Saturday Conversation: Bastille’s Dan Smith On His Love Of Literature

In the conversation about Bastille’s latest album, & (Ampersand), lead singer Dan Smith shared his profound passion for storytelling—a theme that resonates deeply throughout the music and serves as the inspiration for the album.

This collection invites listeners on an evocative journey through tales of human connection, collaboration, tribulation, and love, showcasing Dan’s artistry in weaving narratives that reflect our shared experiences.

The album opens with “Intros and Narrators,” where Dan’s poignant final line, “Never lay your trust in the narrator,” serves as a humble reminder of the complexities inherent in storytelling. It sets the tone for an album that balances personal reflection with broader themes, emphasizing that the narratives we encounter are often layered and multifaceted.

As Smith puts it, “I think it’s wanting to find the relatable core—the human element—what’s the warmth and intimacy that resonates with everyone.” What struck me most during our conversation was Dan’s genuine humility and his commitment to championing other artists. He articulated a belief that music serves as a vessel for connection, stating, “This album is not meant to be a history lesson; it’s about pulling on threads that I think are really interesting and maybe slightly less talked about.” This dedication to exploring stories, both well-known and obscure, transforms “&” into a vibrant testament to the beauty of humanity.

The album itself is both raw & lush, intimate & cinematic, celebrating the intricate tapestry of human experiences. Dan’s ability to convey complex emotions while maintaining an accessible and relatable narrative style is a hallmark of his songwriting. “It’s about reckoning with what my place in music is,” he shared, reflecting on the personal nature of this project. In a world where storytelling remains an essential part of our existence, & captures the essence of what it means to be human, reminding us of our shared desire to connect through stories that resonate with our hearts and minds. (Sage Bava)

Steve Baltin: Where does your love for literature stem from? Was it something that was early in life? Did you study quite a bit in school?

Dan Smith: Good question. I always loved reading as a bit of an escape, in much the same way as like film and TV, and I guess journalism. But I studied it at college. As part of that, was lucky enough, I guess, to get to explore the work and lives of loads of really fascinating people. I guess I primarily had wanted to be a film journalist because I was really f**king lazy and the idea of watching films all day really appealed to me. So, I went to college to do that, but obviously fell in love with loads of different authors. For me, what was so great about studying English was this window into different periods that was brilliant. I’ve always had that and loved reading as an escape, especially on tour and before the band took over my life in a bunch of different jobs. I’d have quite a long commute across London to get to work. It’s obvious as anything, but the transportive capacity of books and of literature to put you in the mind of somebody else has always been something that I’ve really loved. And an escape from the everyday. So, with this album, as a songwriter, I’ve always really liked using other stories and moments in history or people that I think are fascinating or real or fictional as a jumping off point to start writing a song and as a way in to express something that I think is fascinating or something I want to say. With this album, it was just a case of realizing I had a few of these already, and I wanted to formalize it into the idea of the album. I often find sometimes having some rules that are set either by you or someone else can be super inspiring. In a way, even though they’re technically constraints, they’re actually really freeing. This, for me, I mean, initially it was pairs of people. It was like Leonard and Marianne, Bonnie and Clyde. I didn’t really want to fall into the trope of twentieth century famous couples. That led me off on a bit of a path. We’ve made concept albums before, but this feels like the first time I’ve been aware of in my adult life of having the time, space and freedom to just work on this and nothing else. I made most of the album from a demo perspective at my kitchen table and it was so nice. I felt like the luckiest person in the world to get up every day and in my working life and creative life, all I really had to do was choose which story to pick up and dive into that. It was, for me, just a really happy chilled creative time and one that I guess I’d been slightly fantasizing about for years. So, getting to sit in it for a bit was brilliant.

Baltin: As a one-time aspiring journalist what director would you most love to sit down with?

Smith: That’s such a hard question. Childhood me was obsessed with [Stanley] Kubrick. I think adult me is a bit more aware of these amazing creatives, the cost that comes with the art they made via their personal lives, the people in their lives, the people they worked with, and I think a slightly more modern thinking about that would have been a slightly difficult conversation about whether it’s justified to treat people a certain way in order to achieve great things in an artistic world or any world for that matter. So that’s interesting. David Lynch is someone I love very deeply from a creative perspective. I was lucky enough to chat to him once, but there’s an absolute s**tload of questions that I didn’t ask that I wish I had.

Sage Bava: Storytelling is an intrinsic part of our humanity, central to how we connect with one another. Whether through film or music, it reflects our deep-seated love for narratives and world-building. What I find particularly remarkable about your music is how accessible it is while also being profoundly deep. You explore complex and sometimes abstract themes yet present them in a way that feels relatable. Can you discuss the balance between these elements? How do you draw inspiration for addressing such deeply human themes while making them engage on multiple levels?

Smith: Yeah, for me, I need to understand things to process them. If it’s someone’s life I don’t know much about, or a concept that intrigues me but also challenges me, I find that drives my desire for accessibility. With the people featured on this album, I’m captivated by both the well-known and the lesser-known characters who have done remarkable things, pushing against the constraints of their times and societies. Their stories fascinate me. I’m always searching for the relatable core—the human element that provides warmth and intimacy. This album isn’t meant to be a history lesson; none of the songs are. I love pop music, and my definition is quite broad—anything from Simon and Garfunkel to classical music, and artists like Nirvana and Frank Ocean. I think anything that qualifies as a great song falls under the umbrella of pop. There’s often a perception that pop music must be simplistic or avoid interesting ideas, but for me, this band and this album have always aimed to explore intriguing themes that aren’t often discussed in music. However, I want to approach these themes without being pretentious or inaccessible. In the music I create, I chase a feeling—whether it’s beauty, excitement, or a deep emotional resonance. Early in the process, I had a conversation with our manager, who reminded me not to turn the album into a history lesson filled with facts and figures. I felt like an imposter even touching these stories, wondering what aspects of their lives resonated with me or the people in my life. I aimed to ask questions through the songs, seeking the nuanced complexities of existence. Even the greatest individuals have made mistakes and acted foolishly. It’s easy to overlook the peripheral figures in their lives. I want to capture that complexity, which sometimes emerges after reading or listening to various sources, while other times, I may obsess over the wording to enhance the meaning and agency of a character. For me, writing often takes place at my kitchen table, alone, free from pressure, allowing me to sit with ideas. My mind feels like a bunch of computer tabs open at all times, and as I go about life, a song will suddenly click, and I’ll find the right phrasing. This juggling act is a constant part of my music-making process. You summarized it succinctly, and then I rambled on! Ultimately, my main drive is to address real experiences and topics that interest me. That doesn’t mean it has to be pretentious or exclusive; these themes affect everyone. There should be a way to discuss them that is intellectually engaging yet inclusive, so that everyone can feel part of the conversation.

Bava: In speaking with Shepard Fairey yesterday, I found it fascinating to hear him discuss symbolism. He described it as the process of stripping away layers to get to a very human core that everyone can relate to. It dawned on me that music serves as a form of symbolism as well. I’ve always been interested in how much great writing happens subconsciously; artists often describe themselves as channels for something greater. I love how music can be a form of service, especially when it channels something positive that contributes to our evolution. Can you talk about how you channel these stories while also creating the music, and how that process might differ from past albums that didn’t focus on specific narratives?

Smith: Yeah, that’s a good question. I was reading an interview with Laura Marling recently, and she spoke about how many songwriters eloquently describe the phenomenon of creativity, where sometimes things just happen. You could have no sense of spirituality whatsoever, but there’s still that feeling—the so-called muse running through you. Nick Cave talks about this brilliantly, too. Songwriting can seem mysterious to those who don’t write songs, almost like wizardry. But for those who do, it’s just a different part of the brain at work. Sometimes, the most interesting things you write leave you wondering, “Where did that come from?” It feels like pulling on a thread. Other times, the process can be quite laborious. But when it clicks and fits, it’s the most satisfying thing in the world. I’m always fascinated by other people’s creative processes. For me, the first thing that comes out often feels like the best. Then it becomes like a Rubik’s Cube puzzle, trying to get everything to work together. I’ve been thinking about these other stories, and sometimes the first thing I start singing feels right. I’m aware of the commonalities I share with these individuals, but I also recognize the differences. I don’t want to speak for anyone, so I try to write from either their perspective or my own, imagining myself in a moment based on something real. I read a lot and absorbed as much as I could, aiming to remain grounded. In these songs, there’s always a reason behind what I choose to explore. For example, there’s a song about Xun Yi Xiao, a Chinese pirate queen from many years ago. Many people know about her, but just as many don’t. She was the most successful pirate ever, commanding a piracy empire that rivaled the Chinese state. There’s so much to unpack about her life, especially considering her title, which translates to “wife of Sheng Yi,” highlighting the irony and sexism of her time. What fascinated me was that, when challenged later in her career, she chose to step down, exercising her agency in that decision. At the time I was writing the song, there were prominent female leaders like Jacinda Ardern who had stepped down on their own terms, contrasting with older male leaders who clung to power at their own and others’ expense. There’s so much complexity in her story. I can never fully inhabit her perspective, so I wrote the song as a series of questions directed at her: How did you manage to achieve all you did when everything was stacked against you? It seemed to me that choosing when to step away, rather than clinging to power destructively, is an interesting and potentially feminine trait. In the album’s intros, I explore my own position in all of this. Over the past few years, I’ve spoken to various artists, songwriters, and documentary filmmakers, and I felt nervous about speaking for those whose lives are very different from mine. There’s no arrogance in assuming I have knowledge of their experiences. So, I wrote intros towards the end of the process to challenge myself and explore why I’m doing this. If anyone were to ask me that question, I would direct them to the songs because, even with the best intentions, telling a story is always filtered through our own experiences—consciously or subconsciously. And of course, not everyone telling stories has good intentions. I wanted to tackle that head-on and explore it in song, which is really all I know how to do.

Bava: It’s so heartwarming how you synthesize ideas with such humility. Your support for other artists and your commitment to the music and the stories you tell is truly inspiring. I think that’s a brilliant way to approach your craft. I’m curious about what the initial seed was—the first song that sparked this entire project for the album.

Smith: I guess there are a few answers, so I’ll try to keep it brief. First, I watched a film called Words of Love: Marianne and Leonard, which is about Leonard Cohen and his partner, friend, and muse, Marianne Ihlen. I saw it during lockdown and began writing the song “Leonard and Marianne,” as I was fascinated by their relationship and the dynamics involved. They had this connection in Greece, and during that time, he became the Leonard Cohen we know—the pop star of his era. I was intrigued by the toll that success took on their relationship and the way people get caught up in the wake of someone else’s success, especially when that person creates such amazing art and poetry. I also wrote a song about Bonnie and Clyde because I was interested in how the media narrative surrounding them coexisted with their actual lives, which were much grittier and less glamorous. They grew up in tough conditions, robbing dime stores rather than living the Hollywood version of their story. It must have been surreal to live in love and commit crimes while seeing a distorted version of themselves perpetuated around the world. Those two songs were the first that came to me before I fully understood what this album would become. There’s also a song on the album called “Telegraph Road, 1977 and 2024,” which is the closing track. My parents are from South Africa, and before moving to the UK after college, they traveled across the U.S. for a year. My dad wrote some notes and poetry during that time—though he’s not a poet—and he shared them with me when I was around 14 or 15 and starting to write songs. One of his poems was about a woman he met in San Francisco in the late ’70s. I transformed it into a song, revisiting it while making this album. I rewrote it and added a final verse reflecting on singing my dad’s words, noting how little has changed regarding the unhoused population in San Francisco. My mom sings backing vocals on the track; she was a folk singer at university and paid her way through school by performing. She was the only singer I knew when I was 14, so it felt right to have her involved. It’s interesting how, even though I set out to make an album about other people, it ended up being some of the most personal work I’ve ever created. Through the intros and themes, I’ve been reckoning with my place in music—questioning if I belong here or if I should even be doing this. Despite the love I have for it, it can sometimes feel torturous, filled with imposter syndrome. Yet I feel like this journey has led me to my best work.