Things are great. That’s the title of Band of Horses’ latest album, but Ben Bridwell isn’t exactly selling it like a motivational poster. “The record that almost killed me,” he calls it. And he’s not joking. “It wasn’t just the record trying to kill me—it was my life.” Divorce, broke, label-less, manager-less, tour-less, pandemic-stranded. You’d think he’d have thrown in the towel—or at least the horseshoe.
“I have a horseshoe tournament trophy from playing with my uncle and cousins,” Bridwell says, chuckling. “That’s the one I care about. Not the billion streams. Not the music trophies. That’s my real prize.”
Still, a billion streams ain’t nothing, and neither is crawling out from under the rubble of a life imploding to deliver one of the most honest records of his career. Bridwell has always dabbled in poetic vagueness—more R.E.M. than reality TV—but this time he couldn’t hide behind metaphors. “I wasn’t being honest with myself,” he admits. “So I went back, wrote new songs, dirtied up the production, and let the warts show.”
The result is a breakup album that feels more like therapy with guitars. “It’s eggshell walking,” Bridwell says, knowing his kids are old enough to decode the lyrics, and his ex isn’t exactly living under a rock. “It’s all out there now. But there’s something liberating about telling your story honestly, even if it’s messy.”
Messy, but not without humor. The album ends with “Coalinga,” a love letter to a Californian cow-fart hellscape that reeks so bad it’ll haunt your soul. “It’s 10 to 15 minutes of absolute torture,” Bridwell laughs. “All your orifices getting bombed by the sarin gas of cow fart. And you can’t drive fast enough to escape it because it’s a speed trap too.” Perfect place to end a record that drags you through the muck and still manages a wink on the way out.
But it wasn’t all doom, gloom, and bovine clouds. Bridwell rediscovered the joy of being a fanboy, cranking out over 120 covers during the pandemic. “Morrissey, The Smiths, The Lemonheads, Matthew Sweet… we just started recording them instead of writing,” he says. “I couldn’t write much anyway. I was miserable. Pathetic, really.”
He’s sitting on a treasure trove: scrapped albums, live recordings (including a shelved Ryman show), and enough covers to fill a jukebox. Will they ever see the light of day? “I’ve been threatening to release an EP called Things Aren’t Great,” he jokes. “They didn’t make the record, so… yeah.”
Still, Bridwell’s not rushing it. “I know how foolish it is to want to release everything at once,” he says, half-smiling. “But I’ve got so much stuff, man.”
For now, he’s back on the road with Band of Horses, opening for the Black Keys. No soundcheck, no frills, just throw your gear on stage, play, and get out of the way. “I’m really looking forward to that,” he says. “And all the days off—we’ll be in parking lots playing bocce ball and cornhole.”
And then Europe. Maybe. If the world doesn’t collapse again. “Tensions are rising like hell over there,” Bridwell notes, eyes wide but weary.
Through it all, Bridwell’s managed to hold on to a strange sort of optimism—one that smells faintly of cow gas and hard-won humility. Things are great? Maybe not. But things are real. And that’s more than enough.
Watch the interview above and then check out the videos below.
