The Format Makes a Comeback with the Energetic Anthem “Holy Roller,” an Exciting Introduction to Their Upcoming Album ‘Boycott Heaven’ - Atwood Magazine

      Indie icons The Format have made a triumphant return after almost twenty years with "Holy Roller," an intense exploration that transforms chaos into clarity and heartbreak into renewal – offering an exhilarating first taste of their forthcoming third album, 'Boycott Heaven.' Both powerful and introspective, it embodies the essence of The Format: Clever, vulnerable, and vibrantly alive – a long-awaited expression from two old friends eager to embark on the next chapter of their journey.

      Nate Ruess kicks off “Holy Roller” with a line that reveals a depth only someone who has experienced turmoil can convey: “I’d fake my death if it weren’t such a mess for the people I love…” Welcome back after nineteen years since The Format's second (and, until today, final) album Dog Problems. Their latest single doesn’t just continue from where they paused; it bursts forth, infused with self-awareness, energy, and that signature mix of humor and pain that once made them a cherished band that seemingly fell apart quietly.

      Even though 2006’s Dog Problems was their last studio release, its final song “If Work Permits” never felt like a definitive end, instead remaining a cathartic question mark – like a sailor wary of anchoring, a heart trying to cross the distance, a whisper of “I’m doing fine” seeping through the gaps. Phrases such as “I could use a warm kiss instead of a cold goodbye” and “if she seems as lonely as me, let her sink” capture the essence of both release and the hope that someone cares enough not to let go. Fast forward two decades, and “Holy Roller” resonates with that same voice – now rawer, wiser, and bolder – stepping back into the spotlight, insisting on engagement, ready to hope and feel again.

      Released on October 6 via The Format’s own label, The Vanity Label, “Holy Roller” is a vibrant indie rock anthem infused with passion and tension, charm and chaos. It embodies The Format at their pinnacle: Self-aware and raw, poignantly exposed and unfiltered, emotionally rich and vulnerable simultaneously. Ruess’s voice remains as electrifying and brilliant as ever – that rare blend of theatricality, sensitivity, and excitement – while Sam Means’ sparkling guitars crash and shimmer around him, with producer Brendan O’Brien (Pearl Jam, Bruce Springsteen, The Killers) on bass and Matt Chamberlain (David Bowie, Bob Dylan, Fiona Apple) on drums.

      “Holy Roller” opens not with a bang, but with a conversation – or perhaps a confession. For the first time in years, it’s just Nate Ruess and Sam Means together again: Ruess’s radiant voice breaks the silence, bouncing off Sam’s guitar as the two old friends slide into a familiar rhythm that feels both fragile and eternal. The intimacy of that initial moment evokes a cinematic quality; the history between them is palpable – the weight of separation, the comfort of their bond, the quiet wonder – and satisfaction – of their reunion.

      Ruess’s lyrics land like a blend of humor and reality, presenting a wry smile that belies his existential weariness. This is classic The Format: Playful and self-deprecating on the exterior, painful underneath. The line encapsulates the tension that has always been part of their music – the struggle between the desire to vanish and the need to be acknowledged, between irony and earnestness. With that single verse, they reaffirm their chemistry and contradictions, highlighting that even in their most theatrical moments, The Format’s strength has always been rooted in the human experience beneath the melody.

      As the verse progresses, Ruess leans deeper into that mixture of self-doubt and awareness that has consistently drawn listeners to The Format. “But I’m staying alive just to see you roll your eyes and sigh,” he confesses – half-serious, half-teasing – as he critiques himself while yearning for connection. It carries humor yet also heartbreak, recognizing that love and frustration often coexist. “If you got nothing to prove, then tell me why would you do this?” he challenges, with a line that feels like an internal debate. Each word is intentional, each breath a delicate dance between cynicism and honesty. It’s raw, vulnerable, and distinctly human – that type of emotional genuineness that made us fall in love with them in the first place.

      The chorus erupts in pure catharsis, a shout into the universe:

      Holy Roller

      Don’t go wasting all your time

      Praying for a sign

      I’m burning out faster

      than a candle in the night

      I’ll be gone before sunrise

      It’s a spirited scream into the void – a plea, a caution, and a liberation all at once. Every breath Ruess takes, every snare hit, and every melodic climb feels like a rendezvous with the ghosts of youth, realizing one is still alive, still burning, still authentic.