When she was touring with boygenius, she says, the band was often on their bus and in pajamas by 11:30 p.m., watching the Eddie Murphy movie Norbit. to start off her days with a walk (“It's just clearing your head”). She doesn't drink (“I think I'm straight up allergic to alcohol”), despises weed (“I hate weed”), hasn't eaten processed sugar in two years (“I haven't been on antibiotics since”), and wakes up at 6:30 a.m. I was like, I don't want to lose control.” As far as musicians go, her lifestyle is pretty tame as far as 25-year-olds go too. “I wasn't square necessarily,” Bridgers explains. Dad was a scenic carpenter who, she says, was abusive and had a “drug thing,” and Bridgers didn't have her first drink until she was 19. Her mom, with whom she's especially close, was a housewife who worked a variety of odd jobs and nowadays does stand-up comedy. But in the sweet version, it's like, Oh, my God, you know, my fucking car just got hit by a bus.”īridgers was born and raised in Pasadena, not far from where we are today. “In the worst version of it, it's trauma, connecting over something fucked-up that happened. “I feel like that's the easiest way to connect with people,” she explains. Her new work will touch on her favored themes of death and relationships, as well as “sour friendships and family shit.” At one point she mentions that she loves getting her tarot read. “Maybe I'm overwhelmed, but not depressed.” Mostly she's itching to play more than the same 10 or so songs over and over again at shows. “I don't think that's true this time,” she says, curled up on an emerald velvet couch. Four musicians and two dogs-a blue heeler named Billie and an Australian shepherd named Forty-reside there, and visitors drift in and out all day long.ĭeep into her second album, Bridgers is actively trying to have more fun with the process- Stranger, she tells me, was written after a bout of depression. Jumpsuit, by Diane Von Furstenburg / Shoes, by Zaraīridgers lives alone in a tiny Silver Lake apartment but is constantly over at Vore's place, which feels like the millennial version of a late-'60s Laurel Canyon dwelling. Prenups up the wazoo, but…” This dissonance between Bridgers's devastating songs-which include lyrics like I hope you kiss my rotten head and pull the plug-and her goofy in-person exuberance is so striking that I ask her to tell me which feels more like her true self. I'm marrying everybody I fall in love with. But I also think it's badass when women are like, Yeah, well, my third husband is… I think it's kind of romantic, and it means you do what feels right. “Understandable with a dysfunctional family.

“I hate the idea of a wedding so fucking much,” Bridgers says.

While her music reveals aspects of her personal life in the most crushing manner possible, she discloses them with far more buoyancy during conversation. She speaks in a rapid spill of words that's tempered by the dudes and rads of her native-Californian lilt. When I first encounter Bridgers in the kitchen of her collaborator and close friend Marshall Vore, her middle-parted platinum hair and soaring cheekbones make her look like an apparition from beyond the veil who can tell me exactly when I'm going to die.

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