#17 Favorite Album of 2024
Camelot - Jennifer Castle (Connor's #17) / Chromakopia - Tyler, the Creator (Hadley's #17)
Camelot - Jennifer Castle
Genre: Singer-Songwriter/Folk/Alternative Country
General Vibe: Poetic, kind-hearted, but not above some self-deprecation. A dive bar troubadour takes the piss out of herself in the most lovely way possible.
Key Track: “Lucky #8”
Listen If You Like: Carole King (Tapestry), Bonnie Raitt (Nick of Time), Christopher Owens (I Wanna Run Barefoot Through Your Hair)
Despite my love for the show’s first two seasons, the third season of The Bear, FX’s award-winning show about a dysfunctional kitchen crew attempting to revitalize a storied Chicago restaurant, was a tough watch in all the wrong ways. Where those first two seasons, brought to exquisite life by an exceptional cast led by Jeremy Allen White and Ayo Edeberi, were often difficult to sit through due to their realistic and raw depiction of restaurant culture (as a former late night server, the staff drinking out of plastic to-go containers was far too real) and their unflinching portrait of family (biological or chosen) on the brink of total collapse, the third season challenged me as an audience member by being, well, kind of like a shift of work to get through. Of course there were highlights: the bottle episode focused on sous-chef Tina (played by Liza Colon-Zayas in a performance that should rightfully win her an Emmy), the return of Olivia Coleman in the final stretch of the season (please cast her in everything), and White and Edeberi’s continued tension for control of the menu kept me anchored enough to bear the season’s meandering writing, repetitive and dull improv comedy, and dreaded “to be continued…” end card. Oh, and the pitch perfect needle drops. Those were good too.
Speaking of, in the penultimate episode of the season, as the characters struggle to regain control of their lives inside and outside of the titular restaurant of the show, “Blowing Kisses” by Jennifer Castle waltzes in, a swaying ballad led by the kind of piano that rang out from the Laurel Canyon in the 1970s. Melancholic but softly triumphant, its lyrics illustrate the kind of narrative that is so core to The Bear and why it resonates with so many viewers, a recognition of successes and failures and the gaps between the two, how to make sense when our attempts at art fall short, the brave faces worn against uneven odds, and this gem of a line, which could be the thesis of the show: “Don’t get it twisted / My heart’s still in it / My dedication’s a star and it shines on our differences / and there’s love in the meantime.” While the music supervision team for The Bear deserves some praise for their ability to enmesh perfectly selected songs with their show, for those who chose to go beyond the needle drop and listen to Jennifer Castle’s new record Camelot (which contains “Blowing Kisses”), what they will find is an album that far exceeds the season of television by which they found her.
Based out of Ontario, off the coasts of Lake Erie in Port Stanley, Jennifer Castle’s music manages to capture the spirit of artists like Carole King and Bonnie Raitt, troubadours known for their travelogues, attentive depictions of domesticity and community, and strong sense of humor which makes their more serious perspectives on the world endearing and digestible. Avoiding a preachiness or didacticism that can often plague the singer-songwriter genre, Castle balances wry wit and vulnerable sincerity with the expertise and panache of a Michelin-star chef, vinegar and honey whenever the tone calls for it. Take the opening title track, which begins with the singer sleeping in their unfinished basement in a sort of resignation, a metaphor for their feelings toward the strained creative process, only to arrive at the key philosophical question of the chorus: “Am I just pissing in the wind?” Art, whether it’s painting or writing or composing music, often feels unimportant when too close to the act of creating it; yet when Castle zooms out a bit more, and seems to draw a comparison between process success and the mythical land of Camelot, the song swells with strings and a soaring vocal melody that tugs at the heart, encourages the listener to create through their doubts. It’s an opening salvo that sets up Camelot’s many inquiries about the artistic life, a road map with many detours, awe-inspiring vistas and dive bars, colorful characters weaving in and out, Castle as the questing knight at the center of it all.
Where Camelot really comes to life is in those detours, whether it’s sudden distrust of the world at large (“Trust” interrogates two-faced friends, corporations, gurus, the news, and a whole slew of other possible inauthentic sources, a list lyric not unlike Alanis Morissette, another great Canadian songwriter), a moving tribute to a departed friend or muse (the title character of “Louis” never quite emerges as a fully formed person, but Castle uses grief as a way to explore how music and images can connect us to the past, present, and future in a fluid manner), or an ode to enjoying time by oneself (“Full Moon in Leo” imagines a vacation that is highlighted not by tourism but instead by “remaining bare-naked underneath my chores / pushing my broom in my underwear and my attitude forever more”). Castle is such an endearing protagonist, the kind of subtle firebrand who veils their passion and exuberance in humor and a slight twang in her voice, backed by a rotating sonic style of folk, alternative country, crooners, and dusty road rock.
On the album’s best song, “Lucky #8”, Castle coalesces all of these styles and narrative perspectives and captures the experience of being at a strip club and talking philosophy and existentialism while making sure to tip the dancers, a blue-collar diorama soundtracked by gorgeous ‘70s-style harmonies and an irresistible guitar riff dueting with bittersweet strings, the chorus delivered with a wink and a good-natured shrug: “Just give your money to the dancers / while their hips go figure 8 / and they entrance us with the answers / and we hope and pray that the answer ain’t too late”. In the song’s final moments, the refrain “I hope it’s not too late” becomes a prayer for the narrator of Camelot, a plea but also a determination toward not giving up, of the strange and beautiful interactions which make life meaningful, of the slippery stuff by which art and relationships are imbued with purpose.
Chromakopia - Tyler, the Creator
Genre: Hip Hop
General Vibe: Confessional Album, Trunk Rattling Bangers
Key Track: “Take Your Mask Off”
Listen If You Like: Doechii (Alligator Bites Never Heal), Little Simz (Sometimes I Might Be Introvert), Chance The Rapper (Coloring Book)
In a year where one of the biggest headlines in music was about a rap beef, Tyler, the Creator instead turned inward to spar with his personal demons. It’s not the first time the colorful hip hop provocateur has gotten intimate in his lyrics. For example, Tyler used an alter ego named Dr. TC to hold hallucinatory therapy sessions with himself during the trilogy of his debut albums Bastard, Goblin, and Wolf. So what makes his 2024 album Chromakopia stand out in terms of vulnerability from the rest of his catalog? During a prerelease listening event hosted in Atlanta, Tyler candidly explained to the audience why he chose to hide his face on the album’s cover art. “This is the first album where, like, everything I said is true. It’s so honest, that I think I had to wear a mask of my own face to get some of that shit out.”
You know a hip hop record is going to hit you with some truth when it features voice recordings used as interstitials from the artist’s mother. It’s Bonita Smith’s maternal intonations that ground the themes of the album together through her gentle advice and encouragement while Tyler reckons with maturity through self reflection. Part of that shadow work is eschewing the misogyny present on his debut albums in lieu of the divine feminine. This is challenged in the one-two punch of “Darling, I” and “Hey Jane” which together tell a story about two conflicting life paths. The first is one where Tyler embraces non-monogamy with multiple consensual partners, and in the other he could choose one partner and fatherhood after an accidental pregnancy. Tyler’s maturation shows in the way he decenters himself on both songs and even raps from the POV of his partner on “Hey Jane” as she gives her perspective. The guest features on the album are also where feminine voices reign supreme. Two of the best moments of Chromakopia are delivered by GloRilla on “Sticky” and by Doechii on “Balloon.”
No subject seems off limits for Tyler, the Creator this time around, but that doesn’t mean that vulnerability is easily won for him. The toxic masculinity from Tyler, The Creator’s previous persona is now a specter from a past life to be exorcised. On “Noid”, he raps about the paranoia that comes with celebrity and how it feeds his desire to stay isolated and stoic. Later he poignantly admits that his much referenced anger towards his absent father was a front for his much deeper insecurities about what their relationship could have been. The most direct incantation comes on “Take Your Mask Off,” which has him taking apart multiple situations where masculinity is damaging those around him. In the song, he calls out a peer whose need to impress other men has led him to prison, a pastor who’s guilt is eating him whenever he engages in gay sex, and a woman suffering postpartum depression after choosing a man for his status instead of one that she loves. The overall effect of Chromakopia’s vulnerability in spite of great obstacles is raw, urgent, and timely as American values are drifting dangerously to the right. Bonita Smith offers her guidance in times like these: “Don’t you dim your motherfucking light for nobody.”