“Conan Gray is like Harry Styles, right?”
My dad asked this question as if it were a statement — as if the similarities were rooted in fact. At that moment I was in the peak of my post-concert depression. My dad was driving me back to Gainesville only 12 hours after I stood in the St. Augustine Amphitheater on the second night of Conan Gray’s Superache Tour. That night I cried, laughed, smiled and walked away feeling that there was a mutual understanding between myself and the 22-year-old singer who I would likely never meet.
I thought for a moment before responding to my dad.
“Conan is his own person,” I said. “He’s overdramatic, but he’s overdramatic in a relatable and authentic way.”
After seeing Conan in concert, I felt I finally understood the musician as a person rather than a celebrity. His music has always illustrated honest accounts of his childhood, teenage years and current journey through adulthood. But Superache strikes a different chord now that I myself am approaching my 20s. I now feel that every word he writes is a message for me. Even as I go back and listen to previously released EPs and songs, I can see how Conan’s transgression isn’t a story about himself. Instead, his musical trajectory is a storyline we can all follow. Superache is simply the next chapter in the lifelong journey of overcoming rejection and past trauma.
From Kid Krow to Superache, Conan Gray keeps his music real
Conan’s celebrity reputation has skyrocketed since he released his 2018 EP Sunset Season. Widely known for his songs “Maniac” and “Heather” from his debut album, Kid Krow, Conan has continued his commitment to authenticity and truth in his newest album, Superache, which was released June 24.
If I’m being candid, his music is sad. As I explained to my dad, the American singer-songwriter has branded himself with themes of personal struggle, longing and hopeless romanticism. Inevitably, his music is bound to pull at the heartstrings.
I spent a few days (or if I’m being absolutely truthful, probably a week) working up the courage to listen to Superache in its entirety.
I — like many people — am emotionally vulnerable when it comes to music that reflects how I feel each and every day. Conan’s songs are no exception. I was reluctant to let my tear ducts run wild over Conan’s honest portrayal of life’s hardest moments. I was especially stubborn given that, at the time of Superache’s release, I was transitioning from my high school years into college. I was emotionally vulnerable as it was, and I didn’t need Conan reminding me that I felt lost and alone.
But after my sister purchased concert tickets for the tour in September, I knew I needed to be prepared. So, I sat down, grabbed my Airpods and listened to Superache without any skipping, pausing or rewinding.
No distractions. I let myself experience the music and cry if I needed to.
The general public probably knows Conan as another pop artist trying to “be a hit with the kids.” Others know him as the sad, melodramatic young adult seeking love he has never experienced. I see him as someone who is just like me — crying over feelings they wish they could handle in a healthy manner but cannot seem to move on from.
That’s the beauty of music — it validates the feelings we try to convince ourselves to ignore.
Luckily, Conan is there when it comes to validating emotions that seem uncontrollable at times. Conan artistically says what we are too afraid to admit. In return, we can embrace his music and come to terms with how we feel. His music is particularly impactful during the stages of grief that accompany growing up. We fantasize what we want (e.g., love, happiness, a family) and turn to despair when those aspirations remain empty.
While many of Conan’s songs in Superache grasp this sense of unfulfilled hopes and dreams, there are three songs in particular that translated perfectly on stage and were accompanied by the most tears: “Footnote,” “Astronomy” and “Family Line.”
“Footnote”
Not originally on his set list, “Footnote” was included in Conan’s St. Augustine, Florida, concert after his acoustic version of “The Story” (which is another tear-jerker from Kid Krow if anyone is ever in need of a good cry). Conan addresses coping with the classic story of unrequited love. In the song he gripes over following a loved one to the end of the earth with the hope of being seen. In the end — no matter how hard he tries — the person never reciprocates those same feelings.
We’re perfect together, but I’ll never be
The one
Being a footnote in someone’s life is a universal feeling. The polite rejection leaves lasting scars. No matter how hard we try to be loved in the same capacity we give we wind up feeling like a failure. Conan establishes that it’s okay to be upset about love we so badly desire but never receive. He promises that it’s okay to keep hoping and believing in a love that will never exist. Pain can be a part of the healing process.
“Astronomy”
Feeling so close to someone yet being worlds apart is unbearable. In “Astronomy” Conan grieves over the loss of childhood relationships that he hoped would last forever.
A tale old as time, young love don’t last for life
Eventually, it’s time to let go. The song’s interpretation is not limited to romantic relationships but encompasses friendships as well. As time and space intervene, people we once believed would last in our lives forever suddenly become strangers. That’s the hard reality of life and is especially applicable to college as students drift apart from childhood friends. But according to Conan, grieving is required in order to move forward.
“Family Line”
Once again, Conan relives lifelong trauma through music, but this time focuses on the topic of family. Conan cannot escape his family legacy. He cannot run from the memories and experiences that scarred him. Any abuse or fear he once felt will stay with him forever.
God, I have my father’s eyes
But my sister’s when I cry
Yet family traits only run so deep. How we act, how we speak and how we treat others is what defines us. Despite who we are and where we come from, we can always strive to be better. We can be different than those who hurt us and learn to be honest with ourselves and with others. Conan is more than a son or a sibling — he is a human being capable of being his own person. We can all learn to accept our family. But we can do so without letting where we come from define who we can become.
Superache is for everyone
Oftentimes these overwhelming emotions of rejection, lost childhood, and familial struggles are pushed aside as being dramatic. But if you listen to Conan — and I mean sit down, tune out everything else and simply listen — you will find that vulnerability and sensitivity are valid. The emotions we hide because we are too afraid to be seen are likely the same emotions that someone else is afraid to share.
It comes down to people like Conan Gray who can stand up and say “It’s okay to cry. I’ve been there.”