There's No Need to Bring Your Childhood Bedroom on Tour, Jack Antonoff

Bedrooms belong in houses.

By Shawn Cooke May 18, 2017
(Photo by Nicholas Hunt/Getty Images)
(Photo by Nicholas Hunt/Getty Images)

We all fight the inexorable march of death differently—whether it's cosmetic surgery, training for a marathon, or rehashing every formative moment from our past. But Jack Antonoff, the 33-year-old super-producer and member of the now-dormant Fun, is ready to stop reliving his youth—he's just going about it in one of the most obnoxious ways you could imagine.

On June 2, he's set to release a new album of '80s-tinged pop as Bleachers. No stunner there, right? Well, to double down on the nostalgia purge, he's announced that he's transplanted his entire childhood bedroom into a trailer ("Every inch of it. Every wall, the rug, my bed, every poster and sticker") for fans to see on his upcoming tour. Apparently, if you're a Bleachers fan who wants to see how the sausage gets made, this is the best place to do it: "Every lyric and note I have ever written has come from the room I grew up in," he writes.

Maybe one day, when Jack Antonoff is inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame alongside Meghan Trainor and the Cash Me Ousside girl, there'll be millions of fans pining for a look inside his childhood bedroom. But for now, it feels like one of the most self-important and downright extra art installations in recent memory.

He explains further:

it's a bit literal but the only way i was going to fully move on and live what i'm trying to live on gone now was to remove this room and freeze it. it speaks to how badly i want to enter the next phase of my life and how impossible it is for me to let go of what's gone. cause with what's gone are people ... this room has seen it all as far as my life goes.

Some of my favorite music hearkens to a simpler time and confronts the loss of innocence as you brace for adulthood. It's an uncomfortable period, and artists will mine emotion from that specific transition for decades to come. But I don't need to see the posters, the records, or a thirty-something's rustled bedsheets to remember what it felt like.