The song “Sanctuary” by Joji, released in 2019, is a sweeping, cinematic pop anthem that explores the profound human need for a safe, authentic connection. At its core, the song’s meaning is about the singer finding a person who serves as his personal refuge, or “sanctuary,” from the world. He argues that this real, sincere connection is far more valuable than any idealized, perfect, or “angelic” love that people often wait for. It’s a declaration that he has stopped searching for a flawless ideal and has instead found something much better: someone real.
This track marked a significant moment in Joji’s artistic journey, moving away from the lo-fi, melancholy sounds of his earlier work into a brighter, ’80s-inspired synth-pop arena. Produced by Justin Raisen, the song’s grand, hopeful music mirrors its message. It’s a complex emotional plea, wrapped in a deceptively upbeat package, asking a partner to stop waiting for a fairytale romance and to embrace the genuine, secure love that is right in front of them. The song digs deep into the idea of sincerity, shared loneliness, and the urgent need to hold onto real love in a fleeting world.
The Secret World of the First Verse
The song’s narrative begins by painting a picture of intimacy and secrecy. The setting is intentionally vague but evocative, suggesting quiet meetings in the dark. This isn’t a loud, public declaration of love, but something more private and personal. The listener is invited into a world that exists away from prying eyes, perhaps in the late hours after dusk, in anonymous places like parked cars or nondescript motel corridors lit by artificial, colorful lights.
This atmosphere of privacy is crucial. It suggests that the connection he shares with this person is separate from the rest of their lives. The person he is addressing is described as a “fallen star,” a metaphor that carries significant weight. This could imply someone who has lost their way, is feeling low, or has seen their own dreams or reputation tarnished. They are not in a perfect place, which makes the singer’s role even more important.
He presents himself as this person’s ultimate source of reliability. He is their one “call away,” the person they turn to when the “night falls.” This establishes him not just as a lover, but as a protector and an “escape.” He is their safe harbor from whatever challenges they face, be it public scrutiny, personal loneliness, or internal struggles. He is the person who understands them when no one else does, the one who will be there without judgment in these quiet, hidden moments.
This secret world they share is the foundation for the entire song. It’s a space where vulnerability is allowed. The “neon walls” and “motel halls” are not glamorous, but they are real. They represent a transient space where two people can be their authentic selves, away from the pressures of the outside world. This is the very beginning of the “sanctuary” he is building; it starts as a physical escape before he reveals it has become an emotional one.
The tone of this section is one of dedicated comfort. He is not judging this “fallen star” for their situation; rather, he is embracing it. He is offering himself as a constant in their unstable world. This setup is vital for understanding the song’s main message: he isn’t looking for someone who is already perfect. He is drawn to this person because of their realness, their struggles, and their need for a safe space, a need that he apparently shares.
An Ache for Real Connection
Following the establishment of this private world, the song transitions into its emotional core. The pre-chorus section dives deep into the why behind this connection. It’s not just a physical or convenient escape; it’s a profound, empathetic bond. The singer reveals that when his partner is alone, he feels a corresponding “ache.” This is a powerful statement of empathy. He doesn’t just sympathize with their loneliness; he feels it with them.
This shared feeling is a “something” he actively “wanted to feel.” This line is incredibly important. It suggests the singer himself was living in a state of numbness or detachment before this relationship. He was craving a genuine, deep emotional experience, even if that experience included pain or longing. He was tired of shallow connections and was searching for something that felt true. This partner, in their vulnerability, has unlocked that capacity for deep feeling in him.
This mutual ache is the glue that binds them. It’s a shared vulnerability. Later in the song, this idea is revisited with the concept of “souls that dream alone” lying awake. This beautiful imagery suggests two isolated people, both longing for connection, finally finding each other. They were both awake with their own dreams and anxieties, and now they can potentially share them.
The singer’s offer to “give you somethin’ so real” is the antidote to this loneliness. The “realness” he offers is a direct contrast to the fantasy and illusion that the world, and perhaps their own expectations, demand. He isn’t offering a perfect life or a problem-free existence. He is offering his true, empathetic self. He is offering a connection based on shared pain and a mutual desire to feel something authentic.
This section essentially redefines the relationship. It’s not just about him saving a “fallen star.” It’s about two incomplete people finding a sense of wholeness in each other. He needed to feel this profound ache just as much as she needed an escape. It’s a symbiotic relationship where both parties are saving each other from their respective isolation. This emphasis on “realness” over perfection becomes the central thesis argued in the song’s powerful chorus.
The Central Thesis: Rejecting the “Angel”
The chorus of “Sanctuary” is one of the most debated and meaningful parts of the song. It’s here that Joji lays out his entire philosophy on love. He directly addresses his partner, acknowledging that she may have been “waitin’ for fallin’ in love.” This phrase implies she’s been holding out for a perfect, cinematic, fairytale moment—the kind of idealized romance sold in movies and songs.
His response is startlingly honest. He tells her, “you don’t have to wait on me.” This is not him rejecting her. It is him rejecting the idea that he is, or ever will be, that flawless fantasy prince. He is managing her expectations, telling her that if she is waiting for perfection, she will be waiting forever. He is asking her to let go of that impossible standard, both for him and for herself.
Then, the singer turns the lens on himself. He confesses that he, too, has “been aimin’ for Heaven above.” This is a critical admission. He was also on a quest for perfection, for some divine, unattainable ideal. “Heaven” represents a state of flawless peace, a perfect relationship, or perhaps even personal moral perfection. He was striving for something that is, by definition, not of this world.
The song’s most important line follows: “but an angel ain’t what I need.” This is his grand realization. In his search for “Heaven,” he discovered that a perfect, divine, “angelic” being is not what he truly desires. An angel is flawless, pure, and otherworldly, but it isn’t human. It cannot understand human pain, it cannot share an “ache,” and it cannot provide the “real” connection he has found with this “fallen star.”
He doesn’t need perfection. He needs sincerity. He needs a partner who is human, flawed, and real—someone who can be a sanctuary because they understand the need for one. This realization is a profound moment of maturity. He is rejecting the fantasy he was once chasing and embracing the authentic, imperfect relationship he has found.
He is, in effect, telling his partner: “I see that you’re waiting for a perfect love. I used to want a perfect love, too. But I’ve realized that a perfect ‘angel’ is not what I actually need. I need you, in all your imperfect, real, human vulnerability. And I hope you can realize that you don’t need a perfect prince, either—you just need me, someone real.” It’s a powerful plea for them to meet in the middle, in a place of reality and sincerity.
What “Sanctuary” Truly Means
In the second verse, the song explicitly defines the relationship. The singer tells his partner directly, “Not anyone, you’re the one.” This clarifies that she is not just a fling or a momentary escape. She is unique and essential to him. He elevates their connection beyond simple “fun,” bestowing upon it the titular name: “you’re the sanctuary.”
This is the key to the entire song. A sanctuary is a place of refuge, safety, and peace. It is a sacred place where one is protected from danger, persecution, or distress. By calling her his sanctuary, he is saying she is not just a person, but a state of being. When he is with her, he is safe. He is protected from the world, from his own anxieties, and from his own impossible pursuit of “Heaven.”
The song then explains why she is his sanctuary: “Cause what you want is what I want.” This simple line is the definition of true compatibility. Their desires, needs, and fundamental wants are aligned. They are in sync. This alignment is rooted in one thing: “Sincerity.”
The word “sincerity” is chosen with perfect precision. It cuts through all the pretense. Their relationship isn’t based on appearances, social standing, or fulfilling a fantasy. It is based on being genuine, honest, and true. They are two real people who have stopped performing and have shown each other their authentic selves, including their “aches” and “fallen” nature. This honesty is what makes their bond so strong and safe.
This section contrasts deeply with the imagery from the first verse. The “motel halls” and “neon walls” were the physical location of their escape, but she is the emotional source of it. The physical place doesn’t matter; it’s her presence that creates the feeling of safety. She is his portable home, his place of rest.
This makes his plea in the chorus even more potent. He doesn’t need an “angel” because an angel is, by nature, insincere in a human context. An angel cannot be flawed, and therefore cannot be truly sincere in the way two flawed humans can be. He has found something far more rare than perfection: a person with whom he shares a sincere, mutual desire and who provides him with a profound senseof peace. He has found his refuge not in “Heaven,” but in another human being.
The Urgency of a Short Life
The song’s bridge introduces a new, urgent theme: the fleeting nature of time. It’s a simple but powerful section that builds the song’s emotional intensity to its peak. The singer makes a direct, desperate-sounding plea: “Hold me oh so close.” This is a raw request for physical and emotional closeness, a need to reinforce the connection he has just finished defining.
The reason for this urgency is stark: “‘Cause you never know / Just how long our lives will be.” This is a classic memento mori—a reminder of mortality. Life is short, and the future is uncertain. This realization reframes the entire song. It’s not just a philosophical debate about ideal love versus real love; it’s a race against time.
This context makes his argument against “waiting” for a perfect love even stronger. Why would anyone waste precious, finite time “waitin’ for fallin’ in love” as a fantasy event? Why would anyone spend their short life “aimin’ for Heaven” or chasing a perfect “angel”? To do so is to waste the real, tangible moments of connection that are available right now.
The bridge functions as the song’s “call to action.” He is essentially saying, “We have this real, sincere sanctuary together. Life is too short to second-guess it or to hold out for something ‘better’ that doesn’t even exist. So let’s embrace what we have, right now, and hold each other as tightly as we can, because we don’t know how much time we have left.”
This adds a layer of beautiful desperation to the song. It explains why he needs her to understand his point so badly. It’s not just that he loves her; it’s that he doesn’t want to waste a single second of their short lives on fantasy. The “realness” he keeps offering is all that matters in the face of mortality. The sanctuary they provide for each other is not just a comfort, but a vital necessity in a short and often difficult life.
The Sound of Sincerity: Production and Music
The meaning of “Sanctuary” is not just conveyed through its words, but through its sound. The production by Justin Raisen is a masterclass in ’80s synth-pop revival. It’s a stark departure from the melancholic, lo-fi aesthetic Joji was known for. The song is built on bright, shimmering synthesizers, a driving drum beat, and a soaring, anthemic chorus. This musical choice is deliberate and brilliant.
The sound is hopeful. It’s cinematic and grand. This isn’t the sound of quiet sadness in a bedroom; it’s the sound of a revelation, a main-character moment on a movie screen. The music’s grandiosity matches the importance of the singer’s emotional discovery. Realizing that you need authenticity over perfection is a huge, life-changing event, and the music treats it as such.
The juxtaposition of the music and the song’s themes is key. The verses are slightly more subdued, reflecting the private, intimate settings. But when the chorus hits, the music explodes. This is the sound of his certainty. It’s a triumphant, fist-in-the-air declaration. He is not sad or conflicted about rejecting the “angel”; he is liberated by it.
The ’80s pop sound also carries a specific cultural nostalgia. It’s a sound often associated with epic, perhaps even naive, love stories. Think of classic John Hughes films. By using this sound, Joji and Raisen tap into that feeling of grand romance, but they subvert it. They are using the sound of idealized love to champion the message of real, imperfect love.
The song’s structure, with its “hold me oh so close” bridge, builds to a final, powerful crescendo. The music swells, mirroring the singer’s urgency. It feels like the end of a film, where the protagonist is racing to the airport to make his grand speech. In this case, the grand speech is his thesis on love. The hopeful, soaring music reinforces the idea that choosing the “real” over the “ideal” is not a compromise. It is the ultimate victory.
The Visual Story: A Sci-Fi Quest for Connection
The music video for “Sanctuary,” directed by Eoin Glaister, adds a completely different, yet thematically parallel, layer to the song’s meaning. The video is a high-concept, retro-futuristic sci-fi epic, heavily inspired by ’70s and ’80s media like Space Dandy and Battlestar Galactica. In it, Joji plays the lonely, grizzled captain of a spaceship, a man haunted by the past.
The plot of the video follows the captain (Joji) on a quest through space. His primary goal is to find his long-lost love. He is driven by this singular, idealized mission. He battles a villainous rival—a man who, it is revealed, has stolen his eye and, seemingly, his love. The video is filled with campy special effects, dramatic close-ups, and a sense of cosmic loneliness.
At the video’s climax, the captain finally finds his lost love. However, in a tragic twist, she has moved on. She is now with his rival. The captain’s entire quest, his “aimin’ for Heaven,” has been in vain. He is too late. The video ends with him defeating his rival (retrieving his eye) but losing the woman. He is left alone once more, staring into the void of space.
How does this relate to the song? The video’s story is a literal interpretation of the song’s metaphors. The captain is literally “aimin’ for Heaven” (space) to find his “angel” (his idealized lost love). He is on a quest for a perfect reunion. But he fails. The perfection he was chasing was an illusion, a memory that was no longer real. He sacrificed everything for a fantasy, only to find that reality had moved on without him.
The video serves as a cautionary tale. It shows what happens if you don’t follow the song’s advice. The captain kept waiting for his perfect, idealized love. He kept chasing that “Heaven.” In the end, he is left with nothing. This contrasts with the song’s lyrical message, which is a plea to stop chasing and to embrace the real thing that’s right in front of you before it’s too late.
The song is the “what to do” (choose the real sanctuary), while the video is the “what happens if you don’t” (you lose everything by chasing an ideal). Together, they create a powerful, unified message about the dangers of idealism and the vital importance of seizing an authentic, present-moment connection.
Fan Interpretations and Enduring Questions
Like all great pop songs, “Sanctuary” leaves room for interpretation, and fans have debated its nuances since its release. The song’s ambiguity is part of its genius, allowing listeners to project their own experiences onto its framework.
One of the most common debates revolves around the “fallen star” and the “motel halls.” Some listeners interpret this as the singer being the “other man” in an illicit affair. In this reading, the “fallen star” is a woman who is unhappy in her main relationship, and the singer is her secret “escape.” The “sanctuary” is the safe space they share, away from her real life. This interpretation adds a layer of forbidden romance and desperation to the song.
Others see a less literal meaning. The “motel halls” might not be a physical place, but a metaphor for a transient, ungrounded feeling in life. The “fallen star” could simply be anyone who is feeling depressed, lost, or unsuccessful. The singer is not her “other man,” but her primary supporter, the one person who sees her true value beyond her struggles.
Another popular point of discussion is the “angel” line. Who is the “angel”? Is the singer saying he is not an angel, so she shouldn’t expect him to be perfect? Or is he saying she is not an angel, and that’s why he loves her? The most likely meaning, given the context, is that he is rejecting the concept of an angelic partner altogether. He is not looking for a perfect being; he is looking for a human one.
This ambiguity is what makes the song so relatable. It can be a song about a new relationship, an old one, a secret one, or even a song about self-acceptance. The core message resonates regardless. The human heart craves authenticity. We all want to find that person who sees us for who we are, flaws and all, and calls us their “sanctuary.”
A Pivot Point: “Sanctuary” in Joji’s Career
“Sanctuary” cannot be discussed without placing it in the context of Joji’s evolution as an artist. It served as the lead single for his 2020 album Nectar, and it was a dramatic pivot from his work on Ballads 1. His earlier music, including his breakout hit, was characterized by a somber, lo-fi, and melancholic sound. It was music for late nights, often exploring themes of heartbreak, depression, and detachment.
“Sanctuary” was a burst of color and energy. It was unapologetically a pop song, with a huge, radio-ready chorus and polished production. This stylistic shift was shocking to some listeners, but it was essential for his growth. It proved he was not a one-trick pony confined to the “sad boy” genre. He had the vocal talent and melodic sensibilities to create a genuine pop anthem.
Thematically, it also represented a maturation. While his earlier songs often wallowed in the “ache,” “Sanctuary” actively seeks a solution. It’s a song about finding the connection, not just lamenting its absence. It’s an active, hopeful song. The singer is taking agency, defining what he wants, and pleading for it. He is moving from a place of passive loneliness to one of active, sincere pursuit.
The song’s success was a testament to this new direction. It was a commercial and critical hit, praised for its ’80s new-wave sound and its powerful vocal performance. It perfectly bridged the gap between his past and his future, retaining the emotional depth and vulnerability of his early work while packaging it in a more ambitious, accessible, and ultimately hopeful sound. It set the stage for Nectar, an album that would continue to explore the complex, diverse, and often contradictory flavors of love and life.
Conclusion: The Universal Need for a Real Refuge
Ultimately, “Sanctuary” by Joji is a powerful and timeless statement about the nature of love. It masterfully deconstructs the romantic fantasies we are all fed—the idea of a “perfect” partner, a “Heaven-sent” love, an “angelic” being who will save us. Joji, as the narrator, rejects this entire notion.
He teaches the listener that this pursuit of perfection is a trap. It leads to loneliness and missed opportunities. The real treasure is not found in the clouds, but on the ground, in the messy, imperfect, and sincere connections we build with other human beings.
The song’s meaning is a celebration of the “fallen star.” It champions the person who is flawed, who is struggling, and who is real. The singer finds his peace, his “sanctuary,” not in a flawless ideal, but in a genuine person who shares his “ache” and his desires. It’s a song that gives permission to stop “waiting” for a fairytale and to instead build a real, safe, and sincere refuge with the person you have.
In a world obsessed with appearances and idealization, “Sanctuary” is an anthem for authenticity. It’s a reminder that life is short and that the most valuable thing we can ever find is not an angel, but a person who feels like home.