"YOU'RE all I got" crops up in two songs on The Lumineers' new album.
It serves as the title of one heartfelt ballad and it appears in the opening lines of another, Keys On The Table.
The expression suggests deep dependence on a loved one — with a hint of vulnerability, even desperation.
It clearly resonates with the band's core members, Wesley Schultz (lead vocals, guitar) and Jeremiah Fraites (drums, percussion, keyboards).
So, on one level, it's about the people closest to them — most importantly their partners and their young children.
But it also represents the feelings the pair maintain for each other through thick and thin, what they describe as a "20-year rollercoaster ride".
"This relationship has given both of us EVERYTHING," admits the thoughtful Fraites. "'You're all I got' is an exaggerated way of looking at it.
"I'm sure there are days when Wes and I wish we just could go out and have a sandwich without feeling any of the stress or responsibility.
"We both have friends in our lives for that, but I've never written songs with them that have changed my life."
The more extrovert Schultz sums it up by adding: "We know we need each other to make the best of things. We're better together!"
On their fifth studio record, Automatic, The Lumineers have peeled back veneers to make the most raw and spontaneous music of their career.
Decamping to Woodstock in upstate New York, their preferred place to make records, they partly took their cue from The Beatles' Get Back documentary, which highlighted The Fab Four's free-spirited creative process.
"Watching them work together was such a joy," says Schultz. "They had a strange alchemy."
The Lumineers were also inspired by taking part in a concert film celebrating Bruce Springsteen's stripped-back acoustic album Nebraska, for which they performed Mansion On The Hill and State Trooper.
Schultz says: "On Nebraska, everything is a little disarming. You're thinking, 'Woah, this is just Springsteen in a room'.
"For this album, we didn't do many demos, aside from very rudimentary sketches. We just relied on gut instinct."
To illustrate his bandmate's point, Fraites recalls the creation of Same Old Song, Automatic's emphatic opening rave-up.
Noted for his inventive beats, he says: "We started working on it late one afternoon. I just did some taps on the floor and we turned that sound into a loop — very bespoke percussion!"
Schultz laughs at the memory and says: "It was wild, like throwing paint at the wall."
"A bit like an audio Jackson Pollock," continues Fraites, referring to the artist who loved to splatter his canvasses.
"So we had this very basic thing, then Wes laid down acoustic guitar and vocals and I went crazy in a Keith Moon [The Who] or John Bonham [Led Zeppelin] kind of way.
"The feedback from the boys in the control room was, 'That was f***ing cool, do another one like that!'."
For this unassuming pair, the 11-track Automatic symbolises the strength of their unbreakable bond.
It is also the work of older, wiser artists who have a different set of priorities since they became dads.
Schultz says: "These days, we have an easier time saying 'no' because we don't want to miss out on the gift of having kids.
"When you're starting out as an artist, you have to say 'yes' to literally everything, if you want to make it.
It's not about being better — it's just about this thing we have. It's about 20 years, it's about thousands of hours together.
Jeremiah Fraites
"Now there's a natural boundary line in the sand. You develop a backbone if you didn't have one already."
Although they live on separate continents — Schultz in Denver, Colorado and Fraites in Turin, Italy — sparks fly when they get together in the studio and on stage.
With songs like breakthrough hit Ho Hey, Stubborn Love, Ophelia and Cleopatra, their rousing brand of Americana has captivated arena-sized audiences around the globe — but they still take nothing for granted.
One look at Schultz, 42, with his flowing locks and full beard and Fraites, 39, with his braces and porkpie hat, you'd think some verandah in backwoods America would be a fitting place to hang out with them.
But I join them in the somewhat incongruous surroundings of a hotel conference room, with the roar of central London providing background noise to our chat.
Later that day, they play an intimate acoustic gig at Hoxton Hall and they're due to return with their touring band in May for a string of UK dates, including one at the capital's O2 Arena.
Despite their self-deprecating charm, Schultz and Fraites acknowledge the special chemistry that has propelled them to success.
"There is a 'je ne sais quoi' with me and Wes," muses Fraites.
"Give the same piano part to a hundred amazing pianists and some of them will wipe the floor with me," he decides.
"But it's not about being better — it's just about this thing we have. It's about 20 years, it's about thousands of hours together."
Schultz says that "without wishing to sound too negative", he prefers to keep the making of a Lumineers record largely between himself and Fraites.
He considers their songwriting partnership "a unique badge of honour" and a reason to eschew input from other artists.
'Fair bit of humour'
"If we were to make a record with Jack Antonoff [Taylor Swift, Lana Del Rey], you'd kind of hear it in the record," says Schultz.
"He's got an instinct for what he likes, but I feel that if we outsourced our instincts, we'd lose something.
"If we want it to sound like us, it has to come from us — from within the four walls we're working in."
To The Lumineers, that also means avoiding familiar pitfalls "like employing an orchestra simply because you've run out of ideas".
The pair give a lot of credit to their producer at Utopia studio in Woodstock, David Baron.
He fitted out the place with vintage and cutting-edge gear in the spirit of The Beatles' sonic playground, Abbey Road, to create a "live room" for Schultz and Fraites to let go of any constraints.
Like many of the songs on Automatic, thought-provoking Plasticine is about navigating the complexities of the modern world.
In this case, the entertainment industry comes into sharp focus because it questions the motives of certain performers.
"If you're doing everything in your power just to get bigger, to be more famous, you're the easiest target to be taken advantage of," says Schultz.
"It means the industry will take whatever it can from you and drop you the minute you're no longer of use."
It's worth noting Plasticine doesn't get too heavy and comes with a fair bit of playfulness and humour.
It even incorporates an audio clip from When Harry Met Sally, though not Meg Ryan's iconic orgasm scene.
Schultz says: "We had a buddy in the studio, Nick Bell, and we said to him, 'We need some banter in the background'.
"He's really into movies and he came back with Billy Crystal saying, 'What does the song mean?' when he was listening to people singing Auld Lang Syne. It's perfect."
Another song about 21st Century life is the piano-led Better Day, a showcase of Schultz's sweet, clear vocals.
How many times do you go into a room where people are scrolling on their phones?
Jeremiah Fraites
"It felt like all my friends were watching porn and real-estate TV," he says. "We're in a weird era so, in the song, I'm dreaming of a better day."
Fraites picks up on the line, "Blue lights keep red eyes awake".
"That's our entire universe in a nutshell," he says. "How many times do you go into a room — even at a family gathering — where people are scrolling on their phones?
"At Christmas or Thanksgiving in the States, people used to make conversation — now it's socially acceptable to be checked out for 45 minutes. It's pretty wild."
Schultz concludes that Better Day is "very much a dark lullaby but not entirely sad. Something about it feels post-apocalyptic".
This brings us to what the singer calls "a weird love song", Ativan, named after a brand of the anti-anxiety drug lorazepam.
"Jere sent me this beautiful melody. I loved it, but I felt it could turn into a thousand other love songs you've already heard," says Schultz.
"He name-dropped Ativan in the demo, so I thought, 'Wouldn't it be interesting to write a love song from the perspective of the drug — a sales pitch from it to the potential user?'.
"For me, it accidentally became about how we're numbing out in today's world, tamping down our feelings."
A real highlight of Automatic is Asshole, which is of a more personal nature and not to be taken too literally.
Schultz affirms: "That refers to me! My wife thinks I might be on the spectrum or something.
"I can be a bit reserved or aloof when I meet people. I thought calling myself an asshole was a unique confession to put in a song.
"When I was out on a walkworkshopping lyrics, I sung it to myself and it made me laugh out loud. This album does have moments of real fun. Maybe our other albums took themselves more seriously."
He says the first few lines refer to a time when he and his partner "weren't even dating, just flirting".
"She lit the wrong end of her cigarette and that's why I knew she liked me — she was feeling nervous."
Wake-up call
The album signs off with the richly atmospheric, suitably-titled So Long.
It provides a majestic, mid-tempo five minutes of music and is a bit of a departure for The Lumineers.
"Yeah, it's a bit trance-like," says Schultz, who likens its vibe to the songs on Bob Dylan's sublime 1997 album, Time Out of Mind.
"That was my top album on Spotify last year and I just wore it out while we were recording Automatic.
"A lot of those Dylan songs hit an energy and hold you there, almost hypnotising you. The War on Drugs and Bon Iver do that really well, too."
Schultz draws my attention to the fact that So Long ends the album with the line, "Maybe we'll be famous when we die".
He loves Andy Warhol's assertion that everyone has their 15 minutes of fame, but adds: "It's more like 15 seconds these days, with people creating viral moments on TikTok."
Having spent time with them, diving into their album, I suggest to Schultz and Fraites that there's a clear concept to it.
"It wasn't on purpose," says the former. "It just came oozing out.
"Our children aren't at the age where they experience all this stuff yet, but they're going to be really quickly. Woah! How are they going to navigate it all?
"I recently bought a Light Phone. No colours on the screen and you can only do calls and texts.
"It's very stripped down and I was like, 'How pathetic am I that I need to buy something like this?'."
To borrow REM's classic album title, The Lumineers have made Automatic for the people. It's a wake-up call.
AUTOMATIC
The Lumineers
★★★★☆
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