Monday, March 23, 2020 — 6
Arts
The Michigan Daily — michigandaily.com
I first happened upon Conan Gray’s
music as I would any great discovery: on
a YouTube binge. An e-boy poster child
with a mess of hair and a killer pout,
I immediately wanted to dislike him.
Instead, I clicked on music video after
music video, impressed that he could
be so melodramatic yet extremely self-
aware. Gray’s debut album Kid Krow feels
like staring at a glowing laptop screen —
dizzying and addictive.
It’s no surprise, then, that Gray got his
start as a YouTuber. A video titled “Let Me
Introduce Myself” shows a young, 2013
Conan innocently waving at the camera;
by 2016 he hit
millions
of
views, and has
since
followed
a
similar
trajectory
to
fellow YouTuber-
turned-popstar
Troye
Sivan.
Unlike
Sivan,
however,
Gray
has stayed rooted
in
the
culture
he’s
helped
cultivate.
His
recent
videos
highlight
him
making
art,
getting his ear
pierced
and
shopping,
all
activities
that
further his brand as not only a vulnerable
singer-songwriter,
but
as
someone
accessible enough to be thought of as a
friend.
The hours he has spent building an
audience shows up most explicitly on
Kid Krow’s interludes “(Online Love)”
and “(Can We Be Friends?).” Vignettes
of internet love, these soft, breezy tracks
treasure the careful kindling of long-
distance relationships. On the latter, Gray
sweetly threatens to “knock (the) teeth
out” of anyone who messes with his fans.
It’s charming.
The rest of Kid Krow lives in the gray —
the almost love, the chase of an unreachable
crush, the understanding that you’re being
led on, the terrifying acceptance that you
like it. On “The Cut that Always Bleeds”
Conan pleads for a on-again off-again lover
to leave, then ends up begging them to
stay. “Comfort Crowd” acknowledges the
lonely, melancholic ache that comes with
adolescence. Every track feels a bit delicate
and unsure.
By way of capturing that uncertainty
of adolescence, Kid Krow feels like the
second you’ve shut your bedroom door: The
record is a soundtrack to the movie reel of
memories your mind plays when you’re
alone. It’s intimate enough to know all of
your insecurities on “Heather.” It’s petty
enough to understand your outlandish
dreams of revenge on “Checkmate.” Gray’s
lyricism feels close in a way that only a kid
raised by the Internet can be. It’s obvious
that he’s scrolled through years worth of
oversharing — Kid Krow is his opportunity
to contribute.
According to an interview with People,
Gray’s
best
friend
told
him
he
was
like
a
crow:
mysterious,
watching,
knowing.
“Kid
Krow,”
therefore,
became
Gray’s
superhero
alter
ego.
On
“The
Story,”
for
example, Conan
narrates the sad
endings of kids
whose “parents
were evil” from
a bird’s eye view.
Gray
worries
that “that’s just
the
way
the
world works / it ain’t funny, it ain’t pretty,
it ain’t sweet,” but he stays hopeful. He
doesn’t trivialize brooding, he embraces it.
But Gray’s music isn’t constrained to
moody 3AM listen. On “Maniac,” he has
fun calling out an ex who’s told everyone
that he’s the crazy one. “Wish You Were
Sober” is intoxicatingly bouncy. The flip
side to the hours I picture Conan laying
in bed overthinking, is lots of dancing.
Thankfully, being emotional doesn’t always
have to be so sad and lonely. Besides, Gray
recognizes that all of this drama is kind of
funny.
A week before the album’s release,
Conan tweeted that he “wrote this whole
entire album about someone (he) never
dated and never kissed.” Speaking for a
generation that Internet-stalks, Snapchats,
and texts as much as we talk in person — if
Conan’s tweet isn’t upsettingly relatable, I
don’t know what is.
Conan Gray’s debut is all
about love in the digital age
KATIE BEEKMAN
Daily Arts Writer
WIKIMEDIA COMMONS
If you ever say something and then find
yourself thinking, “Was that racist?”, odds
are, it probably was. That self-awareness of
prejudice and microaggressions may seem
reflexive to some in 2020, but in 1997, that
may not have been the case for everyone.
And it certainly isn’t for the characters of
“Little Fires Everywhere.”
Set in the Shaker Heights suburb of
Cleveland,
“Little
Fires
Everywhere”
follows two families separated by class and
race. In the summer of 1997, the wealthy,
white Richardson family begins renting
one of their properties to struggling
artist Mia Warren (Kerry Washington,
“Scandal”) and her daughter Pearl (Lexi
Underwood, “If Not Now, When?”). Elena
Richardson (Reese Witherspoon, “Big
Little Lies”) immediately seeks to befriend
Mia, whom she rented to in a moment of
white guilt after accidentally reporting
her to the police
for trespassing.
Despite
Elena’s fumbling
attempts
at
gaining
her
friendship,
Mia
resists
making
ties
with anyone in
the exceedingly
planned
community,
as
she
has
spent
her entire life
moving
from
city to city every
few
months.
While
tensions
heighten
between
Mia
and Elena, their
children,
now
attending
the
same
school,
become close friends and bring their
families together. Soon, Mia agrees to take
a job as the Richardsons’ housekeeper in
order to protect Pearl and study the hidden
rifts in the seemingly perfect family’s
relationships.
The first few episodes released of “Little
Fires Everywhere” have been a lengthy
flashback meant to set up the eventual
arson of the Richardson’s mansion months
after Mia and Pearl’s arrival in Shaker
Heights. With this knowledge in mind,
the audience is left wondering who would
set a house on fire with a family of five
still inside and what would drive them
to such violence in what appears to be a
picturesque community?
“Little Fires Everywhere,” while full
of artful suspense and beautiful writing,
also places viewers in a constant state
of discomfort with dialogue rife with
awkward attempts at political correctness.
Elena, insecure in her internalized racism,
frequently brands herself as accepting
despite her intense distrust of Mia and
inherent biases as a highly privileged
white woman.
Based on the best-selling novel of the
same name, this miniseries examines not
only the racial tensions of the late 1990s
but also the very American tragedy of
suburban living. Mia, who prides herself
on going with the flow and remaining
unattached, finds herself in the middle
of a neighborhood so orchestrated and
organized that it feels as if the oh-so
permanent walls are closing in. Despite her
resistance to embrace the Shaker Heights
philosophy
of
complete control
over chaos, her
love
for
her
daughter tethers
her to what she
sees as a prison
of tranquility.
Because of this
commitment,
Mia and Pearl
are stuck inside
a
system
of
weakening
social strata as
the threat of the
eventual
fire
looms over the
audience.
With
each
strained
interaction
between
them
and
the
Richardsons,
“Little
Fires
Everywhere” shows how the build-up of
intense pressure can lead to a destructive
explosion.
This show, while only beginning, has
already constructed an intricate web of
personal relationships and largely owes
its success to the incredible performances
of Washington and Witherspoon. As
the series continues to unfold and the
characters further unravel, Elena and
Mia’s
complex
dynamic
will
remain
the center of a thrilling story and pose
questions to viewers about how even
sparks can start wildfires.
Exposing microaggressions
in ‘Little Fires Everywhere’
ANYA SOLLER
Daily Arts Writer
HULU
ALBUM REVIEW
Kid Krow
Conan Gray
Republic Records
TV REVIEW
TV REVIEW
Little Fires
Everywhere
Season 1, Episodes 1-3
Hulu
Now Streaming