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The air conditioning inside the Sydney office of *Wall of Sound* hums a low, mechanical bassline, a sharp contrast to the damp, mid-May autumn chill settling over Moore Park outside. It is only hours before All Time Low is scheduled to take the stage at the iconic Hordern Pavilion, and the backstage energy is already thick with the familiar, electric friction of an impending rock show. Inside the interview room, the atmosphere is considerably warmer, bordering on intimate.
Bree Vane, a seasoned music journalist with a sharp eye and a clipped Australian accent, sits across from the band’s rhythm section—or, more accurately, the band’s foundation. To her left is Zachary Merrick. At twenty-nine, the bassist possesses a quiet, grounded presence that anchors whatever room he is in. He sits with a deceptively relaxed posture, thick arms crossed over his chest, though his dark eyes are entirely alert. Next to him, practically vibrating at a different frequency, is Jack Barakat.
Twenty-eight, all lean limbs, messy dark hair, and expressive features, Jack doesn't just sit in a chair; he colonizes it. His long legs are stretched out, his shoulder pressed firmly against Zach’s, a habit ingrained over nearly two decades of friendship and ten years of a fiercely protected, quietly enduring marriage. To the public, they are bandmates, best friends, brothers in arms. To each other, they are everything.
Bree adjusts her digital recorder, glances at her notes, and flashes a professional smile. "So the new album, *Last Young Renegade*, is set for release on June 2nd," Bree begins, her voice bright and engaging. "How did the recording process differ this time around?"
The mention of the record acts like a catalyst. Jack leans forward instantly, his eyes lighting up with that characteristic, theatrical spark. He is naturally flirty, a creature of touch, and almost unconsciously, his hand finds the meat of Zach’s thigh, giving it a firm, lingering squeeze that makes the fabric of Zach's jeans rustle.
"It was a longer process, and we did it in secret," Jack says, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial, cheeky register. He gestures wildly with his free hand, painting the picture in the air. "No one really knew we were doing an album. Like, zero people. They saw pictures of us in the studio on Instagram, but no one really knew what was going on. We didn't say we were making an album. We just let them guess."
Jack’s thumb strokes a small, rhythmic arc against Zach’s knee, a private Morse Code of affection that he doesn't even try to hide from the camera, knowing the fans will dissect it later anyway.
"Alex," Jack continues, referring to their frontman, Alex Gaskarth, "would go on these crazy writing trips to the mountains and the desert. Literally just trying to get away from the whole LA scene, you know? Just to focus on the writing without the noise. And then we would all meet up at this old, legendary little studio we rented in Hollywood. It’s actually the place where The Beach Boys did *Pet Sounds*, which was insane history to stand in. So, because of the vibe of the place, we got a bunch of old 80s synths and just started laying some tracks down."
Zach shifts his weight, the movement bringing him even closer into Jack’s space. A soft, adorable pink hue creeps up his neck and blooms across his cheeks—a permanent vulnerability he possesses whenever Jack is being particularly loud and handsy in public. He clears his throat, offering a shy but incredibly grounded addition to his husband's enthusiastic rambling.
"There's a lot more experimenting too," Zach says, his deep voice a smooth counterpoint to Jack's high energy. "More pedals and whatnot. It wasn't just typical pop-punk, where it's like, 'Alright, let's find the right distortion tone and track the rhythm.' We really pushed the sonic boundaries."
Jack nods vigorously, his hand moving from Zach's thigh to slide casually behind Zach’s back, resting on the top of the chair, effectively bracketing him. "Yeah, we really wanted to make the album sound different," Jack agrees, looking sideways at Zach with an expression that is entirely too fond for a simple business interview. "And a little fresher. We didn't want to make *Future Hearts* part two."
Bree leans forward, intrigued by the mention of the iconic Hollywood studio. "So, do you think your influences have changed drastically within this process?"
"I don't think our personal influence changed that much," Jack muses, his fingers subtly playing with the collar of Zach's shirt at the nape of his neck. "We’re still listening to the same stuff, the same bands we grew up on. But I definitely think we let them affect the music a little more this time. I mean, because this is the seventh album, we really wanted to try different things and sound a little different while still keeping it undeniably All Time Low."
Bree smiles, catching the mention of the classic surf-rock legends. "So, should we expect a Beach Boys tribute hidden track?"
Zach lets out a soft, genuine giggle, the sound high and sweet. He leans into Jack’s side, shaking his head. "Shhh!" Zach teases, putting a finger to his lips while looking directly at Bree with wide, playful eyes. "You’ll spoil the surprise."
Jack beams at him, clearly delighted by Zach's rare burst of playfulness.
"Last time All Time Low graced our shores," Bree continues, steering the conversation to the present tour, "*Future Hearts* was just about to come out, so it's been some time. What can we expect from this tour cycle?"
Jack winces dramatically, leaning directly into the microphone. He drops his head, his lips practically brushing the foam windscreen as he whispers, "Sorry," with a performative guilt that makes Bree laugh.
He sits back up, pulling Zach with him by the shoulder. "Yeah, this tour is interesting because we didn't actually come here on the *Future Hearts* headliner. So it's definitely a lot of that material, along with a couple of new songs, because that's also our main focus with the album coming out in like, a month. So if you're a new All Time Low fan, you’ll be pretty happy."
Jack lets out a loud, booming laugh, and right on cue, Zach giggles beside him, the harmony of their laughter a deeply familiar soundtrack. "We do touch up on the old stuff a little bit, as we always will," Jack reassures the Australian fanbase. "We’re playing the longest set we’ve ever played here. It's about seventeen songs, which is by far the longest set we’ve played in Australia, which is pretty exciting for us."
Zach nods, his expression turning professional yet grateful. "It's usually a side-wave," he explains, using the slang for the smaller, festival-adjacent sideshows. "And it's like an hour at most, so it's really nice to have a proper, full headline set."
"It's also quite a step up in venue size," Bree notes, acknowledging the jump to the Hordern Pavilion.
"Oh yeah, absolutely, it's pretty cool for us," Jack says, his demeanor shifting into something genuinely humbled. "Australia’s somewhere we’ve always wanted to be successful and play bigger crowds. The shows we’ve done here have always been fun, but they've always been kind of smaller, yet still totally insane. So we always knew if we could get a bigger venue, the crowd would be double the insanity. Aussie fans are next level."
Zach offers a small, wry smirk, a flash of dry humor in his dark eyes. "It's also indoors, so hopefully our equipment won't drown again."
Bree laughs at the memory of past rainy festival sets. "Is the crowd any different from back in the States?"
"Well, we’ve only been here seven or eight times," Jack explains, his hand returning to Zach’s knee, tapping a restless rhythm. "Whereas we’ve toured numerous times in the US. So, I do think there's a level of intensity when we come here. It's rare, so it's special to them, which is really cool to witness from the stage."
"You've also brought quite the line-up with you on this run," Bree says, referring to the heavy-hitting support acts. "The Maine and Neck Deep. What's it like taking these guys on the road?"
Jack’s face softens with genuine nostalgia. "We’ve been touring with The Maine since we were eighteen and nineteen. So we’ve known those guys for almost ten years now, and done so many tours with them, so it's kind of nice. A lot of tours we’ve done here have been with either Soundwave or headlining with local openers, which is also fun, but it's nice to be with your actual best friends and travel the country with them."
Zach chimes in, his voice warm. "And we toured the UK with Neck Deep and have done a ton of shows with them. So they're definitely all of our friends that we like musically as well, which is exactly why we did it. It’s just a big family."
"On the back of your single of the same name," Bree transitions smoothly, "who do you think is the 'Life of the Party' out of all three bands on this tour?"
Zach lets out a soft sigh, shaking his head as he thinks about the brutal Australian touring logistics. "It's hard to tell here because you've got to fly every single morning. The geography is crazy. So it can't really be like, 'let's go rage every night!' You have to sleep."
Jack, entirely ignoring the professional boundary of the interview, suddenly shifts and throws his arm completely around Zach, pulling the muscular bassist into a tight, side-hugging embrace. Zach doesn't resist, melting into the hold with practiced ease.
"I will say all three bands do enjoy to partake," Jack says into the camera with a massive, mischievous grin, "which makes it way more fun."
"You guys are famous for your antics on tour," Bree says, leaning into the lore of the band. "Any crazy stories from past Australian trips?"
Jack’s eyes widen, a specific memory locked and loaded. "There was this one time while we were at Soundwave, where Alex literally fainted on the plane. We almost had to make an emergency landing in the middle of nowhere. Someone actually had to fashion an IV from a bag and give it to him mid-flight. He was just really dehydrated, though."
Zach rolls his eyes fondly, cutting in to provide the vital context. "...and we were playing in 110-degree heat too," he emphasizes, his deep voice dripping with mild exasperation for their singer. "And he just doesn't drink water. At all."
"Yeah, it's crazy," Jack picks up the thread, gesturing wildly with his free hand while keeping Zach tucked against his side. "I drink like ten bottles of water a day, and he drinks maybe one or two. So he got on the plane, completely dried out, and literally fainted. They gave him three bags of IVs, and it wasn't even enough. That's how dehydrated he was! He’s a medical marvel."
Bree smiles, adjusting her posture. "I'm sure you're all enjoying the cooler weather this time around, then."
Zach shifts his gaze to Jack, his eyes softening into something deeply private and heavy with unspoken intimacy. He looks back at Bree, a slow, flirty smile stretching across his lips, his cheeks flushing pink again. "Oh yeah, it's amazing. Literally perfect."
"So to wrap things up, we’re going to play a quick-fire game of Name and Shame," Bree announces, a playful glint in her eye. "Time to air all your 'Dirty Laundry'. Apologies in advance."
She looks down at her question sheet, completely missing the lightning-fast, incredibly loaded look shared between the two men. It’s a silent conversation born of ten years of marriage—a flash of shared amusement, a mutual tightening of their posture, and a silent agreement to keep their own literal dirty laundry entirely off the record.
"Firstly," Bree reads, "who uses up the most hot water?"
Without a single second of hesitation, Jack and Zach speak in perfect, practiced unison: "Alex!"
Zach adds, shaking his head, "He takes pretty long showers. It’s ridiculous."
"Who showers the least?" Bree fires off.
Jack breaks into a loud, barking laugh, shifting away slightly to point a dramatic finger at his husband. "Ryan or Zach!"
Zach doesn't even deny it, though a small pout forms on his lips. "Yeah, I’d say me because I'm always working out. So it's just a quick pop-in, pop-out. It’s efficient."
Jack leans back into the microphone, his grin downright wicked. "Ryan and Zach's wardrobe cases both smell the worst by far. It’s like a locker room."
Bree, focused on her speed-round pacing, doesn't notice Zach’s pout deepening, his arms crossing tightly over his chest as he feels a sudden, rare prick of self-consciousness. "Last one on the bus?" Bree asks.
Jack, whose radar is finely tuned to every single micro-expression his husband makes, instantly notices the shift in Zach's energy. He reaches out, his large hand wrapping around Zach’s upper arm, squeezing him in a silent, heavy apology.
"I'd say me or Zach," Jack answers smoothly, his tone softening as he looks at Zach. "We’re known to come back at late hours of the night."
"Biggest prankster?"
"I’ll take that!" Jack claims immediately, throwing his hands up.
Zach shrugs, his voice a little quieter now. "I think everyone kind of does that."
"Ryan definitely doesn't at all," Jack counters quickly, trying to draw Zach back out.
"No, but we have the bunk banana," Zach explains, a small smile returning as he remembers the running joke. "Where you'll go to sleep and be like, ‘What the hell is this?’ and there's a banana under your pillow. It's just funny shenanigans."
Jack leans in close to Zach’s ear, his voice dropping into a lightly lewd, suggestive register that vibrates right through Zach's skin. "There's always a banana under someone's pillow."
Zach’s face burns a bright, beautiful crimson, and he shoves Jack’s shoulder away, though he can't stop the small laugh that escapes him.
"Who's the biggest social media fiend?" Bree asks, moving along.
"Alex!" Jack says instantly. "Like, I enjoy it, don't get me wrong, but Alex is next level. He’s obsessed."
"But would he be the best selfie taker?"
"Yeah, no," Jack scoffs.
"Definitely not," Zach echoes, the pout completely gone now, replaced by unified bandmate solidarity.
Jack turns his head toward the camera, dropping his eyelids half-shut and winking with an exaggerated, seductively playful confidence. "I take a pretty good selfie, so…"
Bree laughs, shaking her head. "Whose hair is most likely to fall out because of bleach?"
"My hair will definitely fall out!" Jack shouts cheerfully, running a hand through his dark, heavily styled locks. "I'm honestly surprised it hasn't already with all the crap I’ve put it through over the years."
Zach offers a quiet, self-deprecating chuckle. "And mine’s going grey, so..."
"Last one," Bree says, leaning back. "Who is the best dressed?"
"Ryan's a pretty good dresser," Jack admits, giving credit where it's due. "He's really on his fashion game lately. Alex doesn't want to hear that, because he thinks he’s the style icon, but it's true."
Zach leans back, a sudden, bold spark of mischief lighting up his features. He looks at Bree, his voice entirely deadpan. "We live in Hawaii, so we don't really wear clothes. We just go naked."
Jack’s jaw practically drops in delight before a massive, proud grin splits his face. He grabs Zach’s shoulder, pulling him in. "Which is also the best dressed! We’re both number one birthday suit supporters."
Bree laughs out loud, shuffling her notes together. She offers them both a warm handshake, thanking them for their time and their energy before closing off the interview and turning off the recording equipment. Within minutes, the media team scurries out of the room to prep for the next slot, leaving the two musicians alone in the temporary quiet of the office space. The door clicks shut, and Jack immediately drops his showman persona, his eyes darting straight to Zach. The playful, loud exterior melts away, leaving only the fierce, protective husband underneath. He reaches out, his fingers catching Zach’s chin, turning his face toward him.
"Hey," Jack murmurs, his voice low and entirely devoid of the banter from moments before. "Are you still upset? About the wardrobe case comment? I was just joking around for the bit, Zee."
Zach looks at him, his dark eyes soft, a tiny lingering shadow of a pout on his lips. "Only a little," he admits honestly, his voice a low rumble. "I don't smell bad."
Jack’s heart aches a little at the vulnerability. He frowns, his features softening into pure devotion. "You smell perfect," Jack corrects him fiercely. "You smell like cedar and skin, and you're the best thing I’ve ever tasted."
Without another word, Jack shifts his weight, gripping Zach’s waist with strong hands and pulling the solid, muscular bassist right out of his chair and onto his lap. Zach lets out a low gasp but complies instantly, straddling Jack’s thighs, his thick arms winding around Jack’s neck. Jack doesn't hesitate. He leans up, his lips capturing Zach’s in a deep, bruising, entirely consuming make-out session. It is desperate and grounding all at once, the familiar heat of their mouths erasing the coldness of the press day.
Jack’s hands slide down from Zach’s waist, his palms burning through the denim of Zach’s jeans as he feels him up, squeezing his hips and pulling him flush against his chest. Zach groans into the kiss, his fingers tangling in the hair at the back of Jack’s head, pulling him closer until there is absolutely no space left between them. Jack’s tongue slides against his, deep and possessive, a silent reassurance that no matter what gets said on camera, this is the absolute truth. When Jack finally pulls back, both of their breaths are coming in short, ragged gasps. Zach’s lips are swollen, his cheeks flushed a brilliant, dark red, and his eyes are heavy with a sudden, thick desire.
Jack smirks up at him, his hands resting heavily on Zach’s hips, anchoring him. "Better?" Jack whispers, his thumb stroking through a belt loop.
Zach lets out a breathy, thoroughly wrecked laugh, leaning down to press a soft, lingering kiss to the corner of Jack’s mouth. "Yeah," Zach murmurs, his chest rising and falling against Jack's. "Better."