Indie music today feels more cinematic than ever. Artists like Holly Humberstone, Sam Fender, The Japanese House, and Bleachers are proving that honesty and atmosphere can coexist. That a single guitar line or synth wash can hold as much emotion as a full-blown chorus. Meanwhile, alt-rock has traded angst for introspection, with acts like Inhaler, Deftones, and Nothing but Thieves pushing the genre into something moodier, more expansive, and distinctly modern. It’s music built for late nights, long drives, and small epiphanies — the kind of sound that lives somewhere between dream and daylight. That’s exactly where Jack Pleasants steps in.

The San Francisco-based newcomer has traded his corporate past for creative freedom, stepping into the spotlight with his debut single “Che Alé.” It’s an atmospheric, emotionally-charged track that captures the rare intersection of soul-searching and surrender — a sound that feels at home between the ambient pulse of Radiohead and the reflective glow of Dayglow or The Japanese House. Pleasants calls it “music born from sunlight and solitude,” and you can hear it in every chord.

After graduating from Yale and working at a public company, Pleasants did what most only dream of: he walked away. His debut single marks not just a creative rebirth but the beginning of an ambitious project — twelve singles in twelve months, each one designed to map the evolution of an artist letting instinct take over. With “Che Alé,” he captures that moment of clarity when the noise fades and something deeper takes hold.

We caught up with Jack to talk about the leap from corporate life to cosmic soundscapes, and how surrender became his creative philosophy: 

You made the jump from Yale grad and a public energy company to being an atmospheric indie rocker. What convinced you it was time to walk away from the corporate world and dive into music?

It’s funny, it was just a realization that “it’s time.” How does a seed know when to sprout? I don’t know. Though it’s never “too late,” I do think youth behooves artists, so that was part of it. But probably more so, it was a feeling that – despite my genuine love of the mission and team I was working with – that the energy inside me was being redirected, like a river that can no longer go down a certain path, and must go another. 

You’ve described your sound as “born from sunlight and solitude.” How does that translate into your daily life?

Being from California, the sun is big for me. I love being in the sun as much as possible, to the point that I basically never opt to sit in the shade, whenever the sun is an option. My brother and I often eat outside in the sun with our shirts off, it’s one of the best things in life. The sun also represents for me the source of life, emanating the light of consciousness, which is fundamentally inseparable from what we are. Raw consciousness, experiencing an experience. So it’s a nice analogy to help understand the depth of what’s going on.

Equally important is spending time with yourself. At some point, I realized, I was a pretty anxious kid, about most things. Trying to make sure bad things don’t happen, trying to make sure good things do happen. Which I think a lot of people can relate to. So it was going into the discomfort in stillness, with practices like sitting meditation, that was key for me to realize the depth behind the story in the head. And a lot of what I write about has to do with this deepening, which you might put into the category of “spirituality” or “personal growth” or “self-help” or “mental health” or “faith” or “actualization” depending on where you come from. Doesn’t matter to me what it’s called, but I do like to sing about it.

Does any part of your old 9-to-5 mindset still show up when you’re creating? Maybe the discipline, the structure, or even a touch of rebellion?

It’s a good question. Yes, I think consistency now is key, in the same way that you’d have consistency with a 9-to-5. Having the scaffolding of “there’s going to be 12 songs this year” helps provide a lot of that structure.

Let’s talk about Che Alé. What’s behind that title, and how did it come to define the song’s meaning?

When it was being written, the working title of the song was called “Not a Rescue.” The anxious voice often says, in any given situation, “this is a rescue” or “this is an emergency” or “I need to do something now to fix X, Y, or Z.” And so originally it was “Not a Rescue.” But as the song evolved, the emphasis became on the end of the song, and so Alé became a focal point. Alé is kind of like “come on,” and Che is this lovely, mysterious word that I learned this summer in Italy as well. Hard to define, but it’s used very frequently as a sort of segue, especially (it seems) in setting up a point about to be made.

You wrote it while walking home at night with your guitar. What was going through your head in that moment that led to this track?

Actually, nothing. The songs come when they come, and so my fingers just started playing the intro rhythm and riff, and then when I got home, I started “finding the fertile ground” for a vocal melody and story, as U2’s The Edge calls it.

You’ve said your goal is to make music that “elevates the soul.” What does that feel like when you’re actually in the studio?

It feels great. Kind of feels like I’m a kid in a candy shop, having instruments around you and just playing around. And then when it’s time to record and refine, I try to keep the sense of fun alive, because if it isn’t, it isn’t play, it’s work. And sometimes it is work, and that’s okay. But the more I can feel into the play part, the better – both for the process and the product. 

There’s a real sense of surrender in Che Alé. Do you think letting go is the secret to making honest art, or just the secret to living well?

Thank you. Definitely important for me in making art, as I can’t make anything I enjoy when I’m stressed. And then yeah, I think it’s kind of the secret to everything. I have a cousin who says “there’s too much holding on, not enough letting go.” And I really like that. Life is a river, and the piece you’re worried about is soon gone down the stream. It’s not to demonize the stress, it’s just that usually for me, stress actually very helpfully points to something I’m not accepting. And the acceptance is the letting go.

You’re planning to release twelve songs in twelve months. What are you hoping to achieve with all this music?

The goal is to increase my energetic capacity as much as possible, and channel that capacity into sound. I like the idea that art is a byproduct of a state of being. So the state is fundamental.

When it comes to collaboration, are you keeping this project personal, or do you see it growing into more of a collective effort?

Good question. So far, I’ve found writing to be quite a personal thing, but when I play live, I love a big sound. Ideally, drums, bass, guitar, and synth pads. And then of course nothing is ultimately isolated, it’s all intertwined and inspired by this or that. The coolest things in music that I’ve ever done don’t even come from me in the traditional sense of “Jack the person,” it comes from somewhere else and happens through you as a vessel.

What do you want people to feel the first time they hear Che Alé? Is there a particular emotion or energy you hope sticks with them?

I hope people feel like they can let loose a little. The first part of the song has a bit of intentional tightness and tension to it. Originally it was twice as long, and then my Dad heard it and said “what if that part was only 10 seconds long.” I told him 10 seconds is a little short, but cut it in half to increase emphasis on the ending, where the tension lets go. So I hope the energy of release is what carries.  

A year from now, once all twelve songs are out in the world, what would make you look back and say, “Yeah, that was worth it”?

You know, I think it’s inherently worth it. Just making the music will be worth it. The growth required and the fun involved are means that justify themselves, regardless of where the ends net out. 

Listen to “Che Alé” now and step into Jack’s world 👇