Susanna Hoffs has been living with a secret. Not a skeleton-in-the-closet, TMZ-breaking kind of secret, but something that feels even more rebellious in the music world: she’s been sitting on a damn good album for over two decades. Recorded in 1999 and left to marinate in the shadows of her garage, The Lost Record is finally here, and it’s got more hooks than a vintage coat rack.
It’s hard to believe anyone could keep something this cool under wraps for so long. But Hoffs, ever the underdog hero of power-pop, has her reasons. “I don’t know what happened, but the whole thing just stalled out,” she says. “I think The Bangles wanted to get back together at one point, and I just parked all that music. It was like, ‘Okay, I’ll come back to this later.’” And when she drops a phrase like “The bird has flown”—with a sly smile and a knowing glint—you get the feeling she’s been waiting for just the right moment to set this one free.
Back in the late 90s, things were a little messy. Nirvana had kicked the door open for a generation of plaid-clad nihilists, and Hoffs—who spent the 80s at the top of the charts with The Bangles—was looking for a reset button. “The 90s had this whole different energy,” she recalls. “Nirvana, grunge… it was like a palate cleanser after the slickness of the 80s. That rawness really spoke to me.”
She found her reset in a garage, the same place where The Bangles were born, jamming with a crew that included Bill Bottrell and Dan Schwartz. These were the same minds behind Sheryl Crow’s Tuesday Night Music Club, a record that defined the I’m-too-cool-for-your-bullshit ethos of the mid-90s. “It felt like we were just jamming out and seeing what would happen,” Hoffs says. “That kind of spontaneity is hard to replicate. It’s where some of the best songs come from.”
The vibe was loose. Spontaneous. A kind of musical improv with amps turned up and expectations turned off. “We were writing together on the spot,” she explains. “It was like improv—nobody knew what was going to happen, and that was the fun of it. We’d just throw ideas out and see what stuck.”
And holy hell, the songs did come. From the swirling psychedelia of “Under a Cloud” to the bittersweet ache of “Who Will She Be”, this is music that sounds like it rolled out of bed with perfect hair and smudged eyeliner. It’s raw in all the right ways, with Hoffs’ voice slicing through the guitars like a blade wrapped in velvet. “I love this version of ‘Under a Cloud,’” she says. “It’s the closest to what I was feeling at the time. There’s something so honest about those first takes.”
But just as the album was ready to make its grand entrance, life had other plans. The Bangles reunited. Babies were born. Y2K came and went without the apocalypse, and The Lost Record got parked in the garage next to the Christmas decorations and old tour posters. “It just stopped,” she shrugs. “And I can’t even remember why. Maybe it was just timing. Maybe the universe knew it needed to wait.”
Fast-forward 25 years, and the songs have aged like fine whiskey—smoother, sharper, with a kick that sneaks up on you. Listening now, you can’t help but wonder if Hoffs was sitting on a hit record. “I think Nirvana really made an impact on me,” she admits. “That whole grunge sound was so different from the slick production of the 80s. It felt like a reset.”
Even with the rougher edges, the signature 60s shimmer is there. You can hear it in “Under a Cloud”, a track that wouldn’t sound out of place next to Semisonic or The Wallflowers on a 90s alt-rock mixtape. Hoffs doesn’t hide her love for the era. “The garage has always been a part of my life,” she says. “It’s raw, it’s real. It’s where so many great things begin.”
This isn’t just a nostalgia trip, though. The Lost Record feels like a conversation between past and present—Hoffs’ unmistakable voice asking questions that still echo today. On “Who Will She Be”, she sings with a vulnerability that hits like a gut punch. “I think that was the question I was asking myself,” she admits. “What happens now? Who am I going to be in this new phase of my life and career?”
Turns out, what happens now is that Susanna Hoffs reclaims her crown. She’s not just a queen of 80s pop or the master of a killer cover song (though, let’s be real, her version of “Manic Monday” still slaps). She’s an artist who’s never stopped creating, even if it took a minute for the world to catch up.
And if The Lost Record is just the tip of the iceberg, buckle up. There are vaults to be explored, cassettes to be dug out, and maybe—just maybe—another garage session waiting to happen. “I’ve kept a careful archive,” she reveals. “There’s so much stuff I want to go through. Letters, demos, all kinds of things. Someday I’ll start sharing more of it.”
For now, though, the bird has flown. And damn, it’s good to see her soaring.
Watch the interview above and then check out the video below.
