“I can remember sitting up in guitarist Chris Walla’s bedroom and for the first time in my life having this realization like, “Maybe I can do this. Maybe I can make music that in some capacity people will enjoy and come see me play.””

When I listen to Airplanes record, it takes me back. I remember a lot of my thought processes when I was 20 or 21, writing those songs and recording that record.

If there is one thing I think I have accomplished, it’s that I always thought of myself as a very literal songwriter, and as I look at some of those older records.

I’ve always had a soft spot for Phil Collins. He’s a great vocalist.

Now that we have the resources, we’re like, “Oh wow, a nice studio is pretty nice! They do have nice outboards here. It’s actually a pretty good place.” It’s funny how much changes so quickly.

I can remember how I sang – a little more nasal-y back then. Listening to those old recordings is like seeing a photograph of yourself from 10 years ago. You’re wearing what you thought looked cool at the time. You had your hair styled the particular way you thought looked cool.

I think sometimes a narrative can come out of a single word.

We never sit down before we start making a record and talk about this new sonic palette that we are going to try to explore. We always let the record kind of reveal itself to us over time.

We had friends who had a hit single on the radio and sold 500,000 records, and then they couldn’t get arrested a year later.

I wonder what I was thinking when I was trying to say a particular thing. I hear some of the weird little nuances in the recording; I can hear what the room sounded like. I remember what it smelled like.

We had cut ourselves free from the security of day-job life. The goals became primarily financial, at least for a while. That was the roughest time we had ever had as a band, because that was the first moment we realized that this was for real.

You remember that stuff and laugh about it now. You don’t feel it the way you did back then when you were so scared and nervous and tired and hungry.

I don’t want to be overdramatic about it, but I’m starting to see a lot of my bad habits get the best of me.

I couldn’t wait to go on tour back then. I would be sitting at my day job or my apartment, just itching to go. There were so many adventures that were about to happen.

We were playing Chinese restaurants and basements and record stores and houses. We were crashing on floors and it was all new and exciting. It was like a vacation. It didn’t feel like work.

We were not goofing around anymore. We all threw everything we had into this in a way where we all found ourselves really far from home, and we were stuck with each other.

There’s a cinematic quality that happens in my mind when I hear something that really lands. An album is just a journal of a life moving through time.

We lived in a two-bedroom, one-bath house in St. Louis Park, Minnesota. We weren’t rich – but we felt secure.

They talked about unreasonable searches and seizures, about keeping the government out of their bedrooms.

It was just me in my bedroom. It gave me freedom and made me happy.

My pop is this big, huge man, nothing can hurt him. I went running into his bedroom like, ‘Daddy, Daddy, the boogie man’s under the bed!’ Pop opens one eye, he’s like, ‘Is the boogie man bigger than me?’ ‘

When I was about 8 or 9, I lived in New Jersey with my mother and we were seven deep in one bedroom and sometimes we didn’t have electricity.

I’m tired of going to an empty bedroom every night. I wish I had a girl I could cuddle with.

Ultimately, who you choose to be in a relationship with and what you do in your bedroom is your business.

I work with my brother Finneas, and he produces all of my music in his little bedroom in our house.