I was all ready to dive into one of the biggest albums of the year, Charli XcX’s Music, Fashion, Film in September’s podcast, but it turns out it wasn’t the only huge album out this summer by a female artist with obsessive fans and a lore to back it up. Phoebe Bridgers may be a very different artist, but her new album – Lost Weekend – comes with all the attention of XcX’s and even loftier ratings (currently listed as the highest ranked album on metacritic of 2026, clocking in at 91 on its release day). And while we’d have had a lot to say about the former, it feels like everything that could’ve been written about Music, Fashion, Film may already have been done in the month since it was released. Bridgers’ new album is barely a week old.
Charli’s record has rightly generated a monstrous amount of attention in the last few months, with its pivot to fuzzy guitars and meta musings on where you go as an artist after an album as mega as Brat in 2024. But for Bridgers, whose last album, the Covid-era Punisher took her from indie darling to global star in a time when she didn’t even leave her home, the gap between solo records has been much longer, and with it, ever-growing great expectations. Bridgers hasn’t spent the time idly; finally touring that record took up a significant chunk of time, after which she teamed up with Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker as Boygenius, whose album the record was a huge pod highlight in 2023 and into 2024 as the trio toured, and the time I was first fully attuned to Bridgers as an artist.
Full disclosure: I am no Bridgers completeist, though I’ve listened to her earlier work since then. I’m aware that there’s a significant and dedicated fanbase and lore to accompany her career, but I’m both too late to the party and way too old to be likely to align with them. So playing catchup, I’m finding myself getting knee-deep into her music now, while also feeling the weight of that dedication and history too, such has been the discourse around her ever since her breakout record. I’ll reference what I find, but more than aware I’ll get things wrong or miss them out. Her life as a tabloid subject also looms around this record – her much-reported relationship with Paul Mescal, the fallout from it and subsequent one with Bo Burnham – as inevitable context for its subject matter, but the themes are far more universal than just her own life. And don’t the best artists take their own experience and find a way to make it connect with every listener?
So, to my growing love for Phoebe: I adored boygenius, my gateway drug to Bridgers. It was a slow burner through 2023 and into 2024, brought to my attention by Nolan. I had been aware of her in the music world before then, as much on Twitter (ok, X, RIP good Twitter) where she was pretty outspoken at the time. There was something interesting about an artist who lived very much in the eye of their fans and the public. But for me this started with the trio of Bridgers, Lucy Dacus and Julien Baker. The album came at a time when I was starting to find my way with artists that were ‘country adjacent’ (nodded to in Spin It from Episode 45. It seemed to hit this sweet spot of country, rock, americana and Appalachian music, with guitars and banjos, ballads and storming throwdowns, and the joy of an all-female group doing it their way has really stuck with me. It has stayed with me ever since. That ‘conversion’ probably goes all the way back to Kevin Morby’s Oh My God (chosen as AOTM by Joey, interestingly, the month before we did our first podcast episode in July 2019) where the seeds were sown, even if that’s only a little bit country. It’s also the year that Joey and Nolan picked Punisher in their top 10 albums so it’s good to have early adopters around for the discussion too. I feel I’m always late to the dance! I took in Hurray For The Riff Raff, Waxahatchee and Big Thief in 2022, and by 2025, after boygenius took my heart, I was even nominating Lucy Dacus as my own album of the month, with Forever Is A Feeling. I guess what I’m saying is that while I am never going to be moving to Nashville, there’s a chunk of the ‘country venn diagram’ that I’d never have got near without this beautiful place, and that’s why I love the country/folk nexus that’s opened me up to so many great artists. So really it’s not a big surprise why I’ve chosen this album.
I knew the hype was huge, but I didn’t have much expectation given my lack of exposure to her solo work. When I’d heard Lost Boys as the lead single, popping up in the algorithm, I thought: “bloody hell, if the album is as good as this, I may have found myself a new musical infatuation.” It rocked, Bridger’s voice feeling more gutsy than my previous experience, the ‘boys’ a cipher in a broadside to toxic masculinity that calls out the bubbles that communities exist in. It sounds big, vital and an intended statement that pushes back on the reductive ‘sad girl music’ label she’s so often tagged with. Even without much background to her, I’ve never seen her music as that specific. It’s far more amorphous and interesting than this. I can see why the label persisted, but the more I’ve read and listened, it feels like Bridgers’ world is so much bigger than that: mortality, love, loss, family, grief, compassion and also fun. And there’s a lot of that on this record to me.
What I got when the album dropped surprised me. I am not sure many were expecting the electronic fingerprints all over the opening track, The Outside. Heavily vocoded/autotuned, into a disembodied chorus of Bridgers, it opined “crying in a suit and tie / but you should see the other guy”. The effects were such that you’d have barely known it was Bridgers at all. It pointed to a wider sonic palette, and perhaps a sign that this wasn’t going to be Punisher 2, whether that pleased fans or not. Straight away, we were into familiar lyrical territory, with Bridgers’ father and her fractured relationship, only this time he’s no longer here. There’s the gallows humour of his funeral, the layers of grief that envelop not just your searing loss for someone but also the complexities of their behaviour and its effect on you. It’s these moments that seem to land hardest, where Bridgers mines her own life to weave a rich narrative about the lack of binary emotions. Life, love and loss is complex, and music is never better than when it’s painted in shades.
The album is long, by relative standards of indie/folk. At 16 tracks and 52 minutes, there will inevitably be moments of different energy, pace and feeling. Some of these may be felt to be surplus to requirements, but none feel that way to me right now. The glare of a new album, a new artist, often means – to me at least – that properly wrapping yourself in an album by an artist at the top of their game means remembering some objectivity as you try and view the whole and its parts. For me, the more I’ve listened to it, the more it’s made sense: for all the big sound of Bobby – an obvious paean to Burnham and the glow of new love that feels so bright it’s unsettling – and Haunted and Never Going Back’s rootsy energy, tracks that will surely sound good in stadia around the world, it’s the dynamics between tracks and within tracks that are most appealing, and start to sew it together into a really cohesive whole.
A lot of the time, the album steps between light/dark and lively/quiet tracks, highlighting both Bridgers’ desire to step out of her ethereal zone into something bigger and broader. Jack Antonoff may be the easy explanation, but he features across the whole record here, even though his fingerprints seem most clear on the poppier tracks. But I find the slow-burning power of Kill Me (nodding to the almost destructive nature of new love and all the fear of being vulnerable) and the gossamer texture of The Governer’s Waltz – treading through the wreckage of her time with Mescal – and the half-songs of Panorama and Lost Parade – where layers of distortion and synths accompany the folk/indie template, as beguiling as any of the more obviously approachable tracks. It’s a much subtler and more fascinating progression than what I’ve heard on Punisher, and I am all the more excited by it and the willingness to push boundaries. I can see this may be a dividing line for some, but it’s a reason to draw me in. The list of collaborators is bewildering, between Antonoff, her Boygenius bandmates, Burnham, Cameron Winter and many, many others, but it also lends a collegiate, collective feel to a solo album that can often feel like a very individual endeavour.
There are also a selection – Bobby, Lost Weekend, Liberty Tree – where outros change the feeling of the track (on Lost Weekend, I feel the energy of Sufjan Steven’s The Ascension, but there are so many touchpoints to discuss. I’ve struggled with these before, notably on the Blood Orange record last year , but these feel part of the ‘being’ of the album, intentionally not wanting the listener to settle, a restless energy all of its own. Never Going Back also fades out with a voicemail from Bridgers’ father, willing to add the extremely personal to give another layer of context to the album. It’s a familial complexity writ large here, with Still Standing matter-of-factly telling of the domestic abuse her mother suffered at his hands. Lost Weekend is also dedicated to him, again finding parallel emotions of loss, indifference and pain blended into one relationship, the antithesis of syrupy, simple remembrance that music can fall into.
It’s an album that crosses over wider points too: from the toxic masculinity of Lost Boys, to wider themes of dislocation and distance, from the world of social media and existing on technology over connection, to the intoxication of love, and the desolation of grief, and the sheer overwhelming nature of the cruelest of worlds we live in (the Lost Weekend’s Reprise includes the devastating couplet: “the government isn’t trying to kill you. They just don’t care if they kill you.”). Lyrically I feel I’m only just getting into Lost Weekend, but if I’ve learned anything, it’s that Bridgers’ flair for breathtaking lyrics is perhaps her most impressive quality. If Punisher was an album built on the loneliness of Covid America and a fear for what may follow, Lost Weekend seems to fully immerse itself in the anxiety and bleakness of the current world, with Trump’s America at its centre, and all the performative cruelty it thrives on.
Bridgers is no stranger to stirring up enemies with her honesty and strong moral core, having been open about her own abortion after Roe v Wade was overturned, donating money from her concerts to Trans Rights and confronting the toxicity of her former relationship with Ryan Adams, but this honesty also allows her to offer hope. While she’s actively stepped back from social media after being a hugely online person, she’s still clearly dialled into what is going on in the world, choosing to communicate through her songs rather than 256 characters. For all the lazy ‘sad girl’ commentary, I also found this album to be uplifting and forward-looking. While she may not have all the answers, Bridgers wants to keep going, to keep exploring the complexities of life, and sharing them with the world. And I think this is where much of the connection comes from: her ability to find common ground in her own experiences, and weave them into songs that we all feel chime with our own existence.
This may be a deeply personal album, following the community of Boygenius adventure, but it’s the sound of someone that wants to explore, and move their own work onwards. And for that I am very much infatuated. I can’t wait to see what you think.
thisisnothappening.net 
Every now and then you come across a song that makes you stop. A song that puts a shiver up your spine and sort of melts you.
The song that did that for me in 2020 was Garden Song by Phoebe Bridgers. I still remember the exact spot I was standing in my house when Annie Mac played it on Radio 1.
I was hooked on Punisher and I soon discovered her first album, Stranger in the Alps, and especially Smoke Signals. Once again: chills, then melt.
Out of her first two two albums the song that really got me was Scott Street — a tiny piece of perfection. I became even more obsessed with it after listening to the Song Exploder episode where Phoebe talked through how the track came together. Hearing the thinking behind the song somehow made me love it even more.
So I won’t pull any punches. I’m a fan.
I love the success Phoebe Bridgers and boygenius have had. I love her albums. I love the fact that she releases a Christmas song on the 17th of November every year. I love how important their music has become to so many people.
Most of all, I love that she is an outstanding talent who writes beautiful songs.
The news of Phoebe releasing new music, was mixed with excitement and high expectations.
It goes without saying that even the most dedicated fan didn’t really have a chance to form their own thoughts about this album before the world was completely overwhelmed by reviews. It felt like the album had somehow acquired a Metacritic score of 93 before I’d even finished listening to it.
And, quite rightly, it’s excellent.
Thoughts
The sound
She has absolutely nailed the ambient sound. There’s something wonderfully spacious and slightly unsettling about it. It reminds me at times of Dan Mangan’s Club Meds, particularly in the way the atmosphere becomes as important as the songs themselves.
Both, of course, owe something to Radiohead — that sense of tension, space and restraint, where sometimes what isn’t being played feels just as important as what is.
The Phoebe-ness of it
This feels like a very composed, focused and completely in-touch Phoebe Bridgers.
There is emotion everywhere, but she never overplays it. She can put an emotion across like a sharp knife without necessarily cutting too deep.
That restraint is one of the things I love about her songwriting. She trusts the listener to find the emotion rather than telling you exactly what to feel.
The tracks
The Governess Waltz was the first track that really clicked with me. It was the moment where I stopped listening to the album as a whole and started properly listening to the songs.
From there, it feels like a great run: Bobby, Lost Weekend and Haunted.
There are songs that immediately grab you and songs that take a few listens to reveal themselves. For me, this album is very much the latter. It feels like an album that will change with time.
And perhaps that is the most interesting thing about it.
It has been six years since Phoebe released her last solo album. Six years in which she has somehow become bigger and bigger — through her own music, boygenius, collaborations and simply becoming one of those artists whose name carries enormous weight.
That makes this album an incredibly difficult thing to pull off.
Because when you become that loved, expectations stop being reasonable.
Mine certainly weren’t.
But after the first few listens, I’m pretty comfortable saying this:
She hasn’t disappointed me.
In fact, I think she might have done something much harder.
She has made an album that doesn’t immediately give you everything; I feel the journey is still starting for me.
Some really great points here (especially Radiohead and the space and texture of the songs) but it’s great to hear how you got into Phoebe and how you feel about her music.
Very much looking forward to going into the weeds on the album with you!
Great to see your journey mate. Given the album has a big theme (of many) about dislocation and detachment, it’s not a surprise this is how you feel. I do get this. I marveled at it for a good while before it started getting its hooks in.
And yes, the production is premium level. Gold standard. So much hidden in the margins, too.
Thanks for sharing this, I love seeing what each song means/feels. I may tidy up mine and share too.
Hi brothers,
It’s taken me a while to respond, partly because I’m still trapped in the madness of an unrealistic script schedule, but also at least partly because I just haven’t been sure what to make of this record. It has danced around my head over and over, refusing to let me know what I’m supposed to feel. I’ve listened to it LOADS. Like LOADS. And yet, it still feels elusive.
Reading all your comments has been really illuminating, thank you! Joey, how the found the time to do that track by track, blimey, count me impressed. And your responses have ultimately helped me understand why it’s somehow still not quite connecting with me.
I saw a music journo – Dorian Lynskey – on Bluesky recently say – “Phoebe Bridgers music is so gorgeous to listen to, you sometimes find yourself wondering – are these good songs or is it just a vibe?” He concluded that of course they’re great songs, but I do think that points at what I struggle with and I’ve finally realised what it is – it’s the production.
This is a long album with a lot of different styles of songs on it, and indeed has songs that lurch from one genre or section to another. So why then does it wash over me like a wave that feels a little bit generic? The liner notes are a clue – that’s a LOT of people with a finger in the pie of this album. Some of them are longtime producer collaborators like Tony Berg and Ethan Gruska. But there’s a name there that jumps out immediately – Jack Antonoff. And as all names are listed on every track, it’s hard to know who exactly did what. But there is a Taylor Swift-esque sheen to this record that is sometimes, to me at least, a little overwhelming – swaves of ethereal synths, triple tracked vocals, all of it very pristine and very precise. It feels like a barrier to the songs – I somehow can’t access them at times. Is this good or is it just a vibe? That’s the question that I now realise has been running around my head for the whole time.
I also liked this comment from Joey:
It does feel like it’s existing in a liminal space – it wants to outgrow its indie roots but it’s a bit shy about saying it’s stadium rock (cos that’s naff and not very Phoebe B). But she IS almost that big an artist these days – she sells out very big concerts very quickly and da kidz all love her. But I do wonder if she’s trying not to alienate her fanbase while growing it at the same time.
Another issues I have is the ubiquitous use of boyfriend comedian Bo Burnham on the vocals. It’s all a bit Linda McCartney. Sorry. Come on Phoebe, find yourself a MJ Lenderman or someone to lend a bit more heft.
All that aside, I do keep returning to it, and it does feature some fantastic songs. I think Lost Boys might be the best songs she’s ever written, a monster hit of a song that feels timeless and brilliant. There is clearly a lot of personal emotions wrapped up with care into some gorgeous melodies (though I do think Bridgers has a habit of unintentionally stealing half melodies from other tracks – see Boygenius/Simon & Garfunkel!), and she is clearly a generational talent. But I think she’s at a point where she wants to glamour to go with the grit with her songwriting and this is the obvious end results – a bit of old Antonoff thrown into the mix so that a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down.
My favourite moments tend to be the most Americana – Kill Me, Haunted – where you can hear her songwriting roots more clearly. But there are too many times in the album where I find myself lost again thinking – what is this song, do I like this or is it just a nice vibe? A bit of judicious editing would have helped too. 45 mins and I could really have been a lot more sold.
Still, a very nice record from a very impressive artist that I suspect an awful lot of people will rate come the end of the year. I just might not quite be one of them.