In 2007, singer/songwriter Sara Bareilles released Little Voice, her second album, the one that helped her breakthrough with tracks like “Love Song,” “Bottle It Up,” “Morningside,” and (personal favorite) “Many the Miles.” Since then, she’s released several studio and live albums, EPs, co-starred in comedy series Girls5Eva (2021-2024), and both written the music for and starred in the Broadway production of Waitress: The Musical. A multi-hyphenate, an artist, and, some may forget, a person. On the cusp of releasing her next studio album, her first since 2019’s Amidst the Chaos, the personal drives the majority as she pours six years’ worth of grief into each track, each one speaking to a part of herself that she’s lost personally and privately. Directed by Josh Alexander (Loudmouth) and featuring a small group of Sara’s frequent musical collaborators (including those she toured with for the 2021 live album Amidst the Chaos: Live from The Hollywood Bowl), documentary “Sara Bareilles: Good Grief” invites audiences inside as they work on arranging several tracks from a new album across five days. Having its world premiere in the Gala section of Tribeca Film Festival 2026, Good Grief is, at once, private, intimate, and raw, while also a hilarious celebration of human existence, demonstrating that the people we surround ourselves with, the village we make, can be the difference between finding solid ground or drowning in loss.
Sara Bareilles in SARA BAREILLES: GOOD GRIEF. Photo courtesy of Tribeca Film Festival.
In March of 2025, Sara Bareilles gathered with several friends/collaborators at the Dreamland Studios in Woodstock, New York, to work on songs for her upcoming new album. Unlike past albums, the idea is to record as much as possible together, like practicing for a tour, using a communal process to craft the demos into full-blown tracks. This will require the self-described Type-A musician to step out of her comfort zone, but that’s not totally unusual for the singer-songwriter who’s been working for more than two decades entertaining audiences. What’s different is that these songs are almost entirely born out of pain and loss, are deep and personal, cutting to the quick regardless of one’s own lived experience. Captured almost entirely in intimate close-ups, Good Grief generates the sensation of being part of the engineer team as Sara, guitarist Butterfly Boucher, keyboardist Misty Boyce, bassist Solomon Dorsey, and percussionist Charley Drayton, among others, build seven tracks that will appear on the next Bareilles album.
Alexander immediately sets the tone for what Good Grief is going to be by opening on a self-recorded “confessional” from Sara. She speaks directly to us, moving the camera to show us her dog playing in the room, talking about what the plan is for what follows, essentially introducing us to the journey. For those less familiar with her published work, or, perhaps, only with her radio hits, Sara’s candor may seem striking at first. During her shows, she’s a host who generates intimacy by not putting on airs, and who entertains with playfulness. Mistakes happen and she acknowledges them, she engages portions of the audience in dialogue, not conversation. For the skeptical, this might seem like a performance unto itself, a personality the singer wears so as to sell records, tickets, and merchandise, but it’s so consistent, so present in her music and messaging, that the purity of it comes through. Pair this with surrounding the central figure of the film with individuals she already has a pre-existing relationship with and the oft-problematic barrier between subject and audience is gone by the end of this opening sequence. It’s not because Sara talks to us throughout (which happens very rarely and only one other time in this “confessional” style during the documentary), but because once she arrives at Dreamland Studios and is joined by her group, an instantaneous feeling of watching friends reconnect arises. Cinematographer Jenna Rosher (Marc by Sofia; It’s Never Over, Jeff Buckley) keeps the focus close, maintaining a series of medium or tight shots, so that we may as well be another person in the circle of individuals. We’re not so much waiting for our turn to speak and join in as we are invited to listen to these musicians catch up, shifting from the general small talk into profound answers almost immediately. At first, one may feel a certain suspicion about the speed with which certain topics are broached — this is a documentary about the making of an album, after all, it’s a part of the marketing for the upcoming album — but that quickly fades listening to Sara, Misty, and Butterfly delve into their respective experiences with fertility and the struggles that exist regardless of one’s status as a parent. Anyone with close friends can understand just how “hi, how are you?” turns into a series of vomitous divulsions of personal truths within moments. (If you have the kinds of friends where such transformations occur, you’ll recognize the changeover immediately.) A revelation so early on establishes that what we will be watching isn’t going to be about propping up Sara as a singular figure processing complex emotions, but a village congregating to offer support to each other for a brief period; each member developing and taking away something from the experience.
This is a making-of documentary, so it’s important to note the approach to presenting the development of the tracks. This is the reason these creatives have gathered together, though it’s not the purpose. (More shortly.) Spread across the five days, we observe the musicians and studio techs listening to the demos, discussing the lyrics and intention, sounding off on portions that stand out, and submitting ideas of how to reach Sara’s intention. At present, only the song “Home” has been shared publicly, with the remaining tracks worked on in the documentary being the first time that audiences hear them. Wisely, Alexander follows a specific pattern for the majority of the development process wherein they listen to the demo, workshop what portions to approach, and then present the recording. We don’t get the full song; most are performed until the chorus, allowing the audience to get a sense of the song without spoiling the whole. While this might feel like a tease to fans of Sara’s work, this allows the context of each song — it’s intention and her purpose for recording it — to obtain focus. You can buy the album when it releases August 28th, 2026, if that’s what you’re here for. Alexander wants us here in order to participate in a collective grieving process, which Sara, by way of that confessional opening, has invited us in to join. That’s the purpose of these songs, to grieve lives lost that meant something to her, as well as an identity that she’s been forced to shed. Again, those familiar with the stories behind songs like “Love Song,” “King of Anything,” and “Sweet As Whole” are keenly aware of the way Sara has taken inspiration from her lived experiences to craft her music. They are the channel by which she processes the world, making the decision to place her grief into lyrics and music that will hold them for her, exactly what her listeners would come to expect from the lyricist. Now, though having worked for six years in the music industry, I am not a music critic and will not share my thoughts on nor identify/describe each of the songs performed; however, each one, differing in tone and rhythm, feels like peering into Sara’s pain. With the comfort provided by convalescing with trusted friends through this collaborative process, the emotions brought out either by the words, the music, or the reactions we observe on-screen spills out onto the audience. It’s overwhelming without being overwrought and inviting without being intrusive — just as one might feel surrounded by the energy of close friends wherein being as we are is cherished and supported.
Alexander structures the film in such a way that the motivation for Sara’s lyrics and the intention of the orchestration she wishes to create around it are things depicted and discussed openly, just as old friends do. We see people filled with complexity, who recognize that laughter and silliness are important to processing emotions whether it interrupts workflow or serves as a transition to the business at hand. These are not moments of contradiction in the sense that any laughter or presentation of intimacy undercuts the sincerity of songs or their intention, but reminds us why living matters at all.
Sara Bareilles in SARA BAREILLES: GOOD GRIEF. Photo courtesy of Tribeca Film Festival.
Mileage is going to vary with Good Grief. It’s incredibly specific to Sara’s experience and, while the general public may appreciate observing song development, it does not hold your hand in explaining said process. We are travelers on a shared journey held over five days in which friends convene to swap stories, express their emotions through chords, keys, and beats, and lighten the load of grief by finding their own corner to carry. The truth of this life is that not one of us going through anything unique and that society has found a way to trick us all into thinking we are. Yes, our experiences are our own, but someone somewhere has gone through it or something similar, and what are friends but the family we create who welcome all the good and bad parts of ourselves? Sara’s grief is specific to her experience, yet, it also touches Butterfly, Misty, Solomon, and Charley in some fashion. Most importantly, it also touches us. If not now, it eventually will, and may already have, even if you’re not yet aware. Find your family, hold them tight, and cherish them while you can. Today is uncertain, tomorrow is not guaranteed, and not all grief needs to be destructive.
Screening during Tribeca Film Festival 2026.
For more information, head to the official Tribeca Film Festival Sara Bareilles: Good Grief webpage.
Final Score: 4 out of 5.
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Categories: In Theaters, Reviews
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