Phantogram

Off the back of the October 2024 release of “Memory Of A Day,” the Aragon Ballroom is playing host to Phantogram on Valentine’s Day, February 14. Sarah Barthel and Josh Carter’s latest record sits in two places at once, attending to the roots of Phantogram more openly visible in older classics like “Eyelid Movies” (2010) while also embracing the freedom the indie-synthpop duo has found after fifteen-plus years of success, firmly planting their flag within the mainstream while still maintaining outsider stature. It is both a statement of maturity and an explorative, searching catalog of naked memory—an ambient time machine fueled by generally mundane and melancholic meditations.

The driving thesis of the album is a simple one driven by two concepts: not all of our most important memories feel important, and it’s okay to feel sad. I had a chance to speak with both Carter and Barthel ahead of their Aragon show, and Carter comments, “Everyone spends intentional time reflecting on their biggest days. A wedding, an achievement, the birth of a kid, whatever. We wanted to look at these smaller memories that make up more of who we actually are. Your first cigarette, your first kiss, maybe your first rejected kiss, the fight with a bully from school.”

It follows that “Memory Of A Day” was written during the pandemic. Phantogram released “Ceremony” on March 6, 2020, just three weeks before the world cannibalized itself. The album was a commercial success, and it’s a great album. “Ceremony” moves fast and is a certified synthpop record, colored by high-volume and colossal electronic progressions and driven by Barthel’s gorgeous vocals. From that record, “Into Happiness” hit number twenty-one on the Billboard Alternative charts.

“Memory Of A Day” is different. You can sense Carter and Barthel took their time, building the album by taking a comprehensive, almost audience-like view of their own lived experiences. This is where the maturity of the pair becomes clear: “Memory Of A Day” doesn’t feel like a commercially driven album, and Carter and Barthel confirmed as much explicitly. It carries that ambrosial flavor of slow-moving indie that you listen to on a train, watching landscapes appear and disappear, losing yourself in thought and reflection. It’s atmospheric and dreamy, like the beginning of a horror movie with beautiful cinematography and no visible monsters. It allows you to touch the melancholy safely. The composition of the work remains synesthetic, like all Phantogram music, sourcing imagery from instrumentation and deft but also, at times, theatrical poetry.

I spoke to Phantogram and learned fascinating details about their songwriting process (they play films like “Eraserhead” [R.I.P. David Lynch] on mute while they write), their genuine love for Chicago, as well as the use of something called “life calendars” to drive the composition of “Memory Of A Day.”

Let’s start with the writing process for “Memory Of A Day.” I read about how the concept of life calendars influenced it, and I’d love to hear more about how that idea shaped the album.

Josh Carter: Sorry, our dog is here. His name is Leroy and he doesn’t know if he wants to be up on our lap or down. Anyway. The life calendar idea was a big discovery for us. It sparked this whole concept of holding on to memories—both the big ones and the tiny, fleeting ones. We wanted the album to feel like a kaleidoscopic collage of life: your first kiss, going to a funeral, getting in a fight, seeing a sunset. It’s about embracing the chaos and absurdity of existence. The calendar is basically a grid that tracks your entire life in weeks, cataloging what’s happened. Weeks that have already passed are dark, and the weeks to come are white. As you try to fill it out… the whole calendar gets very dark really quickly. But there are all these memories that you kind of forget about because they’re small, that actually inform your life experience dramatically. A lot of them are sad or unpleasant, but it’s important to think about those and relive them because life isn’t just one big party. Feeling alive doesn’t just mean feeling happy or celebrating. It’s just about feeling.

Sarah Barthel: During the pandemic, we finally had the chance to slow down and really live again. For fifteen years, it was non-stop touring, deadlines, dressing rooms, buses and stages. But when that grind stopped, we had time to just be humans again—to cook meals, watch movies, and sit with ourselves. That naturally seeped into the music. There was no pressure from a label, no deadlines. We pieced the record together slowly, and it gave us space to process life and reflect on everything we’d experienced.

You’ve mentioned that feeling alive doesn’t always mean feeling happy. That there’s a value in revisiting sad or melancholic memories. Can you expand on why that’s comforting for you and how it ties into the album?

Josh: Yeah, for us, it’s comforting to sit with sadness. When we’re feeling down, we don’t reach for party songs to try and trick us into feeling better. It doesn’t work. I’ll put on a Sparklehorse album or something equally moody. There’s something about embracing sadness that’s strangely uplifting—it makes you feel less alone.

Sarah: It’s like a release. Allowing yourself to feel sadness and go through it, rather than around it, lets you move forward. It’s a way to clear space for other emotions. For Josh and me, that emotional vulnerability is a big part of what we do. Our music lets people tap into what they’re feeling—whether that’s sadness, joy, or something in between. It doesn’t have to be one specific emotion, but we want people to feel something.

The music video for “All a Mystery” tries to communicate that more visually. It’s this montage of memories—some joyful, some chaotic, some bittersweet. The video shows these raw, real-life moments: people skinny dipping, getting into fistfights, dancing, having their first kiss, skateboarding, graffiti-ing walls. It’s not just milestone events like weddings or graduations. It’s the everyday, unpredictable experiences that shape who we are. We wanted to capture that sense of life’s messiness—how beautiful and weird it can be.

There’s a strong visual and sensory element to your music. I mean, Sarah, you have a degree in visual arts. Do you have specific rituals or settings that help you tap into that creativity when you’re writing?

Sarah: We definitely lean on visuals and vibes during our writing sessions. One thing we always do is put on weird or surreal movies in the background—“Blade Runner,” “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind,” “Eraserhead,” or strange cartoons. We mute them and let the visuals play while we write. It helps create a kind of abstract mental space where ideas can flow more freely.

Our studios are decked out for this kind of vibe—colorful lights, candles, dark corners. Josh likes things brighter because he started writing in his parents’ garage under fluorescent lights, like a high school lunchroom. It’s annoying and I make fun of him for it all the time. But we strike a balance, and it works. Sometimes, yeah, we’ll smoke a little weed or take some mushrooms to loosen up creatively. That’s part of the process too—just setting the right mood and letting ideas take shape naturally.

How did creating “Memory Of A Day” differ from earlier albums like “Eyelid Movies” or your self-titled record? What’s easier, what’s harder, what’s the same?

Josh: The biggest difference was the time we had. The pandemic forced us to slow down, and that changed everything. We weren’t rushing to meet deadlines or trying to crank out singles. We went back to making music because we love it, which was how we worked during ”Eyelid Movies”—just creating without any pressure.

We worked with John Hill again, who co-produced ”Voices” in 2013 with us. We had around forty or fifty ideas floating around and a bunch of nearly finished songs. But instead of grinding, we let the process breathe. We’d work for a week, take a couple of weeks off, then dive back in. It wasn’t lazy—it was intentional. It reminded us of why we started making music in the first place.

Sarah: Another difference was that we were more comfortable saying “no.” Early in our careers, we were “yes” people. We felt lucky just to be doing this, so we jumped at every opportunity. But this time, we put ourselves first. We knew what we liked and what we didn’t. We weren’t trying to write a hit single or please anyone but ourselves. That mindset really freed us creatively.

Let’s talk about Chicago. Tell me about your time here in the past. Give me a story, fun, disturbing, or just memorable.

Josh: I genuinely love Chicago. I would move there in a heartbeat if it wasn’t so cold. So many memories. Our first Chicago show was in front of maybe ten or twenty people. It was a huge room and honestly twenty people might be generous. It felt huge to us because we didn’t have any fans. That memory sticks out because it was part of our first tour. Our agent, Mike Mori, booked it in 2010, and we had no idea what we were walking into. I felt so bad.

Sarah: And then there’s Lollapalooza. Our first time playing it was a major milestone—just the two of us onstage, so much fun. Seriously, that was unbelievable. The after-shows were a blast. Over time, we went from those small gigs to selling out venues like the Vic and the Riviera. Those rooms have so much history, and you can feel it when you’re there. It’s like those buildings are speaking to you when you play.

Josh: We love Chicago. It has this working-class, unpretentious vibe that we connect with. We’re from the middle of nowhere in New York. You can grab a beer at a dive bar with great music playing, or you can go to a Michelin-starred restaurant. There’s a balance between grit and sophistication that’s rare in cities. Again, if it wasn’t so fucking cold, we’d live there.

Phantogram plays the Aragon Ballroom, 1106 West Lawrence, on February 14, 8pm. Tickets start at $37 before fees, available at bylinebankaragonballroom.com.