With a chorus that oozes viciousness, “Don’t Go Dark” turns all the screws in the direction of the inner shadow. What’s interesting about this one is that it would seem like it’s asking this other person to not give in to darkness for the sake of their own wellbeing. But instead, it’s pure frustration as Antonoff takes a step back to save himself from a pending fallout. All that was hidden and contained has been brought to the surface and laid out in the open but in a light that’s colored with enchanting backing vocals by The Chicks and Lana Del Rey, making it seem like an endearing love song instead.

 “45” echoes through as a portrait of someone who is trying to understand and process the end of a relationship. “Am I the worst compass I could know?” is one of the most thought-inducing lyrics from both the song itself and the album. Much of the album is about finally facing different parts of ourselves in order to be open to the future. That lyric alone is one that brings on all the feelings of what it means to try to understand things from the past. Following it smoothly but vigorously is “Strange Behavior.” Its gentle vocals and guitar lead you into a room of stillness while Antonoff ultimately comes to a head where it feels as though absolutely nothing is left but to fully analyze and understand the past and himself. In this song that was originally by Steel Train, a former band of his, the lyric “What you thought was faith, that was hollow” is one of the most self-analyzing and vulnerable lyrics on the album. It crashes with a force that’s been building throughout the entire album, making it the ideal segue into the final song.

“What’d I Do With All This Faith?” bluntly delivers the idea that there’s a chance to regain it or to move on from something that once tarnished it. All that seems to be there is the guitar and the words that live in the space, and it’s enough. Signaling for a way out or answers, it epitomizes the confusion around not knowing where our sense of self is while also pushing the idea of self-reliance further onto us. It’s one of the more striking tracks of the album that contains multiple layers to it. Stability is gifted to listeners as it beautifully balances confusion and disbelief alongside hope. Lead by the seemingly weightless saxophone at the very end, it feels as though Antonoff has been guided towards some sort of relief and clarity he’s been seeking. All the hopelessness in the past, the confusion, the sense of self that was once lost, the anger, have all been a precursor for that moment. What makes this song and “Strange Behavior” specifically so memorable is that there is no need for grand production, no need to be lathered in lavishing sonic technique, just the lyrics and the rough but sensible vulnerability behind them. These final couple of songs are a driving force into the state of pure revelation and hope for the future. 

Past Bleachers albums have expressed that need and readiness to move on while Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night is the one to actually force the breaking down of the places we’ve found shelter in for so long. The messiness of that, the uncertainty, are all bottled up, but the glass is finally broken when we’re able to confront it all. Much more a stipulation than a title, Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night displays itself as an urgent call for possibility and change. Bleachers do it in a way that never cradles you. Each listen bounds you more to it all, the songs and the feelings. Encouraging you to take what you need and drop the heaviness of things that no longer serve you in order to greet the future, Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night is an official departure into the next place.