Conan Grey's Album "Superache": What's So Special About It?

Vanessa Valentino April 10, 2024

Conan Gray, an American singer-songwriter, has undoubtedly cemented himself as a groundbreakingly authentic artist in the past years, rapidly rising to fame through his unapologetically raw songs and albums. In less than a month, yet another of Gray’s albums, titled Found Heaven, will grace the billboards. In honor of this upcoming release, let’s delve into the complexities of Superache, his most recent album from June of 2022, to truly appreciate the nuances of Gray’s songwriting and orchestration. (Disclaimer: Many of these analyses are my own interpretations and observations, and may not coincide with other interpretations; luckily, art is subjective!) 

Movies

In “Movies,” Gray presents an aching comparison of the romanticized romantic relationships in media and the dysfunctional one of the narrator’s. It begins the album on a pessimistic note regarding love and the way it’s portrayed and perceived, as well as the author’s longing for an impractically perfect relationship. In the end, to want a movie relationship is impossible: everything on screen is a mere act. It’s fabricated, thus the only place that such fairy tale perfection exists. In the song, the narrator cries, “We’re holding hands, but it’s all just for show,” suggesting the ironic possibility that their love is exactly like the movies’. 

People Watching

Continuing from the previous song, “People Watching” is an ironic continuation of the assumptions surrounding romantic relationships. Although the narrator in “Movies” addresses the disillusionment and hollowness regarding their own relationship, the narrator in “People Watching” hypocritically plays into the romanticization of other relationships. In this song, the narrator alludes to their self-sabotaging fear of being loved; despite their longing for a similar relationship, they accept that all they are currently capable of doing is observe the relationships of others. 

Disaster

Upbeat and near-panicked, “Disaster” contrasts “People Watching” with a new stage of love: the novelty and potential of a special someone. With its fast pace, “Disaster” resembles the frantic spiral of overthinking, and therefore sabotaging, a relationship before its beginning. Nowhere in the song does Gray mention a sign that the narrator has ruined the relationship (quite the opposite, in fact), yet the whole song speculates its demise. “This could be a disaster,” the narrator says, pessimism embodied. The narrator goes through scenario after scenario: their lover freaks out and the entire relationship is lost, their lover doesn’t reciprocate their profession of love, the narrator is misunderstanding the relationship completely, their lover isn’t even theirs to have in the first place! “Maybe I just made it up, messed it up,” the narrator finishes, saddened. Likely, their own skewed perception and self-sabotage of the relationship has, indeed, messed it up. (Fun fact: the mention of Ashley in “Disaster” could allude to a real friend of Gray’s, who has made several cameos in his old vlogs.)  

Best Friend

As opposed to the previous songs, which cynically examine romantic love, “Best Friend” is a tribute to the narrator’s platonic relationships. The grievances permeating the narrator’s romantic experiences vanish as they think fondly of their best friend. The song adopts a playful tone with its catchy tune and casual expletives, serving as the sole break in the album’s barrage of emotional outbreaks.

Astronomy

Superache dips back into melancholic territory with “Astronomy,” which reminisces a bygone relationship. If “People Watching” is before a relationship and “Disaster” is at its start, “Astronomy” is far past its finish. The narrator appreciates and grieves the memories they’d shared, but fully acknowledges and leans into its transience, begging their ex-lover to “stop trying to keep [them] alive.” In their eyes, the relationship is a dead star: any attempts to revive it are made in vain. In a sense, the narrator’s ability to cherish their relationship while recognizing its irreparable end demonstrates startling maturity. While “Astronomy” is on the sadder side, it is more pensive than it is despairing. 

Yours

In “Yours,” Gray subtly yet directly parallels “Astronomy” with an opposing perspective. In “Astronomy,” the narrator sings, “It’s time to go,” while their desperate counterpart in “Yours” pleads an unreciprocated lover to “tell [them] that it’s time for [them] to go.” Although the “Astronomy” narrator has successfully accepted the end of a relationship, the “Yours” narrator struggles to give up on a past relationship that carefully and cruelly dances the line between platonic and romantic. The effort that the narrator puts into it, with hopes of their attraction being returned, falls short, ultimately leading to their own agony and detriment.

Jigsaw

Furthering the tragedy of the previous song, “Jigsaw” explores the narrator’s fruitless efforts to capture someone’s love and attention, whether it be friends, parents, or crushes, at the expense of their own identity. Briefly, the narrator questions, “If I made you like me, would I even like myself?” But the moment of clarity is ephemeral, and they cry out soon after, “Why don’t you love me? Don’t you love me?” The toxicity of longing and obsession, in this situation, is overwhelming. So overwhelming that the core and foundation of the narrator’s entire world—their own self—is sacrificed, just for the realization that their grab at reciprocated love will remain unrealized. By the end of the song, the narrator has lost themself completely and gained nothing: a breaking point for a shift in tone, which is demonstrated in the next few songs of the album. 

Family Line

With the last song focusing on the violent destruction of identity, what better subject is there to delve into next than family? Family, after all, is the first hand that molds each individual; or in this case, the absence and turmoil of family. While every song in this album is naturally influenced by Gray’s life, this song is particularly personal, showcasing striking and profound vulnerability; to Paper Magazine, Gray admits the intensity of his fears when writing and releasing it. “Family Line” is, he says, his first time tackling his childhood. In “Family Line,” Gray expresses the extent of influence his family had on him; sorrowfully, nature, nurture, and trauma are inescapable, and hurt is inevitably passed from one generation to the next. However, in the bridge, he rejects the fears stemming from his past, singing, “Might share a face and share a last name, but we are not the same.” With this declaration, Gray reclaims his identity, detaching himself from his father’s behaviors and facing his past. Gray released “Family Line” with the hopes of comforting and encouraging those who relate to him, a feat surely achieved with its powerful lyrics and vocals.

Summer Child

In “Summer Child,” Gray puts forward a comforting song that dons a second-person perspective. In it, the narrator speaks to the audience, gently asking them to take care of themselves instead of compromising their feelings and self for the comfort and convenience of others. “When the sun goes missing,” the narrator says, “aren’t the flowers just as pretty? Aren’t the oceans just as deep? The trees as green?” Letting the facade fall, the narrator argues, will not stop the world from spinning—fear should not hold someone back from putting themselves first and expressing (and consequently processing) negative emotions. 

Footnote

Drawing near to the end of the album, Superache returns to romantic themes with “Footnote,” a mournful song surrounding an unrequited love and the narrator’s desolate acceptance of it. In contrast to “Yours,” in which the narrator discontentedly seeks more, the entire premise of “Footnote” is the narrator’s appeasement with being a mere footnote in the other’s life. However, despite their acceptance, the narrator continues to hurt themself with their own obsession—“I’ll just take a footnote in your life, and you could take my body,” they offer, relentlessly sacrificing themself yet again without an equal return. In this sense, while “Footnote” could represent a development of the narrator’s emotions regarding the same person, it does not represent a maturation. 

Memories

In “Memories,” the narrator enters another stage of love as they struggle to heal and move on from their past relationship, grappling with their conflicting emotions as their ex-partner continues to stain their life. The entire song wrestles between contradicting sentiments: a timid “Since you came, I guess I’ll let you stay for as long as it takes…” is interrupted with the narrator’s sudden and fervid “…to grab your books and your coat, and that one good cologne.” The song repeatedly expresses the narrator’s unhappiness at their ex-partner’s presence, but it was the narrator themself who let their ex-partner into their home, reasoning, “You just want to talk, and I can’t turn away a wet dog.” Luckily, “Memories” concludes with a successful rejection and a sigh—as if the mere effort to stick firmly to moving on has completely sapped the narrator’s energy. 

The Exit

In the final song of the album—fittingly titled “The Exit”—the narrator mourns a past relationship as their ex-partner moves on. In a sense, the album has moved almost linearly throughout a relationship (with, however, a heavy emphasis on its demise): before, during, after. “The Exit” captures the struggle to reconcile with the loss of someone who’d once been so intimate, who, now, feels removed and unfamiliar to the narrator. Gray masterfully plays with objects subject to time, too—flowers that have yet to wilt, coffee that has yet to grow completely cold—to illustrate the startling speed at which their ex-partner moved on and the narrator’s corresponding betrayal and hurt. 

All in all, Superache is a compelling album that transparently voyages into complex emotions, expressing thoughts and feelings that Gray’s audience can relate to and embrace. Gray meticulously weaves a cohesive story throughout the album, using all forty of its minutes to lament and describe the broad subject of love: the absence of it, the abundance of it, and everything in between. 

 

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