Twelve years of heartbreak, saxophones and unexpected Christmas favourites inform our ranking of the 25 best Bleachers songs.

I was 22, scrolling through YouTube late at night, when ‘Rollercoaster’ started playing, and I stopped scrolling. Back then, I was dealing with grief and an unhealthy amount of self-hatred, and here was Jack Antonoff making music that sounded euphoric while he sang about things that were anything but. I didn’t want to listen to sad music, but I wanted something that understood why I was sad. Bleachers somehow managed both, and I was hooked.

I’ve always thought Bleachers sounded like the ending of a John Hughes movie. His films were a huge part of my teenage years, and even now, whenever I’m feeling particularly miserable, there’s a good chance I’ll put one on. There’s something comforting about those enormous teenage emotions, the ridiculous romantic gestures, and the idea that everything might eventually turn out alright. Bleachers give me much the same feeling, with their ’80s synths and big choruses. I suppose I’m still a sucker for a big dramatic ending, even if real life has considerably less convincing choreography.

Across five albums and twelve years, the band have moved well beyond the synth-heavy sound that first caught my attention. Saxophones and a looser, more live-band approach have become increasingly prominent, as has Antonoff’s love of Bruce Springsteen. I’ve grown up with these songs, too, and my relationship with them has changed over time. They also reveal a side of me that most people don’t get to see, which probably explains why narrowing their catalogue down to 25 songs has been such a nightmare.

Despite all that, I’ve somehow never seen them live. That changes next month when I head to Glasgow, so consider this my rather enthusiastic preparation. Some of these choices are obvious, others might be controversial, and yes, a Christmas song made my top five. I have my reasons.

25) Chinatown (feat. Bruce Springsteen)

Jack Antonoff getting Bruce Springsteen on a Bleachers song feels almost too obvious, but I don’t care. It’s bloody brilliant. Their voices shouldn’t fit together quite as well as they do: Antonoff sounds restless and eager, while Springsteen brings that unmistakable gravelly warmth. By the time Bruce joins the chorus, the whole thing feels less like a celebrity cameo than two people sharing the front seat. It makes me want to get in a car and go somewhere, preferably with somebody I fancy. Subtle? Not remotely. Would I change a thing? Never.

24) Shadow

I cried when ‘Shadow’ turned up in ‘the van’ on everyone for ten minutes. Not because I was sad, but because I wasn’t expecting to hear an old friend in the middle of a new Bleachers record. I’d been carrying that song around since Strange Desire, and there it was again. The beat has always kept it bright, even though the lyrics are about the difficult business of letting someone see the parts of you you’d rather hide. Hearing it return after all these years made me realise just how much history I’d attached to it. Apparently, I’m sentimental about surprise appearances from songs now.

23) All My Heroes

One of the stranger things about working as a music journalist is that the people you’ve admired for years can suddenly become people you’re interviewing, photographing or standing next to backstage. It’s an extraordinary privilege, but ‘All My Heroes’ reminds me why I’m quite happy not to meet every single one of mine. The song understands that growing older means discovering your heroes are human, and humans can be disappointing. I’d rather keep some of that magic intact than find out the person whose music got me through a terrible year is actually a complete arsehole. Some heroes are perfectly wonderful from a distance.

22) Foreign Girls

By the time Gone Now reaches ‘Foreign Girls’, it’s already put you through quite enough, and then Antonoff leaves you with a peculiar thought: would love be easier if the person you were with couldn’t understand a word you said? It’s romantic for about three seconds before you start wondering what, exactly, you’d be trying to avoid telling them. I love that the song sounds tentative rather than triumphant, as though he’s still working through the idea himself. It’s an odd way to close an album full of big feelings, but I’d rather be left with an uncomfortable question than a neat answer.

21) Secret Life (feat. Lana Del Rey)

Jack Antonoff and Lana Del Rey on the same song? Naturally, I expected drama. Instead, ‘Secret Life’ is so understated that Lana almost sneaks past you, her voice blending into the background rather than demanding the spotlight. I love that choice, especially from two people who certainly know how to make a song sound enormous. And the modesty suits the subject: wanting a life with somebody that doesn’t need to be exciting for anyone else. No cinematic declarations, no grand adventure. Sometimes you just want to be bored together. Who knew Antonoff and Lana Del Rey could make domestic boredom sound so appealing?

20) 45

Bruce Springsteen understandably got most of the attention when ‘Chinatown’ came out, but ‘45’ is the song I return to when I want to sit with my thoughts. The acoustic guitar leaves Antonoff sounding unusually close, which suits a song that makes me think about all the different versions of ourselves we leave behind. People who’ve met me recently wouldn’t recognise the 22-year-old who first discovered Bleachers, and some people from back then probably wouldn’t know what to make of me now. Nobody gets the complete history of another person. ‘45’ doesn’t try to make that reassuring or tragic. It just lets the thought sit there.

19) Goodmorning

I’ve played ‘Goodmorning’ on my way out of the house so many times that it’s become part of the routine, which is an odd choice if you’re looking for a wholesome start to the day. The lyrics are full of regret, and the recording sounds as though somebody tipped a studio upside down and forgot to put everything back. On headphones, voices pop up in unexpected places while little noises interrupt each other before you can work out where they’re coming from. Somehow, all that disorder puts me in a better mood. Other people have coffee. I apparently need Antonoff’s musical hangover.

18) take you out tonight

On ‘take you out tonight’, there’s a moment where someone asks a friend how he’s doing, only for the friend to respond by showing his monthly listeners. Jesus Christ, I felt that. I work in music. I’ve seen that conversation in about a hundred different disguises.

We spend so much time measuring things. Streams, followers, engagement, readership. Before long, it becomes difficult to separate someone’s actual work from the numbers attached to it, and then you start doing it to yourself, which is even worse. It’s a tiny exchange, but it says more about the industry than a lecture on streaming statistics ever could.

17) Jesus Is Dead

‘Jesus Is Dead’ has a properly scrappy attitude, and I love how little interest it has in being polite. The snappy delivery and insistent rhythm make Antonoff sound impatient, as though he’s had enough of thinking things through and would quite like to shout instead. On an album that often gives its songs plenty of room to unfold, that burst of irritation is refreshing. Not every Bleachers song needs to be thoughtful. Some need to barge through the door shouting.

16) I Am Right On Time

‘I Am Right On Time’ was the first sign that the self-titled record wasn’t going to spend its time chasing the sound of Strange Desire. Rather than opening with a synth line that grabs you by the collar, it settles into the instruments and lets the band find their footing together. I remember hearing it and realising that Antonoff sounded comfortable allowing a song to take its time. There’s a confidence in opening an album that way, especially when you’ve already written some of the most immediate choruses of the past decade. Bleachers weren’t trying to be 2014 Bleachers again, and thank God for that.

15) I Wanna Get Better

If somebody has never heard Bleachers, ‘I Wanna Get Better’ is an obvious place to start. That chorus is an absolute belter, but the desperation in the verses is what makes it hit. Antonoff piles grief, guilt and self-recrimination into the song until singing the title feels less like a celebration than a necessary outburst. And that’s the bit I love: he wants to get better. He’s not claiming to have figured anything out. That distinction mattered to me when I first found this band, and it still does. Sometimes admitting you want things to change is as far as you’ve managed to get.

14) Let’s Get Married

‘Sit down, breathe, and just listen.’ I’ve sung that line from ‘Let’s Get Married’ to myself during anxious moments more times than I’d care to count. Something about the melody settles me almost immediately, which is quite a trick for a song with this much nervous energy. Maybe I’ve listened to it so often that my brain has simply decided those words are instructions. Either way, it works. I also adore how wholeheartedly Antonoff throws himself into the promise at the centre of the song. There’s no pretending to be too cool for love, just someone wanting to make a life with another person. Give me that over cool any day.

13) Hate That You Know Me

Carly Rae Jepsen turning up on ‘Hate That You Know Me’ is such a good idea that I wish she’d been given even more to do. Her voice slips beautifully into the chorus, and before I know it, I’m dancing around the kitchen. A perfectly legitimate measure of musical success, if you ask me. It’s especially funny considering the song is about one of the less charming aspects of being close to somebody. We all want to be loved and understood, but when someone knows you well enough to spot when you’re being an idiot, that’s lovely in theory and bloody irritating in practice.

12) Modern Girl

Sometimes I don’t need Bleachers to explain the complexities of human existence. Sometimes I want them to let the saxophones loose and make a glorious amount of noise. ‘Modern Girl’ understands the assignment. Those horns have all the restraint of a marching band arriving uninvited at breakfast, and the whole performance sounds like a room full of musicians egging one another on. It’s old-fashioned, a little ridiculous and utterly committed to having a good time. I hope they play it in Glasgow. I want to find out what that racket sounds like when I’m standing in the middle of it.

11) I Miss Those Days

I spent a good portion of my twenties wishing I could fast-forward through them, so it’s frankly rude that ‘I Miss Those Days’ can make me nostalgic for the very years I was desperate to escape. That’s what I love about it. The backing voices turn the chorus into something communal, as though everyone in the room is remembering a different night, a different person, a different version of themselves. Nobody has to agree that the past was wonderful for the song to work. I miss bits of being 22. Would I actually go back? Not a bloody chance.

10) How Dare You Want More

‘How Dare You Want More’ sounds as though Bleachers have invited Bruce Springsteen’s entire neighbourhood round for a singalong. The horns are brassy, the vocals gloriously ragged, and I can only imagine what a riot it must be live. But beneath all that noise is a question I’ve had to ask myself more than once: why do we feel guilty for wanting something better? Not necessarily more money or more things, just the chance to do something we’re proud of or stop settling for what isn’t working. I’ve spent years encouraging other people to go after what they want while being terrible at following my own advice. Perhaps I ought to listen to this one a little more carefully.

9) 91

‘91’ is a strange way to open Take the Sadness Out of Saturday Night, and that’s exactly why it stays with me. Antonoff places ordinary details of home alongside images of war on television, without stopping to tell us how we’re supposed to feel about either. The quiet arrangement leaves those images uncomfortably close together. Life goes on in one room while something awful happens somewhere else, and the song refuses to smooth over that distance. For a band capable of making almost anything sound like a communal celebration, that restraint is striking.

8) Wild Heart

I’ll admit something slightly embarrassing: I didn’t like ‘Wild Heart’ when I first heard it. I know. What the hell was wrong with me? Now I can’t imagine a better way to open Strange Desire. The drums sound like they were recorded in a school gym, the synths are all over the place, and Antonoff sings with the urgency of someone who has just realised he might be in love and is handling it terribly. It introduces the band’s entire emotional vocabulary before you’ve had time to settle into your seat. Maybe I wasn’t ready for something quite so unguarded at 22. Whatever the reason, I was spectacularly wrong.

7) Don’t Go Dark

The live version of ‘Don’t Go Dark’ is dangerously close to becoming my permanent karaoke choice. I love the studio recording, but onstage the band give it room to get rough around the edges, and Antonoff sounds as though he means every last word. That matters to me because the song brings back a time when I confused being loyal to somebody with accepting things I really shouldn’t have. It’s not a particularly comfortable memory, but there’s something satisfying about singing along to it now, preferably far too loudly.

6) Call Me After Midnight

Good grief, this song is sexy. Bleachers don’t often get this slinky, but between the Strange Desire-era synths, that irresistible groove and Antonoff’s vocal delivery, ‘Call Me After Midnight’ has me completely sold. There’s something wonderfully sleazy about the whole arrangement, which suits a song about being somebody’s after-hours option rather than their first choice. It’s not exactly romantic, but God, it sounds good. And that saxophone solo? Absolutely filthy.

5) upstairs at els

I wasn’t gentle with everyone for ten minutes when I reviewed it. Too often, the production seemed to get between me and the songwriting, but ‘upstairs at els’ nearly made me forgive the whole thing. There’s something lovely about ending a record with a finished song, a summer evening and friends meeting on a rooftop. No grand revelation, no desperate attempt to make the moment mean more than it does. Just the pleasure of being with people you love. And the older I get, the more I appreciate how important that is.

4) Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call

Yes, really. A Christmas song at number four, and I stand by every inch of it. ‘Merry Christmas, Please Don’t Call’ has become my favourite Christmas song, which is quite an achievement considering how much I love Christmas. The sleigh bells are a stroke of genius. They’re practically a promise of festive goodwill, except Antonoff uses them to soundtrack the exact opposite. Christmas comes with this strange expectation that everyone should forgive, reconnect and pretend December somehow erases eleven months of bad behaviour. Sometimes there’s a very good reason someone isn’t invited back into your life, and frankly, it’s refreshing to hear a Christmas song that doesn’t insist otherwise. More of this, please.

3) Rollercoaster

The opening of ‘Rollercoaster’ still gets me. That synth melody arrives before you’ve had a chance to prepare yourself, the drums sound jittery, and Antonoff goes straight for the kind of chorus you want to sing with the windows down. It’s the song that started all of this, and the remarkable thing is that it hasn’t become a museum piece in my head. Plenty of records I loved back then have lost their shine. This one still makes me reach for the volume before I’ve even thought about it.

2) Self Respect

‘Self Respect’ has been one of my favourites since the self-titled album arrived, and the title alone probably tells you something about why. I spent far too many of my younger years worrying about other people’s approval. Antonoff sounds thoroughly fed up with behaving himself here, with clipped vocal lines playing against bright synths and a saxophone that refuses to sit quietly in the background. It’s a fitting sound for a song that makes me think about taking back a bit of control. And that bridge? I’d happily rewind the whole thing just to hear it again.

1) Don’t Take the Money

Was there ever really going to be another number one? Absolutely not. ‘Don’t Take the Money’ is Bleachers at their best, and I don’t think Antonoff has written a better chorus. That opening synth line hooks me before he’s even started singing, and by the time the chorus arrives, whatever I was doing can wait. Lorde’s contribution is the icing on an already magnificent cake. It’s a song about holding on to what matters when everything else threatens to get in the way, and twelve years into loving this band, I still haven’t found anything in their catalogue that tops it.

At 22, ‘Rollercoaster’ made me fall in love with Bleachers. At 34, ‘Don’t Take the Money’ reminds me exactly why. Turn it up.

The 25 Best Songs By Bleachers, Ranked