Phoebe Bridgers Has Auspicious Astrology

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She starts to explain it regulating astrology—which internet-addled millennials have widely embraced with a passion formerly indifferent by their individualist aunts—bringing adult a thought that your object sign, rising sign, and moon pointer any simulate opposite aspects of how we exist and benefaction to a world, though conjunction of us can remember accurately how it works. (For a record, Bridgers is Leo sun, Pisces rising, Capricorn moon.) So she pulls adult a renouned horoscope app Co-Star—which, of course, we have on my phone too—first checking her daily pull notification.

“Wait, it said, ‘Be reckless.’ Fuck.”


phoebe bridgers station in her recording studio holding a pressed animal elephant
phoebe bridgers crouching down
Jumpsuit, by Diane Von Furstenburg / Shoes, by Zara

Bridgers lives alone in a little Silver Lake unit though is constantly over during Vore’s place, that feels like a millennial chronicle of a late-’60s Laurel Canyon dwelling. Four musicians and dual dogs—a blue heeler named Billie and an Australian shepherd named Forty—reside there, and visitors deposit in and out all day long.

Deep into her second album, Bridgers is actively perplexing to have some-more fun with a process—Stranger, she tells me, was created after a hitch of depression. “I don’t consider that’s loyal this time,” she says, twisted adult on an emerald velvet couch. “Maybe I’m overwhelmed, though not depressed.” Mostly she’s prickly to play some-more than a same 10 or so songs over and over again during shows. Her new work will hold on her adored themes of genocide and relationships, as good as “sour friendships and family shit.” At one indicate she mentions that she loves removing her tarot read. “I feel like that’s a easiest approach to bond with people,” she explains. “In a misfortune chronicle of it, it’s trauma, joining over something fucked-up that happened. But in a honeyed version, it’s like, Oh, my God, we know, my fucking automobile only got strike by a bus.

phoebe bridgers with arms crossed

Bridgers was innate and lifted in Pasadena, not distant from where we are today. Her mom, with whom she’s generally close, was a housewife who worked a accumulation of peculiar jobs and today does stand-up comedy. Her relatives divorced when she was 20. Dad was a scenic carpenter who, she says, was violent and had a “drug thing,” and Bridgers didn’t have her initial splash until she was 19. “I wasn’t block necessarily,” Bridgers explains. “It only frightened a shit out of me. we was like, I don’t wish to remove control.” As distant as musicians go, her lifestyle is flattering tame; as distant as 25-year-olds go too. She doesn’t splash (“I consider I’m true adult allergic to alcohol”), despises weed (“I hatred weed”), hasn’t eaten processed sugarine in dual years (“I haven’t been on antibiotics since”), and wakes adult during 6:30 a.m. to start off her days with a travel (“It’s only clearing your head”). When she was furloughed with boygenius, she says, a rope was mostly on their train and in pajamas by 11:30 p.m., examination a Eddie Murphy film Norbit.

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