Over a decade on from their debut, Bleachers is yet to find a sound that signals the next steps of pop rock. A tough burden to carry, but Jack Antonoff is in pole position, through both producing others and his own band, to do more. Had Everyone for Ten Minutes actually clocked in at ten minutes, then Antonoff could’ve saved everyone a lot of time. Thousands of hours, collectively across the globe, are wasted on hearing whether Bleachers has evolved and learned from their previous album. Borrowing Bruce Springsteen’s Cadillac is, as it turns out, not enough to assimilate into rock stardom. You need the songs to back it up and Everyone for Ten Minutes is another example of the band being very nearly there. Lowercase song titles, black and white photography, it’s hardly the peak of that performative action. We’re on the other side of the hill, and as we come down from a particularly unenjoyable typeface peak, it sounds and looks like Bleachers are trying to scramble up the edge.
A real shame to see this is the case too, since opening song Sideways is a delight. There’s a sincerity to the twinkles and charms of the instrumental choices made here. It has that recognisable quality. Not because it sounds particularly like anything (it does, but it never overwhelms the song), but because there’s a familiarity to its message. Sincerity is hard to find in pop, but Bleachers provides plenty of that on Sideways. It’s a thrill of a first song, and from there, listeners would be right in remaining hopeful of improvements. Not so. Everyone for Ten Minutes succeeds in providing the tone of an idle passenger twiddling with the radio knobs on a long car ride. It means there’s never a chance to settle into one tone or the other, to truly explore the meaning and necessary depths which Antonoff and the band are certainly capable of making. Some harmonica spots are thrown in to bring about a bit of that Bob Dylan flavour, but no reason for it beyond that.
Everyone for Ten Minutes soon loses that radio flipping appeal and instead becomes a box of toys for Antonoff to shake and then shrug off in a matter of minutes. From Sideways to We Should Talk there’s a loss of what could’ve been a fascinating bit of pop rock. There’s a manufactured euphoria to You and Forever that relies on the loudness of so many instruments, rather than the honesty heard in the opening track. Everyone for Ten Minutes starts with its best song and scrambles to find a possible continuation of that, but Bleachers never does get to grips with a song as good as Sideways. It’s a jumble of ideas with neither the message to tie it all together nor the instrumental range to remain interesting. Take You Out Tonight is a fascinating low point. It does not get worse than that. It’s The Lumineers’ Ho Hey with a saxophone.
A few moments of joy in the latter stages when Antonoff lets his voice pierce through, at least. She’s from Before is a wonderful musing on the past, an acknowledgement of what you learn from those left behind. It’s a nice touch, and it comes out of the blue. There had been no indication up to this point that Bleachers were headed anywhere but rough instrumental jams which feel, more than anything, obnoxiously self-praising. Listen to what they can do, how spirited it is to have fun in the studio. But for those who need a little more weight to the meaning, a slice of context or comment from a band whose outlook is to merely have fun when times are tough, Everyone for Ten Minutes will be truly lacking. For those just wanting that fun, though, Antonoff and the gang fall well short as they shuffle their monthly playlist and pick apart the other, better artists who provided these riffs.
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