I’ve been waiting for 20 minutes when Jack Antonoff darts in, flustered, holding a bottle of sparkling water and a crumpled tote bag, from which he pulls out nasal spray and quickly spritzes it into each nostril.
“I’m really sorry, I was working on something and it was running late and I couldn’t get it done in time,” the music super-producer says, sounding like he means it. He brushes off my assurances that it’s OK: “Lateness is annoying,” he pronounces.
He’s wearing a white T-shirt that has holes in it — not in the distressed fashion way, but in the really-old-shirt way — with a smattering of brown stains on the sleeve. Signature thick black wire-rimmed glasses frame his face.
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