Jack Johnson wants to talk about empathy. He also wants to talk about tribalism, bottle flutes, surfing, 3 a.m. radio stations, and the logistical nightmare of running a refillable cup program on tour. But mostly, he wants you to keep an open mind—even if his producer doesn’t think that’s necessarily a good thing.
“I wanted to start the record with that phrase,” Johnson says of Meet the Moonlight’s opener, “Open Mind.” “And then Blake [Mills] asked, ‘Is it even good to have an open mind?’ Like, we always treat it like a virtue, but is it?” A philosophical collaboration was born—one built on good-natured bickering, card games, and a shared obsession with folk legend Greg Brown. “He’s like if Kurt Vonnegut wrote songs,” Johnson says. “You build tension, then release it with laughter or tears. Greg always chooses laughter.”
The result of their odd-couple chemistry is Johnson’s most sonically adventurous and lyrically poignant album in years. The beer bottle counter-melody on “Costume Party” wasn’t a metaphor—it was literal. “We figured out the pitch of each bottle with a tuner, taped 'em with labels—E-flat, F—and I’d blow into them like some eco-friendly pan flute.” One minute he’s singing about loneliness, the next he’s doing Dazed and Confused basslines on a six-pack.
The record, like most of Johnson’s catalog, came together in pieces: “You can’t always exhale,” he says. “Sometimes you have to inhale—read books, talk to friends, surf.” That’s how verses become choruses. “A lot of songs start with a line echoing in my head. I don’t even know what it means yet. The song is me figuring it out.”
But Meet the Moonlight isn’t just the result of a couple existential surfs. It’s a document of years that were, in his words, “strange for everybody.” There’s a weight to these songs—climate anxiety, cultural division, isolation—but Johnson can’t help letting the sun shine in anyway. “I don’t think it’s something I try to do,” he says. “I think it’s just natural. These songs get written on the front deck at barbecues.”
That lightness extends to the work he does when he's not on the road. Johnson’s longtime environmental nonprofit recently launched The Learning Farm, an 8-acre native wetland project where local kids can learn about sustainability and probably hear some ukulele jams during Friday “pau hana” wind-downs. “I’ve been spending most of my time there,” he says. “It’s a big part of my writing now too.”
And yes, the Green Initiative is still going strong on tour—refillable cup programs, zero-waste goals, and teaming up with local nonprofits in every city. “My wife says her job is to take the spotlight on me and shine it somewhere useful,” he laughs. “I like that.”
Even radio got a nod—he reminisced about the days of in-studios and acoustic morning sessions before playing to sold-out crowds at night. “It’s nice to strip the song back to how it was written,” he says. “The connection’s more real that way.” He even has a new song called “3AM Radio,” though it’s more about trying not to fall asleep behind the wheel than scoring a Top 40 hit.
As for Brushfire Fairytales turning 20, Johnson admitted he hadn’t really marked the occasion. “Thanks for the reminder,” he chuckles. “We’ll play a bunch of those songs on tour this summer.” Because after 20 years of songs, surfing, and singing into beer bottles, Jack Johnson’s still just trying to make something that might be your favorite album. “That was my only dream,” he says. “Just one person loving the record. Everything else was a bonus.”
Watch the full interview above and then check out the videos below.
