60 Songs That Explain the '90s - Lee Ann Womack — “I Hope You Dance”

Episode Date: September 30, 2026

She sings both kinds of music—country and Western—and you better be grateful for it. Lee Ann Womack followed in the footsteps of icons like Dolly Parton, Loretta Lynn, and Tammy Wynette, but she took even greater inspiration from male country stars like George Jones. After making a name for herself with her captivating tunes, Womack reckoned with love and faith on the beautiful—and melancholy?—"I Hope You Dance," which became a crossover hit and Womack's signature song. Rob is joined by music journalist Marissa R. Moss, who discusses what Womack faced as a woman in country music during the late '90s and 2000s and the selflessness it takes to write a love song to someone who is leaving your life. (00:00) Intro: The Blues Brothers go to Bob's Country Bunker (24:19) Remembering Dolly Parton (38:11) This week's song: "I Hope You Dance" by Lee Ann Womack (41:02) Womack's early tracks and the state of country in the late '90s (57:28) Is "I Hope You Dance" a sad or happy song? (01:05:27) Interview with Marissa R. Moss (01:33:12) Outro Host: Rob Harvilla Guest: Marissa R. Moss Producers: Julianna Ress, Chris Sutton, Justin Sayles, and Olivia Crerie Power up your play with Nintendo Switch 2. Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/60songsthatexplainthe90s/?utm_source=ig_web_button_share_sheet TikTok: https://www.tiktok.com/@60songsthatexplainthe90s?is_from_webapp=1&sender_device=pc Learn more about your ad choices. Visit podcastchoices.com/adchoices

Hello, friends, a quick note to say that 60 songs is now available on YouTube. We made it. Success. That was easy. You can now watch full episodes of this show on YouTube, and you can also check out our new social media accounts on Instagram and TikTok, all using the name 60 songs that explain the 90s. We have heard your cries of despair and confusion,

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And we'll see you on the internet. This episode is brought to by Uber Eats. You can get almost anything delivered with Uber Eats. Sorry, you can't get a beach deliver, but you can get a peach. A canoe, no. Shampoo, yes. A rocket, no way. Chocolate, yes way. It's everything you need, including $10 off your first grocery order with code, anything 30, 30. Get almost, almost anything with Uber. It's order now. Order minimum of

$30 required, valid on grocery, convenience, retail, specialty foods, or flower delivery orders only. Terms and conditions apply. Hello, friends. A quick announcement. We are doing a mailbag episode in which we solicit listener questions, comments, and gripes, and then I answer those questions, comments, and gripes. Let's try and stick to questions as opposed to comments or certainly gripes. Please email your questions to 60 Songs Pod at Spotify.com. That is 60 Songs, P-O-D at Spotify.com. Please submit your questions by Monday, September 21st, 2020.

And please be nice. Thank you very much. This episode of 60 Songs That Explain the 90s is presented to you by Nintendo. Some things stick around for a reason. A great song, a favorite movie, a game everyone wants another turn at. The Nintendo Switch 2 system fits right into that tradition. With two controllers included in games like Mario Kart World, Donkey Kong Bonanza, and EA Sports FC26,

There's something for every age and every mood. Whether you're at home or on the go, it's easy to keep the good stuff in rotation. Learn more at nintendo.com slash Nintendo Switch 2. Games and systems sold separately, games rated E to E10 plus. Okay, quick question for you. What is the single greatest moment in indie rock history? When exactly did indie rock peak as a musical style, as a cultural force? as an ethos.

What is Indy Rock's Apex Mountain? Did Indy Rock peak on August 30th, 2009? When Jay-Z and Beyonce watched a grizzly bear concert on the Williamsburg Waterfront in Brooklyn, and 800,000 people blogged about it? Did Indy Rock Peak on February 13th? 2011, when the suburbs by Arcade Fire quite unexpectedly won the Grammy for Album of the Year, beating out Eminem, Lady Gaga, Lady Antebellum, and Katie Perry. Katie Perry probably should have won.

Did Indy Rock peak way earlier in the 2004 feature film Garden State when Natalie Portman put her headphones on Zach Braff's head and told him that the shins would change his life? And then she fell in love with him. And he directed it. Those are all great guesses, but I'm sorry, those are all incorrect. No, indie rock peaked on July. 4th, 2010, during a live performance by the Brooklyn band Beach Fossils, when Beach Fossils bassist John Pena physically threw his bass guitar into the East River.

Holy shit. If you're not watching this, don't worry. I'll walk you through it. All right. Here we have most likely iPhone video of the young Brooklyn indie rock band Beach Fossils, performing on water taxi beach in the Queens neighborhood of Long Island City. All four dudes in beach fossils are wearing shorts. Bassist John Pena is barefoot, and the drummer is playing while standing up, which conveys

authenticity. We got no stage. We got a chain-link fence behind the band with a pink banner for a cool local clothing company, and beyond that fence, we got the roiling, murky splendor of the East River, which is a lovely body of water so long as you don't ever go in there or look at it too hard. There are too many indie rock bands with Beach in the name, but I'll allow it this time because Beach Fossils sound like a band called Beach Fossils. Pleasantly archaic, breezy, but with an alluring hint of decay, deceptively placid,

and therefore prone to sudden tumultuous rages. For example, the band set at Water Taxi Beach here on the 4th of July 2010, will be ending semi-violently in roughly 30 seconds. Uh-oh. We're getting rowdy. Beach Fossils frontman Dustin Pazer, he's the wailing gentleman there. Dustin has just now divested himself of his electric guitar. He unplugs his guitar.

He knocks over his amp. He drags his guitar on the ground behind him as he sings. And impressively, none of this. Routiness appears to affect the music itself in the slightest. Meanwhile, another important element of this video is that the only real visible audience member is a child. I don't mean that ugly. I'm guessing there's plenty of people in the crowd here, but the person filming this is in the second row, basically standing directly behind a little girl, seven or eight years old, maybe, and the girl standing like six feet away from the band,

and she's wearing giant hearing protection headphones, like the kind of headphones, conscientious parents buy their children so they can safely enjoy medium-routy indie rock concerts. This kid keeps stealing worried glances at a mostly off-camera adult standing next to her who might be her mother and might be a total stranger.

But nonetheless, this girl is a little closer to the rowdiness than I personally am comfortable with, And she doesn't seem too psyched about it either. All right, fellas, time to make the donuts. Time to make indie rock history. Okay, what do we got happening here exactly? Let's see, the lead singer's really wailing now, and he kicks over a mic stand, and he kicks over the drums, and he's crashing into the bassist a little bit.

And, oh, look, there's a second shirtless guitar player who's been playing guitar while staring at the ground this whole time. and who's so far away from his bandmates, I hadn't even noticed him before. And the song ends in an abrupt discordant burst of moderate societal dissatisfaction. That's all pretty normal, conventional, medium-routy rock and roll stuff.

That's cool. And also, whoa, Nelly, that guy just chucked his base into the East River. Holy crap. Beast Fossils bassist, John Pena, unplugs his base, and he shrugs it off and he winds up and he goes whoop and he just launches it over the fence and into the fucking river. Let me say this clearly, spectacular throw. We got just a phenomenal

bass toss here. Remember when Nirvana played lithium at the MTV Video Music Awards in 1992 and right at the end of the song, Nirvana bassist Chris Nova Sellech goes whoop and he threw his base straight up, and then he tried to catch it, and he clonked himself in the head and fell over. There's no reason not to play this for you, I suppose. What did I buy all this video shit for, if not to play this for you? I love that once again, none of this rowdiness appears to affect the music itself in the slightest. Chris Novicellich tries to catch the bass, you see. There's your trouble. That ain't going to happen. That is not a catchable, It's not the base toss that gets you.

It's the base catch. If you were athletic enough to catch a flying base in midair, you never would have gotten into rock and roll in the first place. Anyway, that's the best base toss in rock history, in my humble opinion, given the profound historical significance of Nirvana and the VMAs and whatnot. But also, it's the sheer awe-inspiring verticality of the Nirvana base toss itself, A plus throw D minus catch. Okay, so the beach fossils guy.

This is the horizontal version of that base toss. Beach fossils on the East River, this is a line drive. This is a frozen rope. We have caught some serious air. This thing's got a lengthy upward trajectory. This dude's base is clear for takeoff. This thing is still in midair now. You don't necessarily go to indie rock shows to see world historical.

feats of strength, but that is a silver metal javelin throw. Kudos. Let's watch it again. Or you can just listen now to the crowd react. The mixture of gasps, whoops, and nervous laughter. The little girl with the headphones, she has no visible reaction to the bass toss, but the adults standing next to the kid, possibly but possibly not the kid's mother, this lady clamps both hands over her mouth in the universal posture of, oh shit.

Meanwhile, unlike my 600th time watching this video, I just noticed that after the bass toss, a photographer with a non-iphone camera immediately walks over to the fence and looks down and tries to take a photo of the base sinking into the river. Great instincts. All of these people are clearly aware that they've just witnessed rock and roll history. They've also kind of sort of probably witnessed a crime. I am not aware of any additional video footage of the Great Beach Fossils East River Bass Toss. Other than in this video, you can also clearly see a mostly off-screen second person filming all of this on their phone because by the late 2000s, we all spent much of our time at rock concerts shooting phone video of other people shooting phone

videos. And that's too bad. I would love a dedicated home run camera that just follows the glorious arc of the base itself. in its breathtaking romantic path upward toward the sky and then downward toward the sea. The river. Toward the river, the East River. Not the most romantic river. No offense.

So the base toss video gets posted on Brooklyn Vegan and goes semi-viral. Brooklyn Vegan, the great longstanding super respected indie rock blog with show listings and rad photography and disconcertingly bitchy commenters. and whatnot. And here in 2010, I am working for the Village Voice at the time, the even longer standing increasingly disrespected New York City Alt Weekly. And I make the very 2010 indie rock media decision to blog about their blog by simply listing my favorite Brooklyn vegan comments about the Beach Fossils Base Toss. This is how music journalism worked at the time. And so, Look out. Top 6 Brooklyn Vegan comments about the Beach Fossils Bass Toss. Here we go. Number six, five years from now, Mutant Fish release Chill Wave album.

Number five, whoa, bra, hardcore, nice shorts, L-O-L. I told you about the shorts. Number four, most interesting thing they've done. That's not very nice. Number three, nice hooks in appealing harmonic interplay. That's nicer. Number two, I am also frustrated with the sound of this band. That's not nice, but that's pretty good. Super dry sarcasm is the reliable default mode of most indie.

blog discourse. And finally, number one, the best Brooklyn vegan comment about the beach fossils bass toss, how can you afford your rock and roll lifestyle? Oh, come on, tell me. That's the winner. Any cake reference automatically wins any competition as far as I'm concerned. Your self-destruction doesn't hurt them. From their 1994 debut album, Motorcade of Generosity, that was the all-time great Sacramento rock band Cake, with their modest alternative radio hit rock and roll lifestyle. I weirdly vividly recall hearing this song for the very first time

late at night on the radio as like a dim-wit 16-year-old. This song was my introduction to Cake, one of my favorite bands, and also my introduction to the idea that relentless, shameless, soulless, capitalist consumption is poisoning classic rock or alternative rock or indie rock or whatever. Excess ain't rebellion. Even as a dim-wit 16-year-old, I knew enough to know that I maybe ought to remember

and fully internalize the idea that excess ain't rebellion. I really want to do something right now, but I'm not positive that we're legally allowed to do it. And so I'd like to introduce a new game I just invented called Can We Do That? This is a game where I ask our friendly, hardworking lawyers and editors. I ask them offensively frivolous hypothetical questions, even though the vast majority of my coworkers have much better things to do. So today's question is, can we show? slow motion footage of the beach fossils base toss set to the Olympics music?

Can we do that? No. The answer is no. They were polite about it, the lawyers, but nonetheless, we maybe ought to avoid the Olympics music in general and opt for Olympics-type music instead. That's disappointing. That's too bad. I'll get over it.

But yeah, not all the Brooklyn vegan commenters are psyched about the East River base toss, which is, okay, technically it's literally littering. Yeah, he threw a large object into the East River and he left it there. That's true. It's a question of scale, though, right? If you're standing next to a guy and he throws a McDonald's wrapper into the East River, you'd be like, well, that guy's an asshole. But if you're standing there and this dude throws his base into the East River, you'd be like, well, that's the coolest guy I've ever seen in my life.

Such is the transformative power of rock and roll. I'll tell you what really pissed me off, though. I missed it. I did not personally witness the East River base toss. I had to watch it on the internet later, like everyone else, like a chump. No, I went and saw Beach Fossils Live three days. days earlier on July 1st, 2010. I was there. I saw this band at a tiny long-gone Brooklyn Club called Brewar Falls, which was indoors and had a Pac-Man arcade machine and was not

within throwing distance of any famous bodies of water. To answer your question, yes, I blogged about it. And Beach Fossils bassist John Pena played barefoot at this show as well, despite it taking place indoors. And at some point a heckler yelled, put on some shoes, dude, or you're going to get trichinosis. Someone actually yelled that at a rock concert. Not me.

Someone else. That's not even heckling. That's just good advice. Here's what Beach Fossils sound like in a more formal non-base-toss context, by the way. From their self-titled 2010 debut album, that's Beach Fossils with a song called

daydream. And not a day goes by or an hour without times I can't remember what I'm thinking about because my head's caught up and tangled in those dreams. Yeah, that sounds relatable to me. As a guy podcasting about 16-year-old indie rock blog posts. So during that Beach Fossil show at Bruar Falls, the non-based toss show, the band's last song ends with an abrupt discordant burst of moderate societal dissatisfaction, right? And Beach Fossils bassist John Pena jumps into the drums and knocks them all over, just like Kurt Cobain used to do. And in my dumb little blog, I write, quote, though a vaguely cathartic and rock and roll moment, the drummer does not look particularly pleased, understandably. Three adverbs in one sentence. And then I say, I'm glad I don't have to

ride in the van back home with these guys. End quote. I might. I might. have seen the bass toss coming. Also, I'm ashamed to tell you that my blog about this show ends with the single meanest sentence I have ever written in my 26-year rock journalism career. I can't believe this. This was a three-band bill at Brewer Falls, first a band from Queens called the Beets, B-E-E-E-T-S, like the vegetable, then woven bones, lots of bones back then in indie rock as well, and then beach fossils played last. And so I write a bunch of stuff, a bunch of adverbs about beach fossils and woven bones. And then here is the last sentence of this blog. I gave this sentence its own paragraph. Quote, I tried to spend the beat's entire set playing Pac-Man,

but I ran out of guys, end quote. That's fucking rude. Yo, that's unprofessional. What kind of way is that to behave. Apologize to the beats, Rob. Play a song by the beats to apologize to the beats, Rob. That's the beats, B-E-E-E-T-S, with a song from 2011 called Doing Like I Do. Don't be afraid. You will not die. And if you die, whatever. That's also good advice. In the video for that song, they're at the beach. And a wave knocks over the giant colorful cutout letter. of the word whatever. Do you think that when the beats named themselves the beats that they were aware,

there was already a band called the beats, B-E-E-E-T-S, from that old animated kids TV show Doug, the 90s Nickelodean tween anxiety cartoon Doug? Because I got to say that Doug beats have really screwed up the SEO for the Queen's Beats. That's the Doug Beats with a song called Killer Tofu, which I've had stuck in my head for 30 minutes.

I have personally gone to hundreds of concerts involving real-life indie rock bands that look like the Doug beats, the sunglasses on stage, the child's drawing hairstyles, the clashing outfits. And I'm standing in the crowd like, are these guys huge weirdos or are they just English? Yeah, a lot of shared DNA between the Doug Beats and the Queen's Beats, I got to say, a real simpatico vibe there, even visually, primary colors, childish whimsy with a vague hint of melancholy, a clear preoccupation with death, et cetera. They should tour together or something somehow. Anyway, I apologize to the beats, the non-cartoon beats. But so, yeah, I personally missed it, but after his East River base.

toss goes semi-viral. Beach Fossils bassist John Pena is treated to a light online roasting. People on the internet make fun of his band or his shorts, or they accuse him of having a trust fund to support his bass-tossing rock and roll lifestyle. And so my friend and colleague at the Village Voice, the great writer and editor and author, Zach Barron, Zach takes the next logical step for a circa 2010 indie rock blogger. Zach interview. the guy. Hell yeah. Headline. The Beach Fossils Bassist responds. Colin, why John Pena threw his base into the East River. Solid headline. Great SEO. Zach does a quick email interview with this guy and he asks how John's bandmates feel when he

trashes or deep sixes the band's gear on stage. And John says, quote, I don't think they are too worried about it as long as I replace anything that gets broken. Sometimes it's a bummer to see the money from a show go toward fixing equipment instead of rent, food, and girls. It's not something we spend a lot or any time discussing, really, end quote. John also says, quote, I really loved that base, but it was on its way out, literally, end quote. And finally, Zach asks, any response for the haters? and John says, quote, ha, that would be pointless. John also says, it'll all blow over soon enough. Just going to focus on my friends, family, my band, and this beer.

America, end quote, America in all caps, with an exclamation point. End of conversation. I think any interview with anyone talking about anything in any medium should include the question. Any response for the haters? I don't care who you're talking to or why. You will never get a dissatisfying answer to that question. Everyone's got a response for the haters. Beach fossils are still at it.

They've got some delightful mellow jams. They put out four albums so far, including their last album called Bunny in 2023. And they've got a few tour dates this month in September, 26, in Mexico City and South America. Maybe look out for flying baseball. bass guitars if you're floating in an inner tube down the Rio Magdalena. That's a river in Mexico City.

That's a joke. That's stupid. I'm sorry. I should note that former Beach Fossils bassist John Pena is long gone. He left the band in 2011 the year after the bass toss. That personal dynamic maybe wasn't working for reasons I can't even begin to fathom. I'm really getting into this early Beach Fossil song, Daydream, by the way. Yeah.

What's happening here lyrically, they're lying in the grass in the early morning sunlight. Lyrically, this song, Daydream is simple enough, but it's the profound physical, musical, spiritual distance between the Daydream and the Daydreamer, right? The guy's voice is muffled and echoy and very, very, very, very far away. Look, we all love to jump online and fire off our cute little jokes about this sort of mellow, vaguely wistful, reluctantly hooky, excessively beach-oriented, instant nostalgia sort of indie rock. Okay, I personally love to jump online and joke about it. But I do think this song, Daydream, captures something important about this mid-delay 2000s era

and one of the most dominant indie pop sounds of that era. Or, this song captures our collective, dorky, feeble, inevitably failed attempts to capture something, to capture some essential essence of our childhood and or young adulthood, perhaps. Our rocky passage from the Doug beats to the Queen's beats, perhaps. Our passage from being sad and young to being not so young and sad that we are no longer so young. And all we can do now is sing mellow, wistful, hokey, gorgeous, melancholy songs about our fading youth. And if you can't sing, then maybe just whistle. My name is Rob Harvilla.

This is the 50th episode of 60 songs that explained the 90s, Cole in the 2000s, and this week we are discussing young folks by the Swedish indie pop trio Peter Bjorn and John from their 2006 album, Writers Block. I don't know that I'd ever watched the young folks video,

which is animated with cartoon bubble dialogue, and everyone's bobbing their heads back and forth in a whimsical and, childlike and slightly off-putting manner. There's a twee, uncanny valley time warp quality here. The subtle and sublimely unsettling blending of the Doug beats and the Queen's beats continues. We're all going to die, but whatever. Add break.

All right, real quick, I wanted to shout out Brooklyn Vegan, the great, longstanding, super respected indie rock blog, Brooklyn Vegan, which got hit with mass layoffs recently alongside other. great music publications, including Revolver Goldmine and my beloved alternative press magazine. Specifically, Brooklyn Vegan and those other places got hit with mass layoffs orchestrated by their parent company, something called Veeps. Veeps is owned by Live Nation, and Veeps was co-founded, initially, as some sort of ticketing platform, by Joel and Benji Madden of the noted pop punk band Goodsh.

Charlotte. I got nothing against that bands personally or musically, but nonetheless, with apologies to all you good Charlotte fans out there, the hypothetical Good Charlotte episode of this show is hereby canceled until those guys knock it off.

Let me just observe politely that the 2002 Good Charlotte single Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous, a top 20 pop hit in a medium catchy anthem of working class, solidarity and perhaps even outright class warfare.

This song sure hits different now that these bums are using their live nation-affiliated ticketing and media company to lay off humble, hardworking rock critics. Listen, we all have to get old and die, but we don't all have to become the man before we do it. Knock it off. So, young folks, I'm reading all these interviews with the Swedish indie podcast. pop trio, Peter Bjorn and John, and I really like these dudes a whole lot. I dig their vibe tremendously. Talking to The Guardian in 2018, Bjorn Yittling, bassist and producer Bjorn Yitling, he talks about how Peter Bjorn and John had already been a band for five years before young

folks blew up. They'd made two full-length albums already. They'd jumped around label-wise, and they had enjoyed only modest success in Sweden. Whereas young folks was a quite distinct. stabilizingly massive global success. Bjorn says, quote, going platinum in multiple countries and fucking our shit up for a decade, that was not on our radar. End quote.

The phrase fucking up our shit for a decade interests me. The implied positive and negative connotations of getting your shit fucked up for a decade. That interests me. Bjorn also says talking about young folks, quote, we don't even know how many copies it's sold. On MySpace, it was played over a hundred million times. We haven't got rich off it,

but it's been good for business. It kick-started my production career. In Rolling Stone recently, there was a list of the best songs of the century so far, and it's Beyonce at number one, and then like 80 other songs, and then young folks. You can be proud of that for sure. End quote. I'm into these guys. In absolute sincerity, these guys, seemed like a great hang, warm and sincere, but also cool and gently sarcastic. A proudly self-deprecating and refreshingly thirst-quenching dry humor. So yeah, first thing to know, Peter Bjorn and John, not an overnight success. The drum kit you hear on young folks, the band apparently pulled those drums out of a dumpster near the makeshift homemade studio where young folks was recorded,

or they got the drums off Craigslist, depending on which interview. you read. This is not a cool internationally famous rock band you were previously unaware of. No offense. Okay, so here we have a song from Matchmaker from Peter Bjorn and John's debut EP

released in 2001 and called forbidden chords. I dig that this band's faster songs sound gently, pleasantly frantic, almost, like they're cramming in as many lyrics and hooks as possible as quickly as possible. These dudes sound like they're trying

to play this whole nearly three-minute song in just 20 seconds so they can run to catch a bus. Peter Bjorn and John, we got Peter Moran on guitar and vocals, most of the time. Bjorn Yitling on bass and occasional vocals. Bjorn, notably, is also your

primary producer, for the first two albums, at least, and John Erickson on drums and occasional vocals. Peter and Bjorn meet as teenagers in Vesteros in central Sweden. Talking to the great podcast, Life of the Record in 2025, Peter says they met at a music high school sort of thing. And they started out as two dudes with guitars and a drum machine. They bond over to guitar bands like the stone roses and slightly older, wordier, more punk and power pop-oriented stuff, like the buzzcocks and the jam, and Elvis Costello, plus Lo-Fi-90s American indie rock, pavement and Yola, Tango, and Elliot Smith, and Sebado. All of that totally makes sense, but Elvis Costello makes extra sense.

Maximum songcraft, maximum verbiage, maximum nerdy, aeriodite swagger, maximum velocity. Here comes the chorus, hurry. So Peter and Bjorn moved to Stockholm, where all the action is in Sweden, indie rockwise, and maybe otherwise. And they audition a bunch of other insufficient drummers before they find John Erickson, a guy with a lot of jazz and metal and percussion ensemble experience, but no previous indie rock band experience. Peter Bjorn and John is a sneaky great band name.

It is straightforward and, you know, literal, but Peter Bjorn and John also rolls delightfully off the tongue. It's modest, their band name is just their names, but also quietly proud and mythical in scope. These dudes are too cool to bother with a clever band name. It also implies a supreme level of confidence that nobody will ever leave this band. I'm into it. The trio's first album, also called Peter Bjorn and John, comes out in 2002. This song is called I Don't Know What I Want Us to Do. I'm pretty sure he knows what he wants.

Yeah, he knows. Let's do ourselves a favor and not get super bogged down today in an attempt to precisely define indie rock as a musical style or cultural force or ethos. feel free to consult the great critic and friend of the show Chris Deville's wonderful 2025 book, Such Great Heights, The Complete Cultural History of the Indy Rock Explosion, if you desire a thoughtful and thorough history and taxonomy of the initially undergroundish rock bands and myriad baffling subgenres that defined the 2000s. For those of us with pitchfork and stereo gum and Flux Blog and Brooklyn Vegan bookmarked. We'll be talking to Chris later.

It will suffice for our purposes today to say that a song by three scruffy, Swedish pop dudes that begins with the line's decadent picture of you in the nude, sits on my shoulder, whispers in my ear, makes me feel prude, is very indie rock aesthetically. The prudeness, I mean, the hesitance. The ostensible uncertainty of the song title, I don't know. what I want us to do. That's not how Van Halen or Limp Biscuit would have handled this topic. You know, chorus, great high note here. You'll figure it out, Bub. But what indie rock really means here from the very beginning of Peter, Bjorn, and John, is that this band is a quite humble and homegrown and therefore thoroughly Swedish enterprise. This band's first two records are recorded in Stockholm Studios and released on Swedish record labels.

This self-titled album is put out by Beat That Records. Beat That! Exclamation Point. Not every song on this first record sounds like the band is sprinting downhill the whole time, but my favorite songs here do sound like that. This one's called Education Circle. And it concludes with Peter frantically expressing yet more hesitance and uncertainty before he sings. the line, but as this angry persona, I have no doubt. And then he stretches out the word doubt for 10 seconds. Dig the gasp when his breath finally gives out. Modest athleticism.

Yeah, that's about as close as these fellas are going to get to wild and crazy bass toss energy. The second Peter Bjorn and John record comes out in 2004 and is called Falling Out. These guys aren't old by any stretch. At this point, they've barely exited their 20s at worst. But I am struck here by a palpable heaviness, a weariness, a faded daydream melancholia. This song is called Taylor Made, and it features Peter singing, I found out I'm grown up in a very quiet, feeble, devastated voice before he launches into a loud, boisterous chorus that ends with him singing, Bring Me Back My Youth. The Be My Baby drumbeat there? That drumbeat is a nice touch if we're talking about 2004 pop songs

chasing the eternal majesty of 1963 pop songs. And if we're talking about classic pop songs as a fountain of fading youth. You have every right to be suspicious and perhaps even annoyed when objectively young dudes start gassing on about how old they feel already. But this unpleasant paradoxical sensation of feeling ancient and washed even when you're objectively still young and vibrant, that's a huge part of the indie rock ethos as well. Youth isn't even wasted on the young in indie rock. Your youth is something you'll never get back even while you still have it. The second Peter Bjorn and John record falling out also features a cover of a song from another young Swedish indie rock band.

Here's the original from 1999. This song is called, yeah, it's called Teen Love. Teen Love. Here we have a fellow young Swedish pop band called The Concrete's. Featuring on lead vocals won Victoria Bergsman. Victoria is in her 20s, but Victoria also sings with a super appealing and distinctly adult sort of bone weariness. It is harder than it sounds to sing a disson. conceptively dainty song called Teen Love while evoking both Teen Love and an older person's rapidly

decaying daydreaming memories of Teen Love. Try it sometime. Anyway, Peter Bjorn and John speed up Teen Love and rock it out a little bit. Yeah, Peter Bjorn and John speed up this song Teen Love a little bit, and I dig the, I'll fall in love with you backing vocals very much. They add a semi-frantic sort of immediacy, but it's the shaker there going the whole time that makes this version of teen love seem way, way faster. The shaker makes it feel like time is passing, like one's youth is passing by, even faster.

Anyway, Victoria Bergman's voice and also the shaker will be appearing again together real soon. Matter of fact, let's just do this now. The third Peter Bjorn and John record is released in 2006 and is called Writer's Block and features a song called Young Folks that blows up on MySpace and makes a ton

of lists of best songs of the year and or century and fucks this band shit up for a decade. That opening do-d-dub-d-d-d-drum beat there is apparently a cheeky, humble tribute to daft punk to the French Blockbuster electronic music duo daft punk. On that great podcast, Life of the Record, Peter Bjorn and John

drummer John Erickson's quote, the opening fill of young folks, it's kind of an homage in a cartoonish, childish version of the intro for Robot Rock by Daft Punk, because that drum intro was extremely cool, we thought. We tried to recreate that, or I tried to do something similar, but at the same time, dorky and stupid. End quote. For your reference, Robot Rock by Daft Punk came out in 2005 and begins like this. That is extremely cool, actually. Robot rock, that's the daft punk song that goes,

Burr, no, no, no, boom, boom, boom, boom, one. So young folks begins with a version of that. Or, according to John the drummer, something similar, but at the same time, dorky and stupid. There is a fundamental humility, a self-deprecation, a distinctly non-rockstar-type sheep.

A vibrant and quite relatable aura of imminent defeat radiating off young folks and writers' block as a whole. You get that, oh, we're just being dorky and stupid vibe a lot in indie rock. And maybe you love that vibe and maybe it annoys you. Yes? Oh, we're such a d'ors. We can never do anything as cool as doob-dib-dib-dub-dub-dib-dib. That sort of rock-and-roll swagger, but in apologetic scare quotes. In this musical universe, you get used to that awe.

sort of vibe, or you learn to avoid it like the plague. But Peter, Bjorn, and John, at the precise moment they're making young folks, these dudes are coming by their humility and self-deprecation and imminent defeat, honestly. The band records this song and this whole album, in a little apartment Bjorn's got set up because they can't afford studios anymore. They maybe found the drum kit in a Swedish dumpster, talking to The Guardian in 2018, bassist and producer Bjorn Yitling says, quote, Writers Block was our third album.

We'd been doing the rounds for about five years, trying to get a good slot at some weird festival in Stockholm, building the stage on our own, playing Chinese restaurants and as the opening act on tours for different bands. We probably would have quit if young folks hadn't become the hit that it did, end quote. and you can hear the ease, the resigned casualness, the utter lack of outside pressure that only comes when a rock band assumes basically nobody is listening, and this is the end of the line.

And so a line like, would you go along with someone like me, could be an aspiring rock and roll singer talking to a historically indifferent listener. or it could be part of a slightly more intimate conversation. Young folks is a conversation in a bar between a young man and a young lady. Or, crucially, a not quite as young anymore man and a not quite as young anymore lady. They are both a little older, a little weirier, a little wearier of possible new romantic connections.

Having been burned and disappointed and heartbroken so many times before, these two wounded, tentative love-burned, are surrounded by brighter, cheerier, more naive, and hopeful younger folks. But who cares about them, right? I am torn. I can't decide between widening the musical scope here and aggressively narrowing the musical scope. Of course, you could take young folks as a prime example. Perhaps young folks is the prime example of mid-2000s bouncy, foxy, twee indie pop that mixes youthful frivolity with washed adult melancholia and mixes handcrafted anti-commercial whimsy

with increasingly big wampen hyper-capitalist business. If you know Flux Blog, the great longstanding super respected indie rock MP3 blog run by critic and journalist Matthew Perpetua, Matthew does these great huge deep playlists now and he did a six plus hour, 124 song playlist called The Young Folks, colon, Tweed, Indie, 2004-2009. And one thing I genuinely appreciate about this musical and cultural vibe is you have to be in the mood for it. Listening to all these songs, the Decemberists, the Go-Team, the Juno extended universe, listening to this playlist most of the time I was like, what a refreshing, buoyant, appealingly childlike approach to classic pop forms. But some of the time, it just sounded to me like

35-year-olds playing hopscotch. And I was like, you need to get a job. I will widen the scope just enough for three excellent songs off this playlist that both feed into and expand upon young folks. And it just so happens that the first song is called Lloyd I'm Ready to Be Heartbroken. It's the baseline here, primarily. From their 2006 album, Let's Get Out of this country, featuring string arrangements by Peter Bjorn and John's very own, Bjorn Yitling. That's the phenomenal sky. Scottish indie pop band, Camera Obscura, with Lloyd, comma, I'm ready to be heartbroken. There's a deft orchestral fullness to this song, a hugeness that somehow arises out of the daintiness.

But yeah, mostly it's the bass going do-do-d-d-d-d-d-d-do-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d-d... An all-time air-base song, Lloyd, I'm ready to be heartbroken. I can't whistle, and it makes me really mad. I'm absolutely serious. Never been able to whistle. I've been trying all my life. I just feel strongly that I've got the kind of personality where I should whistle a lot, but I can't. It pisses me off. Don't ever mention this to me if you meet me, the no whistling thing. I mean it. Anyway, obviously we need a whistling song. Quit showing off, dude, from his 2005 album, Andrew Bird. and the mysterious production of eggs? That singer-songwriter, Illinois legend, and jerky show-off whistler, Andrew Bird,

with a song called A Nervous Tick Motion of the Head to the Left. Not all of these Tweed indie pop songs have long, elaborate song titles, but many of them do. Andrew Bird, he's got more of an epic, widescreen, ostentatious, lone spotlight, spaghetti western sort of whistling style, Whereas with Peter Bjorn and John, with young folks, the young folks whistling melody, you know, it's more like, that's obviously a way more casual offhand. This is easy and I do it all the time sort of whistling. God damn it.

The young folks whistle was initially just a placeholder for the melody. The guys figured they'd replace that do do do do do melody with a synthesizer or something. but then they realized the whistle was better. I'm so mad. I don't want to talk about whistling anymore. I'm not saying I love you. I won't say I'll be true. There's a crimson bird flying when I go down on you.

And finally, hey, remember when Isabel Campbell, formerly of Tweed, Scottish indie pop giants, Bell and Sebastian, and Mark Lanigan, he of righteous, broish American alt rock gods screaming trees, not to mention Queens of the Stone Age. Remember when Isabel Campbell and Mark Lanigan made three full-length duet albums together, and they fucking ruled, even though you would not necessarily assume that combination would fucking rule? I know what they just said lyrically, by the way.

Never mind that now. From their first great duet album, released in 2006 and called Ballad of the Broken Seas, That song was called, Do You Want to Come Walk With Me? Parenthesis, do you want to close parenthesis, come walk with me? Question mark. All these songs have long titles. Young folks is the shortest song title in this whole genre. It's about Campbell's high, frail, lilting voice and Mark Lannigan's deep, rad, terrifying, bass-ass voice.

Their voices work wonderfully together. Even if together they sound like one of those heartwarming nature, photographs of like a canary befriending a warthog. Like, you know, a photo of a submerged hippopotamus, barely visible peering out of a swamp with a little bird on top of its head. That's the dynamic here. Rest in peace, Mark Lanigan. I love him and I fear him so much.

So yeah, young folks is also a fraught, somewhat unlikely duet, albeit a less flagrantly odd couple type duet. The little guitar amp squeak or whatever between her part and. And his part right here is my favorite part of the whole song. Usually when things have gone this far, people tend to disappear. No one must surprise me. I dig that little squeak right in between there. I think that's a little bleep of electric guitar going bing

right after she stops singing and right before he starts singing. I don't know why that bing is so important to me, but it exemplifies to me the total awkwardness and the genuine connection between them. Hey, it's our old friend Victoria Bergman. She of Swedish indie pop band The Concrete's. That's Victoria of teen love fame, joining Peter Moran on young folks. The creakiness, the winsome imperfections of both their voices, the palpable, attainable, go ahead and try this at home achiness of both their vowels.

I'm into it. And that creaky, achy, imperfection is lyrically, thematically apt. Yes? Peter Moran talking to the Guardian in 2018, Peter says, quote, we weren't young folks at the time. We were all hitting 30 or 31 rather than 18 or 19. The song is about people feeling a bit burned out on relationships.

And then you meet someone new in a bar, say, and think, maybe this could be something. End quote. Remember when 31 was old? I don't. Sing the chorus, you old fogies. The bongos are a vital element of young folks as well. The shakers, the bongos, the electric guitar.

I think it's electric guitar going bing in the background. One sort of wobbly chord at a time. All vital elements. I'm paying attention to this young folks video for the first time ever. All the twee hand-drawn looking youngish-form. bobbing their heads back and forth, like they're singing a song from a Sesame Street episode. And I'm wondering if this video fits the vibe of young folks a little too well. Yes?

It's pretty easy to overdo childlike as an aesthetic. I overuse that word childlike in my rock criticism. And usually I mean childlike as like a qualified compliment, I guess. Like it's a little cloying and I know I should know better than to really unconsored. guardedly like it, but I don't know better, actually, because I like it. But I do think young folks and the Writers Block album as a whole, they really nail all the positive connotations of childlike, while deftly avoiding any negative connotations.

John Erickson, the drummer, talking to that podcast, Life of the Record. John mentions that while making this record, the band was super into the Langley School's Music Project. Are you up on this? So in the mid-70s, a bunch of elementary schools in British Columbia, that's in Canada. They got together and formed a sort of children's choir that covered big shot rock and pop songs. And then the songs came out on CD in 2001, a CD called Innocence and Despair. And it became a called outsider music hit.

Let's set aside for now the thorny implications of the term outsider music. Sometimes it's okay to just listen to 70s Canadian school. children sing the Beach Boys, God only knows. You know? So John Erickson, talking about the Langley School's music project, John says, quote, the sound of that album is so fantastic. I mean, you can hear the kids giving all their hearts and also maybe a bit filled with shame or something. You know, in Sweden, we have this music school thing. So I think we felt really close to that vibe. You know, you play as a kid something that's a bit uncomfortable, but you do it, and you're maybe not the best musician because your music teacher just tells you to do this and do that. And that sound was

something we wanted to recreate on writer's block, this kind of naive, almost playful, not knowing what you're doing style of playing. So I tried to play drums like it was the first time. Like my music teacher. It just taught me this cool, funky jazz rock beat, and we played guitar and piano with one finger at a time, just trying to be kids, naive, not knowing what we're doing. End quote. Writers Block, that title, by the way, does not refer to Writers Block, the Affliction where you're struggling to write. No, at the time Peter Bjorn and John were living and working in a neighborhood, a block with lots of writers, musicians, and creative types. They lived. They lived. lived on a writer's block.

And I do think this album, in its entirety, masterfully conveys a lack of total mastery. These songs are diamonds formed by a total lack of pressure. These songs could get quite loud and huge and anthemic and maximalist, but it's the sort of maximalism that sounds like giant, careful, thoughtful stacks of naive minimalism. This is a career-making album by a band convinced their career was over. There's tremendous ambition here, but no expectation of success, no pompousness, no excess.

Because as we've established, excess ain't rebellion. My favorite song on Writers Block is called Up Against the Wall. It's three short verses and still somehow seven minutes long. It keeps building. It keeps mutating. It keeps surviving. The super busy drum machine melding with but never quite overpowering the very simple more human sounding drumbeat. That's what really does it for me. Very few conventional drum kit symbols on writers bought the album, partly as an aesthetic choice, partly because the band only had a couple microphones to record with, and symbols

generally make too much noise. That's a semi-technical reason I love this song, up against the same. the wall. A sentimental reason I love this song is that it builds and mutates and deepens and brightens and darkens and seems like it'll legitimately never end, just like, you know, youth. This is another song I love on writer's block, the first real song. It's called The Objects of My Affection. The lyrics here are very effectively ever so lightly clunky. to the point where I'd never quite grasped them. And the question is, was I more alive than I am now?

These are early 30-somethings waxing nostalgic about what? Their early 20s, they're waxing nostalgic for like 30 seconds ago. It ought to be annoying. But unearned, shame-based way too early nostalgia can be the most powerful kind. But you've got to sing the last line too, right? Don't ever forget the last line. And the question is, was I more alive then than I am now? I happily have to disagree.

Again, I had not 100% grasped that that part goes, I laugh more often now, I cry more often now, I am more me. But I love that part even more now. And I may even believe it. I really love this whole record, but young folks unavoidably overshadows the rest of the rest of it. of this record and really the rest of Peter Bjorn and John's now quite extensive uvre. This band has made nine full-length albums to date, most recently Endless Dream in 2020.

But when these fellas are touring the 20th anniversary of Writers Block this fall, the crowd will perk up when they play young folks and there's no getting around it. This is this sort of unexpected hit song that both permanently makes your career and fucks your shit up. Talking to DIY magazine in 2011, Peter Moran says, quote, I'm eternally grateful for that song, as it changed our career for the better forever. Now we just have to deal with its legacy. Of course, there are nights when I don't feel like singing it, especially as it doesn't really fit in with some of the other stuff, but you just do your acting bits and put on the autopilot. It will always be a great song.

trust me though, young folks will still sound divine regardless, even if the band's on autopilot. You cannot whistle through gridded teeth. Not that I would know. We are thrilled to be joined once again by Chris DeVille, author of the fantastic 2025 book Such Great Heights, colon the complete cultural history of the indie rock explosion. He is also Stereo Gumbs Managing Editor and a Hall of Fame Ohioan. in my opinion, Chris, it's awesome to talk to you again. It's great to be here. Thanks for having me back.

Of course. Chris, you recently wrote a great stereo gum piece about the 20th anniversary of Peter Bjorn and John's writer's block album, and you called it a tipping points in the gentrification of indie rock. What do you mean by that? Because that sounds bad. Yeah, I know how it sounds. It's not good, but it's not necessarily their fault either. It's like they made this just about perfect pop rock album and it happened to be exactly what companies who wanted to get a hip indie sound in their ads we're looking for. I wrote in my retrospective, the article you just talked about every time the whistling

hook from young folks would breeze down a block, a city block, a micro brewery, and a whole foods would just spring up. It just sounded like this very commercial, friendly version of indie. And I mean, that's like, that's what the book, Such Great Heights was kind of about, was like the gentrification of indie or like how indie rock went pop. And so it's like you have to think about this album is arriving into the, context of like iPod ads and coming off of the OC and Garden State and Grey's Anatomy. And this was a time when Pitchfork was launching its music festival and starting to get a lot more

mainstream attention. And like blogs were, you know, they had been kind of the hot thing for a couple years. And so like there was all of this kind of mainstream interest in this idea of indie rock. And I feel like it was a different flavor of underground rock kind of bubbling up than we had maybe 15 years earlier with Nirvana. It's like maybe a little bit cuter and cleaner and more commercial friendly. And so to me, writers block really embodied that shift. It sounds like a step further down a path to me. And so, like, I listened back to it and I love it.

Like, I was actually stunned when I revisited it for the article. I was like, wow, this holds up. But I also just can't shake that sort of context that it's like I'm hearing this genre morphing before my ears. Right. The timelines don't exactly match up. But hearing you, it sounds like Vampire Weekend. Yeah, yeah. Like, when I think about the moment when, like, you know, the commercial side of the music business really got a whole.

of indie rock that was when you know vampire weekend was in every ad that's the way it seemed to me like they they went on stephen colbert with the black keys and like made jokes about it you know how commercial how ad friendly this music had it inadvertently became right and this is like the precursor to vampire weekend in terms of like so many songs from this album were in advertisements and it wasn't just young folks like yeah i feel like it was like four or five six songs were all featured and I may be misremembering it but I just feel like it wasn't just that young folks sort of took over the world it's like so many songs from the album were kind of creeping in everywhere yeah I love this album too in its entirety I totally agree with you

in your piece you said that it politely bangs which is a very enticing phrase of me how does one bang politely it's just very Swedish it's like Like, it's got this kind of fay, cutesy, mild-mannered element to it that I associate with like Jens Leckman and some of the other sort of indie pop artists from, but at the same time, Sweden is Robin and Abba and Max Martin. And a lot of this album has that studio precise quality to it too, even though like there's still a rock band on the album. and some of the songs like really rock and they know when to let a little bit of noise and chaos come into it.

But yeah, so it's kind of like it's caught in the balance between the more sort of primitive, cutesy side of Swedish music and the very professionalized side of it. Yeah, it's hard to talk about this band

without using words like politely or quirky or Tui I think a dorkable shows up in your article and maybe that's a word best left to history like these words can be selling points or they can be insults depending on who's using them like where are you

personally on Tweed as like a musical descriptor or a lifestyle? I feel like I'm definitely not anti-Twee but Tui to me is that it's best when it's kind of

raw and unkempt and lo-fi. When I think about like, you know, like beat happening or like Sarah Records or some of the more like underground type twee stuff, the cleaner and more professionalized it gets the more cloying it tends to become. And so the ability to pull off something that's kind of twee, but at the same time is good and is like professionally good but is just like enjoyable like the ability to do something that's

twee but is slick and yeah it's it's just like to me that's part of what is the charm of this album is that they're able to be twee and take it in that kind of more cloying direction but it never strikes me as cloying. like it's never overbearing. Yeah.

This was a case where reading about how they made the album really enhanced the album for me. Like just to understand it, they had put out two albums that hadn't really done anything. They figured they were going to break up if this one didn't work. They're in like an apartment. You know, they're getting drums out of the trash or off Craigslist or whatever. Like the dichotomy between like just thinking this is the end and making an album for them. But it turns out to be an album. album, as you say, that is exactly what, you know, every advertiser, you know, and every commercial

interest was looking for at that point. Like, it's very cool that they sort of accidentally stumbled into doing the exact thing, you know, that the indie rock world needed to hear at that moment. Yeah, it's, it is kind of a surprise. Like, I, I haven't dug deep into the making of the album. Like, it sounds like maybe you do in, in the first half of this episode. But, like, it is interesting that, like, it was kind of their last ditch effort, and it really worked out. Young folks comes up briefly in your book. You know, you mentioned Young Folks was apparently the opening song in the pilot of Gossip Girl. Yeah.

Which does not actually make any. I thought they were much meaner people. I never imagined those people listening to Peter Bjorn and John. I guess I should watch the show. But where does young folks fit into the larger history of indie rock for you? Are we closer to the end at this point than the beginning of the arc you're tracing in this book? In the book, okay, so the book is very like focused on the 21st century. I mean, it's certainly nowhere near the beginning of the arc of indie rock in general.

Like, I mean, some people would probably say indie rock peaked in the 80s and 90s. and by the time I got to it when I was a high school or Y2K, it's like, oh, it was already over. We missed it. Yes. Yeah, the, the, uh, so the blog era or whatever. I don't know. As someone who writes about indie rock every day at Stereo Gum, uh,

I prefer to think that it's still like alive and well in some capacity. Uh, it's like any genre kind of waxes and wanes and you go through cycles of moving in and out of the mainstream. But like, it definitely feels like right in the middle of the arc that I'm tracing in the book where it's kind of going from sort of morphing into this form of pop music.

And I feel like we've cycled back out of that to some extent. Like, I feel like you do, it's become a more underground phenomenon again. and not that's like every single indie band is underground because like obviously you had this huge geese thing last year and like Phoebe Bridgers is yeah right and Phoebe Bridgers is back and bigger than ever and like it's like not everything from the world of indie

is like separate from the world of pop or anything like that but I don't know it just feels like sort of a lot of the infrastructure around indie is not what it used to be. And so it kind of almost by default has had to become more of an underground thing again. And now whether that surge is back up again or whether it becomes something like jazz where it's like, you know, jazz never died, man. But it's like, okay, well, it's not really exactly part of the mainstream menu either. like it's very much a niche thing. So whether it stays niche or whether it, you know,

kind of has another cycle of mainstream adoption remains to be seen. But it's also like nobody even really knows what indie even means anymore because it's like you got somber who is very obviously a pop star coming out and saying like, yeah, I make indie music. Yeah, that guy. That guy is not. That's the least indie looking guy I have ever seen in my entire life. I just I just will not accept.

that. I don't want to be a gatekeeper, but that's absurd, honestly. I wanted to talk to you about Up Against the Wall, which is definitely my favorite song of Arizona Riders Block. You talk about the momentum, the emotion, the euphoria of this song. This is a song, it's like seven minutes long, and I wish it were 45 minutes long. Like, what clicks for this band as a whole on this album and on this song in particular? Yeah. That is maybe my favorite. as well. All right. Good.

It is, I mean, like, there's a lot of contenders for favorite on this album, to be honest. I think that song, what's so awesome about it is the song has this really, like, profound emotional core to it on one hand. It's like there's a lot of, you can hear the passion in it, but it's also this kind of fine-tuned machine also. It's like you got. ingredients coming in and out, like different guitar parts. You have one guitar part and it disappears and then a different guitar part and then eventually they're both in there.

And it almost is like an LCD sound system song or something. Yeah, totally, totally. Moving parts coming in and out. And so, yeah, I don't know. It's this sort of technical marvel, but the technical side of it doesn't obscure. the sort of emotional core of it. And so just the way that they're able to build that up so masterfully over the course of what, like seven minutes, it's just incredibly well done.

And it shows how much range they have because it is nothing like young folks. Like it's so far from kind of the lighthearted whimsy of young folks. Yeah. The object to my affection, like the first real song is another one that I really love, which I was curious. I'm curious how you feel about this record and its relationship to nostalgia. Like, I never really looked at the lyrics to the objects of my affection really closely. But, like, and the question is, am I more alive than than I am now, you know?

But then they decide that they're happier and they're freer, and they're more themselves now as like 30-somethings than they were as 20-somethings. Like, does listening to this album now make you look primarily, like, backward or forward? Yeah. I mean, I feel like it has to be backward, right? Like, it just, it feels so, so much like a relic of its era. Like, it feels so locked to its time. But revisiting that song, you know, 20 years after first hearing it, it definitely is cause for

contemplation, you know, like, you hear those lyrics. And inevitably, you start thinking about. the same question for yourself. Like, am I more alive now here in my 40s than I was in my 20s? 40s is different. 30s versus 20s, there's an argument. I don't feel more alive now, Chris. I'm just going to level with you.

I feel alive, but just in a different way. Yeah. Yeah. Well, I mean, that's hopefully the next book, honestly, is talking about being a washed dad in the context of indie rock. Yeah, totally. But yeah, I don't know. I think it's, if anything, that lyric makes you start to think about, like, okay, well, like, what, you know, where do I stand now?

And, like, you know, where am I headed? So there is a forward thinking aspect to it. So I think that's a very thoughtful question from you. But definitely at least on immediate impact, it's like, oh, damn, like, I'm spiraling, into the past right now. Right. I'm back at the Williamsburg Waterfront or wherever. You didn't have to be there. It's fine. It's you could have just read about it. It's the same thing. Yeah, I feel like I was there from all of the like, you know, so much, so many histories of the Williamsburg Waterfront. But we tried to make it a thing. We tried to get FOMO going for the rest of the country. It was just,

it was a PSAOP, just like geese. The Williamsburg Waterfront pool parties were a siop in a way. very famously both Kanye West and Drake jumped on a Peter Bjorda John song like in a remix or a sample like and this is around 2006 like this is these guys are a little different than Drake and Kanye than they are now but like what made this band's music so attractive you know to some of the biggest you know coolest rappers at the time

are they just jumping on whatever seems cool with Indy or is there some quality to this music that like makes Drake you know, just have to get involved? I don't think that, oh, Drake is an interesting one because, like, he had Leaky Lee on his mixtape too. And so it's like he's kind of double-dipping on the Swedish thing. But like, to me, Kanye, I mean, so it kind of comes back to Kanye is this sort of ultimate

hipster character. and like, you know, like some of the avatars of hipsterdom from the 2000s, like, you know, vice guy who's proud boys guy now or whatever. Like, he's obviously gone on a journey. But at the time, it's like hip hop, I feel like was kind of remade in Kanye's image. You had the famous sort of Kanye versus 50 Cent sales battle and all that. It was like the passing of the torch or something. and so you had a lot of rappers, like blog rappers that were coming up kind of in Kanye's image,

and Drake was one of them, certainly. But you got like Kid Cuddy, you got Childish Gambino, you got all these rappers that are getting popular on the blogs, like the rap blogs, who are jumping on indie songs. Because I think there's a lot of spillover between. the indie blogs and the rap blogs in terms of readership. But I think it, you know, it traces back to Kanye. Like he's, he was always trying to have like the cool avant-garde thing. Not that I don't think anybody would call Peter Bjorn and John avant-garde, but like sort of like,

they were Swedish. Whatever you write, right, exactly. Like the, the buzzy new thing, you know, he's putting daft punk in his songs. and all that stuff. So, yeah, I think it had to do with, like, it wasn't necessarily specific to Peter Bjorn and John. It happened that they ended up on both of those guys' albums. But you have, like, people sampling Grizzly Bear,

people sampling NGMT, and it's like that was kind of the wave there for a minute. And so I guess kind of Peter Bjorn and John were caught up. in that wave, but they actually performed on stage with Kanye, right? They did. They did. I think in Europe somewhere, like Kanye made fun of them for not being able to whistle. I think there was a whistling issue.

I think they really, I think that Peter Bjorn and John really had to work to whistle live, you know, to do young folks justice. And Kanye was clowning their inability to whistle on stage. So they had a rapport of sorts live, I guess. Yeah. Okay, cool. I've never seen the footage. I need to load it up. Yeah, you can go find that on Gorilla versus Bear or something. Maybe, that's presumably. Even after everything we've said, like, why did young folks specifically blow up this huge, right?

Like, it's just so far ahead of anything else that Peter Bjorn and John have done. There was a lot of music that sounded like this in 2006, but like this one song, as you say, sort of broke out in terms of being everywhere you looked in terms of standing in, you know, for this era of indie. Like, what is it about this song? Is it just the whistling or what makes this song the one everyone gravitated toward? I really think it is the whistling. Like, now, I'm not saying I think that the song is like being propped up by the whistling

or something. Like, I think it's an excellent song. I think every part of the song works. It's like, you know, the interplay between the guy and the girl vocals. And like, even the, you know, certainly a drumbeat is like, you know, it's really got to skip and its step. The bongos that they bring in, like, it's like so much. There are so many cool things happening on the song and it's got this kind of dreamy romantic quality to it. and it really, even though it says we don't care about the young folks and we don't care about the old folks, it's like there is a usefulness to it.

But I think that the whistling, that's like, that's what sets the song apart. That's what draws you in. That's part of what makes it seem probably more twee than it would otherwise also. So, yeah, I think without the whistling, it's like what even is the song without the whistling? even though I think I just made the argument that it has all these great ingredients going into a unified hole, but it's like you take away the whistling and I think it's a far lesser song and it certainly doesn't grab people's attention like it did. Yeah.

And the other thing that was interesting to me is in interviews Peter Björne and Jod have made clear. Like I said that like they were they were going to break up if this album wasn't a success. Like this song, this one song is like a career. making song. They have like nine albums now. They like they tour all the time, but they don't necessarily love playing young folks live and it sort of bums them out, you know, when they get the sense that like a crowd just wants to hear young folks, right? Like, do you believe in the idea of a fluky kind of hit song as like an albatross or at least a mild annoyance to a band? And does young folks sort of qualify as that kind of song for Peter Bjorn and John?

well i mean like i'm a radio head fanboy so like i'm very experienced with like the idea of a band uh that that disdains their their breakthrough hit i mean they they're kind of they're a certainly different case where they ended up far more acclaimed and nobody really gets too mad that they don't play creep anymore. But yeah, I mean, I think I think I understand it from a band's perspective where it's like we wrote all these other great songs

and like, why doesn't anybody care about that? Like, I think that that I can see why it would bother them, but at the same time, like, I feel like I've read some band interviews with people who have like the one-off hit and they're just like, I'm just grateful.

Like, I'm grateful that people are excited to hear something that I did. So I think that, like, if you have a level of humility about it, like, it can be fun instead of being an albatross. But, you know, I guess I think they were happy that I said in the article that the rest of the album was good, too. Like they're on Instagram, they were jumping in my comments being like, thank you. It was kind of weird because I felt like I'm also saying that your album is like the sound of indigentrification. So like it was kind of surprised. You did say that. Right.

Yeah. I was surprised that they were so like uniformly like positive in their response to the piece. Right. It was like it didn't feel like I felt like I was kind of heaping praise on them while also. being like, but there's this kind of like context that I can't escape that like haunts me while to listen to it. So yeah, I don't know. I think that they were happy

just that somebody was acknowledging that the rest of the album is really good. Because like 10, we did this 10 years ago, like when it turned 10 and I wrote an article that was just about young folks specifically because of my thought at the time was like, I don't know if anybody remembers this album, but they remember. remember the song undoubtedly. And so another 10 years went by and I was like, man, this album is too good for me to

not write something about it. Yeah. I really love the idea that you're bros now with Peter Bjorn and John. I really do think that you guys would get a lot. I think you made clear that the indie gentrification was not their faults, that it was sort of an inadvertent byproduct, but like they made a great record and they can't help it. You guys should hang out. You guys should totally hang out.

I think you would really- You know, if they want to find me to Sweden, I'm down. There we go. Yes. I've never been to Scandinavia, so let's make it happen. Let's hope they're listening. Thank you so much for this, Chris. It's wonderful. Thanks for having me on, Rob.

Thanks very much for our guest this week, Chris DeVille. Thanks to our producers, Chris Sutton, Justin Sales, Juliana Rest and Olivia Creary, animations and graphics by Chris Calliton. Special thanks to Cole Cuchner. And thanks to you. for listening. And now let's all go listen to young folks by Peter, Bjorn, and John. We'll see you next week.