After four Bastille albums and as many mixtapes, Dan Smith needed a change of scenery. But where many musicians see this as an excuse to tour exotic corners of the globe, the synthpop icon instead began exploring unfamiliar points of view, with the resulting “&” (Ampersand) LP offering up 14 tracks that investigate the inner lives of figures from history and pop culture, familiar and obscure, such as The Scream painter Edvard Munch, songwriting legend Leonard Cohen (and his relationship with his muse Marianne Ihen), and activists Essie and Paul Robinson.
Given the album’s unconventional subject matter, we approached Smith with a pitch for a fairly unconventional breakdown of the new LP: to share five influences on “&” that have little to do with his musical approach to the material or, for the most part, the research he did on the album’s subjects. Though he does shout out Barabra Ransby’s biography of the aforementioned Robinsons, the subjects he chose to focus on mostly have the feel of the overtly personal aspect missing from these songs about other people—from his description of the book of notes and poems he inherited from his father to the kitchen counter where he recently re-learned to write music in isolation.
Find his picks below, and pre-order “&” (Ampersand) here ahead of its release tomorrow.
An old notebook of my dad’s
When I was 14 and started writing songs (but didn’t have much to say, lyrically), my dad gave me an old book of notes and poems that he’d written when he and my mum traveled across America for a year after college. They’re South African, but wound up settling in London after their year in the US, and London’s where I was born and grew up. My dad gave me that book and suggested I use it to find some ideas when I was struggling to find anything in my life to write about (for context, he’s not a professional poet and we’re not a family who ever trade poetry). So at 14 I wrote a song called “Telegraph Road” based on one of the poems about an unhoused woman he met in San Francisco. When putting the story songs on this album together, I thought of that old song and wanted to resurrect it. So I rewrote it a bit, added a new verse from my perspective in 2024, and asked my mum (who’d been a folk singer back in college) to re-sing the backing vocals (just as she’d done on my old original demo all those years ago). It wound up being one of my favorite songs, and probably one of the most personal things I’ve made.
The podcast You’re Dead to Me
I get mad insomnia, so over the last 10 years of touring I’ve gotten really used to the company of podcasts through the night. There’s a really brilliant British history-comedy podcast called You’re Dead to Me, and I’d been listening to a bunch of the episodes when trying to think of fascinating people to write songs about for this album. I got in touch with Emma Nagouse, an academic who writes and produces the show, and she very generously pointed me toward a load of characters from history and culture that I wasn’t familiar with—from Zheng Yi Sao, the wildly successful Chinese Pirate Queen whose piracy empire was so huge that it rivaled the Chinese state, to Julie D’Aubigne, a French opera singer and sword fighter from the 1700s who once broke her girlfriend out of a nunnery by burning it down.
Emma and I became good friends—she’s hilarious and brilliant—and we ended up making a podcast about the people in these songs and why and how they’re remembered (or not remembered). It explores these characters via storytelling, history, culture, and music. It doesn’t take itself seriously at all, and I have no problem whatsoever in saying that I’m purely there as the interested idiot, and Emma absolutely steals the show.
Eslanda: The Large and Unconventional Life of Mrs. Paul Robinson by Barbara Ransby
“&” is in no way a history lesson and requires zero reading or prior knowledge. I just wanted to tip my hat to some fascinating people and try and write story-songs about them by finding what it was in their lives that resonated with me, or questions I wanted to ask them. Emma recommended I read this book to find out more about the lives and marriage of Paul—athlete, actor, and important figure in the Civil Rights movement—and Essie Robinson—Paul’s manager, wife, and also a scholar, author, activist, and anthropologist. They traveled the world and led wildly impressive lives while navigating long-term love, politics, fame, and family. I was fascinated by the complexities and compromises that come with all of that via 40 years of marriage. They’re such brilliant, fascinating people, and Barbara Ransby’s book shows the rich, nuanced, and impressive life of Essie, who like many partners of successful people, often is less known or talked about.
Coffee
This album probably wouldn’t exist without coffee. When I was writing this album at home, I’d make my way through whole pots of coffee—and then punctuate the days by wandering to a few local coffee shops if I needed to step out for a change of scenery, to walk around and think an idea through. I’m not an annoying coffee snob, but I definitely have an unhealthy dependence on the stuff, and I love nothing more than the feeling of working on a song when caffeine hits and it feels a bit exciting. A nice pour-over, a black Americano, a mega strong cold brew…give me all of it.
I went away with a bunch of friends and musicians to record “&” earlier this year. We spent a few weeks down on the English coast, and then a couple of weeks at a residential studio on a farm in the middle of the countryside to track all the guitars, vocals, strings, pianos, and everything else. We made sure there was always plenty of good coffee around. Bags of beans from one of my all-time favorites, Monmouth Coffee, or some local beans from a little shop near me. There was a Chemex and a few French presses that we’d all make each morning (and through the days…and nights). Yeah, it played a pretty massive role in us managing to record all 17 songs in that three-week stint.
My kitchen table
I wrote the first Bastille album on my laptop in my bedroom when I was at college and then while working a bunch of day jobs after I finished. And I finished the songs with my friend and producer Mark Crew in his tiny windowless basement studio. When the first album suddenly took off and the band completely took over every minute of our waking lives, I had to adapt my process and write the next three albums and four mixtapes in backstage rooms, on the tour bus, and in random hotel rooms. Then, suddenly, at the end of last year, when we finally decided to take some time off from proper touring as a band, I got a chance to go back to writing how I used to: at home, working away on a bunch of songs mostly alone. And I absolutely loved it. I’d set up my laptop, keyboard, and microphone at my kitchen table first thing in the morning and just work away on the demos of the dozens of song ideas I had about all these amazing people. I’m lucky enough to have a studio with some friends in South London, but I’ve found myself not going there recently, and loving the no-pressure environment of just being at home and at the kitchen table. So when I think about these songs, that’s where I think of all the writing happening.
