The Drums’ Jonny Pierce is brand new

You’ve heard the Drums, but never quite like this before. After a few years of stillness — an introspective cocoon that the band’s frontman Jonny Pierce willingly fell into — he now reemerges as invigorated as ever. But the self-actualization and sometimes painfully brutal honesty that shines through on the band’s new album, Jonny, did not coalesce without the confrontation of less fuzzy, comforting feelings as well.

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Pierce began the indie-pop band in 2008 with childhood friend Jacob Graham and has experienced multiple metamorphoses since then. As a child, he experienced a turbulent, dejected upbringing that molded him into a less exuberant, more jaded version of the Jonny he used to know. In the midst of learning to reconcile the many shattered, mismatched pieces at war inside of himself, Pierce looked within, and the music poured out. By learning to honor and nurture his past self, he was brought closer to clarity in the now. 

We spoke about processing trauma as a result of the project, the nonlinear path toward healing, and his new perspective on performing — and life as a whole.

The Drums’ journey began in 2008, and over the years, you experienced many evolutions. This year, you released your first single in a few years. Why did this feel like the right time to return to your passion and release a new project?

This whole process happened pretty organically. I had been a couple of years deep into self-exploration and introducing myself to that idea. I started going to therapy, and a big part of that was this novel idea of being kind and gentle and sweet to myself. It didn't take too long to realize that that's not how I've been living at all. In 2020, I came up to this small cabin in upstate New York, and I spent about a year in almost total isolation there. I realized that this was the first time that I had really stopped. I had a very traumatic and hard childhood, and I didn’t know what it was to be loved or to feel safe.

When I started the Drums and I was on tour — it was just this go, go, go lifestyle. Upstate, I started seeing parts of myself emerge that I had never seen before. Some of them were really easy to love and beautiful. And other parts of them were a little more tricky or scary. But after a while, I broke through into this really sweet space where I actually fell in love with the stillness and the calm. From then, I made a decision to not make music — at least not for the sake of making an album. I felt that if I was gonna make music, that I was gonna just make music when it felt like it was time to do it. 

I think part of the difficulty I had in seeing it as a whole body of work was that there's this song about unbridled joy. And then there's this song about feeling hopeless about love. But I realized that all of these different parts, while they don't all perfectly get along, they're all so human. It is the human experience to be full of conflict. It really felt like it represented me. That's why I called the album Jonny.

You shared the fact that therapy and self-realization led you to new epiphanies in the studio as well. How did you approach songwriting in a novel way for the new album? 

I didn't even know I was approaching the actual sitting down and recording process in a different way. I was letting myself rest for up to a few months, sometimes between recordings. I think because I was in tune with that while I was recording, I can see those moments of rest — I can hear them in the album. In the past, there was this formula, and I think I got less formulaic on this album because my life became less formulaic.

There's a song called “Be Gentle,” which is about exactly what we're talking about. At the end of that song, there's a musical outro — and I almost never do instrumental pieces. So there's these moments where that restfulness occurs in the music. And maybe, subconsciously, I was also hoping that the listener would also be able to relax after listening. So I think that's the biggest change. The thing that has healed me is woven throughout the album. I didn’t know how to care for myself, so in a way, I didn't know how to care for my songs or my art. And now I can tend to my songs, almost like a garden. The whole thing feels more delicate and nurturing. My songs can be more secure in themselves, and they can relax a little bit. And within that security, there is strength.

You’ve mentioned that reverb is crucial to your sonic process — what other elements found their way into this album, and what are you excited for listeners to hear? 

Reverb. [Laughs.] I've had a love-hate with reverb because I'm always tempted to put it on everything. My music is so nostalgic in its essence, and I think reverb is like the memories of a note, right? And there's certainly a ton of it on the new album. The new album is about going back to younger versions of myself and talking with them and giving them a voice. Another element that is new and exciting for me is that there are songs that are really minimal, musically, and sonically. Sort of like the very first music that I ever made when I was a little boy. 

My birth father was the head of a big church in upstate New York. One of those big scary ones where people aren't very nice. So when I was young, I took a synthesizer from there, and I locked myself in my bedroom and learned the whole thing without a manual. But that music was never heard by the world. I think part of me going back and healing the younger versions of myself on this album was me going back and saying, “Hey, 13-year-old Jonny — surprise! You get to put one of your songs on the new the Drums album.” It was about giving that version of myself a lot of love. 

I know photographing the cover art for the album manifested some release for you, as well as those very difficult feelings that we touched on. How did that process as well as writing some of the more melancholy songs help you confront some of your traumas in a healthy way?

Well, I don't always confront trauma in a healthy way. Sometimes I confront it in a really funky way, and I guess it's about being OK with that and just trying my best. But these photos are quite tricky for me in themselves. I have to see this photo all the time because I'm in the center of album release week. And I don't think I've ever felt the same one time after the other. There are moments when I see the album cover and I feel proud. Then the next hour I'll see it again, and I don't even wanna look at it. I'm not in a solid place with them. But I think even that just furthers the point. It makes so much more sense to use this album art because of the conflicting emotions that come up when I'm engaged with it.

Even the reason I took those photos, I'm still not sure of. They're self-portraits taken with a timer on an old camera. I snuck into my childhood bedroom, and I just started disrobing when no one was home. I didn't really understand why. I took photos in every spot in the house where I could remember there was a traumatic thing that had happened to me. The story I wanted to tell myself was that I was reclaiming my power in that space, like a righteous rebellion. But what's emerged more recently is a little darker for me

Of all the places in the world that I would go to be in such a vulnerable state as being naked, I went to the home of my abuser. I put myself in such a vulnerable position. So now I'm starting to think, “Oh, is there an element of Stockholm syndrome there?' Why was I drawn to the place of my suffering? It's just a confusing thing for me. But I do think that just engaging with that question is opening a lot of doors. Ultimately, that does keep me moving ever so slowly down the path of healing. I think I could say the same for the music on the album. Everything I write isn't healing. But, overall, the accumulation of trying to explore myself, putting it into lyrics, and putting it out into the world — I think that's beautiful.

Those oscillating feelings completely bolster the concept behind the album. From afar, it all does make sense because these are all different parts of you and the emotions that you've experienced. I don't think any one of them invalidates the other one.

They're all valid, and they're all beautiful. Even the ones that are scary, it's what it is to be human, you know?

I wanted to revisit this notion of honoring your younger self. I saw a lot of the lyrics on Jonny offering the compassion that maybe you weren't provided at that time. How do you continually honor your inner child, even outside of your musical process?

God, if I told you all the things I did to nurture my inner child, we could be here forever. My past selves were just running — and running to nowhere. So when I calmed down, it signaled to all the younger versions of me that maybe they could calm down as well. At the lake, before I got out of bed for a few months, I would just tell myself things, like the things I say in the song “Little Jonny.”

That song is speaking from a mother's perspective to her son, saying all of the things that I would've died to have heard from my mother when I was a little boy. I think in doing so, I actually conjured up a motherly spirit in myself. She's always here, and it's given me renewed confidence. And I know it sounds like hocus pocus craziness — but it truly has brought me peace and joy in my life. In the song “Pool God,” there's a lyric: "You helped bring back my innocence/Woke up a young boy that wants to dance/Brought out a mother to nurture you." So that's in honor of her. She, who is me. When I listen to that song, my eyes well up because I'm so grateful I was able to put that into words. 

You recently embarked on a sold-out summer tour, one of the biggest of your career. How did it feel to perform songs that are so personal to you for the first time with audiences? 

For the first time in maybe 15 years, it's the first tour that I've been present onstage for. I'm so connected to this, and I feel very in the moment onstage, which is something I never thought I could do. In the past, I would just disassociate or get really drunk to be able to get through a show. Now, I have a shot of tequila and two minutes of gratitude, and I go onstage. I make sure to stay centered.

So it's a whole new experience. Everything's new because I'm new. How could it not all feel new? It's a beautiful place to be in. I feel really lucky right now. I wish everyone could experience what I'm experiencing right now because it is truly a rebirth. And I think it's why there's a freshness, even though, of course, someone will put this new album on and say, “Oh yeah, it's the Drums!” But there's something fresh and new and alive woven throughout it. I think that's just the joy of discovering myself for the first time.

Now that you have entered this moment of catharsis, how do you plan to continue creating from this intentional place going forward? 

I think one of the big things I learned in this whole process is to not plan. Maybe set an intention, but to not expect to be in any one place. To just drop into my heart and go where my heart will lead. In the past, it was all up in the head. In all of my songs, I would sing about the heart, and I'd try to access love by using my mind and my brain. Then, slowly, over the last 10 years, I've been singing more from my heart. And now I feel like I'm singing from below my ribcage. It's just coming straight from my gut, and it's the most beautiful place to be. I'm just as curious as anyone else as to what will happen next. But I'm really delighted to not know.