There was something decidedly final about the third day of the Roots N Blues Festival. It feels exactly how a Sunday should feel: mellow, nostalgic and homey. Much of the grass at Stephens Lake Park had been stamped down over the previous 48 hours, so dust puffed into the air with each step, before the breeze whisked it away. The smell of smoke — BBQ and otherwise — was pervasive. Concert-goers set up their chairs in patchy patterns that matched up with sporadic shade created by amber-leaved trees.
This is how I pictured Missouri before I moved here: cowboy hats, pulled pork sliders, tinny blues music and kids playing football while adults nod to the beat from the comfort of their folding chairs.
Sunday night’s headliner was Bleachers, a band formed in 2014 in Bergenfield, New Jersey, and headed by Grammy-winner Jack Antonoff.
Waiting for the set to begin, I stood in front of the small stage surrounded by college students and middle-aged midwesterners, waiting for the band to come on stage. I buzzed with excitement. I wasn’t alone. Eavesdropping on the crowd, I heard several variations of “This is the only reason I’m here today.” I saw a friend in the crowd and echoed the sentiment myself.
“This is going to be the highlight of the night!” I chirped. The people next to me told me this was their third Bleachers show of the year, and I noticed that one of them had a photo of Jack as their phone wallpaper.
I couldn’t wait for him to step out under the street light again and wow me. He did not disappoint.
From the first line, I was entranced. I stood in the dirt as the sun set and the people around me surged toward the stage. On stage, Bleachers is a group of Jersey boys having the time of their lives making music, but they sacrifice none of their musical brilliance in the process. Jack draws you in like he’s performing for you in his garage.
At one point, he paused partway into “How Dare You Want More,” his self-proclaimed favorite song, because he swallowed a fly.
When I recall that he’s produced wildly successful music for Taylor Swift, The 1975, fun., Lorde and others, I’m baffled for a moment, and then it makes perfect sense. Antonoff has won six Grammys, Bleachers’ Mikey Hart has been nominated for two and won one, and saxophonist Zem Audu has been nominated for one.
In between songs, Antonoff told several stories. He razzed Kanye, denouncing West’s antisemitism and recounted how he turned his ankle playing basketball in platform Dr. Martens. He dropped countless f-bombs but sounded surprisingly endearing. I was torn between the desire for more stories and more music.
I’m not alone in my Antonoff Adoration. Throughout the concert, people around me sing his praises. The person next to me knows every word to every song like they’ve been studying the discography with flashcards. A couple slow dances, cheek to cheek, towards the back of the VIP section. Someone has their baby lifted into the air like Simba. (Jack later apologizes for swearing in front of said baby). Per the band’s request, several people hoist their friends onto their shoulders.
So many people shout variations of “I love you, Jack!” throughout the set that he good-naturedly announces, “I’m engaged. So eff off.”
Jack adjusts for the lack of a roof to tear down. “Tear the sky out of the sky!” he yells.
Bleachers play for about an hour and a half, pulling songs from several albums. Live, they sound exactly like they do on CD or on your streaming service of choice. The instruments and vocals are balanced and Jack hits every note on the head. The only differences are some lyric changes. In “Chinatown,” the line “take the sadness out of a Saturday night” becomes “take the sadness out of a Sunday night.”
In the last twenty minutes of the show, giant inflatable tomatoes flew into the crowd. Their appearance felt like an act of God, but they more likely came from a mischievous production crew. People batted them around while the music reverberated off the trees around the edges of the field.
Strictly opposed to encores, Bleachers played three final, up-beat songs before filing off-stage to the sound of a dazzling saxophone solo. “I Wanna Get Better,” “Don’t Take the Money” and “Stop Making This Hurt” closed out the night. Floodlights come on and I find myself standing there in awe again, feeling a resounding sense of “What now?” How do you top something like that?
For fans of Bleachers, fans of Jack, fans of deliriously catchy music and of hilarious, explicit tyrades, attending a Bleachers concert is a must.
Edited by Lucy Valeski | lvaleski@themaneater.comCopy edited by Jacob Richey | jrichey@themaneater.com