Several years ago, Jonny Pierce, of the cult alternative band The Drums, drove to his family home in upstate New York and took off his clothes. “I went from New York City. It’s, like, a five-hour trip. I had no plan. I knew I had a camera, and I knew I wanted to take photos, but I didn’t know why.”
Pierce had a difficult childhood. He is estranged from his parents, Pentecostal Christians who disapprove of his homosexuality. The struggle for self-acceptance has been a consistent theme of The Drums’ heartfelt indie pop since Pierce formed the band with his childhood friend Jacob Graham, in 2008. (Graham departed a few years ago; The Drums is today a solo project.) Going home to the town of Horseheads and posing naked in an empty house full of traumatic memories was an act of reclamation.
“I timed it so my parents were away at church, and I climbed in to my childhood bedroom window. Without any plan at all I just took off my clothes. I set up my little tripod and my selfie timer and put myself in all these different places in the house,” he says. “My father’s office, my childhood bedroom, the hallway, the front of the house – all these places where there was a traumatic moment for me.”
One of those images, of Pierce naked and kneeling in his father’s office, is on the cover of The Drums’ cathartic new record, Jonny. Pierce is proud of the music – searing jangle pop that goes straight for the emotional jugular – but unsure how he feels about the artwork. Is he taking ownership of his childhood? Giving too much of himself away? He shakes his head.
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“One day I’m very at peace within that: this was the right decision. And then, this morning, I saw [the cover] because I had to approve some stuff for a show we’re doing. And I didn’t want to look at it. There’s a wrestling match within me about the artwork. The album itself is like a wrestling match in a way.”
Openly gay indie-rock stars are still a rarity. Pierce, who is 42, has been out privately since long before The Drums became instant sensations with Let’s Go Surfing, their whistle-fuelled early single.
In the public eye, though, he was more cautious. In 2010 The Drums featured on the BBC’s Sound Of countdown of hot new acts; the rarefied company included Ellie Goulding and Marina and the Diamonds. Pierce and his bandmates subsequently toured with Florence and the Machine (including at a sold-out Dublin Olympia) and opened for Kings of Leon at Hyde Park in London. With all of that attention, Pierce wasn’t sure how to talk about his sexuality. When a journalist asked if anyone in the group was gay, Pierce answered in the negative. He later realised that he had been subconsciously lowering his voice in interviews.
“I didn’t lower my voice to be an indie-rock god. At the end of the day I lowered my voice to be loved,” he says. “Which is a completely different thing. That’s why we all do the things we do. We want to belong. To feel safe and secure. That came from a time where some publications were making jokes about me holding my microphone as if it was a big d***.”
He sits forward, blinking. “Remember that? There was homophobia all over the place. It’s not happening as much in a blatant way now. It was me learning about myself and not being fully sure if I was safe to be myself. And being reminded all the time how unsafe I was.”
I remember being in love with The Cranberries as a kid. I always felt so connected to The Cranberries. I felt connected to Dolores O’Riordan. It was the same with Sinéad O’Connor – someone who speaks from the heart
A chill ripples down the Zoom connection when he mentions the microphone-holding barb. Arriving at the tail end of the so-called “landfill” indie scene of the mid-2000s, The Drums were initially embraced in the British music press. Pierce saw through the acclaim pretty quickly.
“They wanted us so badly to be the next Strokes. No one ever stopped to ask who we actually wanted to be or who we were. Not that we really knew,” he says. “But we kind of had an idea, optically, how we wanted to present ourselves. It felt that part of the world wasn’t interested in us being ourselves.”
Their eponymous 2010 debut performed decently, but it was the 2011 follow-up, Portmanteau, that helped break them in the United States. In fact it did well everywhere aside from the UK. Foreshadowing the songs on Jonny, it delves into the pain of being gay in a cloistered Pentecostal community. Pierce feels the angst was too real for Britain, where music can feel like an extension of the fashion industry, one fad tripping on the heels of another. In the US and Ireland, where we wear our scars on the outside, that rawness registered.
Pierce says that he has long felt an affinity with Irish artists. He lists Dolores O’Riordan, of The Cranberries, and Sinéad O’Connor as singers for whom truth was non-negotiable.
“I remember being in love with The Cranberries as a kid. And I remember reading, in somewhere like People magazine, some gossip magazine, ‘the 10 worst bands right now’. The Cranberries were on the list. It was their second or third album – which I loved. I always felt so connected to The Cranberries. I felt connected to her. It was the same with Sinéad – someone who speaks from the heart. It is less stoic [than music from the UK] – more emotionally available and emotionally vulnerable. And emotionally intelligent, to be honest. I’ve always loved both of those artists. Not just for the music – and the music is beautiful – but for who they are.”
Morrissey was another childhood icon. As with many former fans, Pierce has been dismayed by the former Smiths singer’s transformation into a surly provocateur in his later years.
“I actually just had dinner right next to him in LA. We didn’t say hello – we glanced at each other for a moment. I remember I played this little bar that doesn’t exist any more in London. Maybe our third show ever on the other side of the pond. Right before we were about to go on stage my publicist ran up the stairs: ‘I got a call. Morrissey is on his way.’ We were all delighted and a little nervous. He came – you could see his silhouette. That was a funny little memory. How I feel about him now, I have a real problem with his set of values. And I will not make excuses for someone because they are a great artist. I don’t have a lot of enthusiasm about Morrissey as a person.”
Jonny’s themes of emotional harm and excessive religiosity are stark. “Tell me, was it so hard/ To be a little kind now?” he wonders on the heartbreaking single I Want It All, his gentle voice splintering under the intensity. So it’s remarkable the music isn’t angrier. If anything, it is joyful. Pierce thinks of the songs as “symbiotic” messages sent backwards in time to the younger Jonny. The record celebrates resilience, learning to love yourself, never giving up.
“There’s a lot of that symbiotic love from the present day,” he says. “I used to hate children. And the idea of ever having a kid – absolutely not. Now I can see a mom and her kid on the street and I’ll get choked up. I feel so much love. How I feel about my childhood now, I feel a sweetness. And that’s just love for the younger me. In the past I used to put out an album and never listen to it again – let’s move on, because it’s now the past. And the past is so scary. I’ve actually been able to listen to this album over and over and love every moment. That’s a new experience.”
Jonny is released on Anti- Records on Friday, October 13th
