American actress and singer-songwriter’s third studio album reveals a subverted meritocratic inflexion of the American Dream
With all of its disastrous consequences, Britain has watched from across the pond the incursion of celebrity into politics – less so you, Arnold Schwarzenegger. Now comes the age of the actors’ (far more benign, but equally unsolicited) foray into music.
This isn’t a phenomenon as widespread in the United Kingdom; it has always been a touch conservative about which of its TV stars go where – unless of course it’s from the C-list and into the Jungle, a downfall welcomed with open eyes and a bag of popcorn.
But the exodus to music from within the increasingly homogenised, upper echelons of Hollywood talent, reveals a subverted meritocratic inflexion of the American Dream – where all those with a name may aspire to release an album. We are shown these truths are self-evident, that all celebrities are created equal, that they are endowed by Hollywood with multidisciplinary Talent, that among these are Likeability, Zeitgeist, and the pursuit of Music.
It's a tenet that conjures mixed feelings – of surprise, when a celebrity release is announced; curiosity, during the promotional phase; and a pervading sense of awkwardness-cum indifference when it falls flaccid. Jefferson would be proud.
The third studio album, Chaos Angel, from Maya Hawke, finds place in that rich lineage of music releases from US actors. Closest to home of course is Hawke’s Stranger Things co-star, Joe Kerry, who – under the moniker, Djo – independently released his second studio album, DECIDE, back in September 2022. It gathered dust on the shelves of Spotify until earlier this year, when one of the lead singles, ‘End Of Beginning’, went (quite deservedly) viral. It was fresh, instantly catchy and universally relatable. Sadly, like any other hit fuelled by social media, it burned bright and brief. Here goes an honourable mention to Finn Wolfhard (Mike Wheeler) and The Aubreys, too.
Sadly for Hawke, these fledgling projects are not the only ones her music will be held up against. Us lay, for some time, have been treated to a salad of music from the celebrity world. Some output – from the likes of Corey Feldman, David Hasselhoff, Russell Crowe, or Johnny Depp – offers no threat whatsoever, but some is worth listening to, be it Michael Cera’s, Steve Martin’s, or, heck, even Charles Manson’s, who (Tate–LaBianca episode aside) had a truly knockout voice.
Unfortunately, Chaos Angel does not pack the same punch as any of the good ones – and certainly not Drake’s (yes, an actor first). It is a down-tempo, bare, and simplistic guitar album about love and loss. It breaks no new ground, though it does have something to offer for fans of sweet, sentimental pop music, like Taylor Swift’s Folklore or Corinne Bailey Raye’s innocent debut (though Hawke has pointed to giants like Leonard Cohen as inspiration...).
Given the vanilla hue of the song writing on Chaos Angel, accusations of “nepo baby” will abound. It is a label that when applied to Hawke, one struggles to refute. It is indeed questionable whether a musician without celebrity parents – or a tantalising acting career from a Netflix sci-fi drama – would receive such a tepid review in Wonderland magazine.
It's a curious phenomenon. We are looking up to a handful of messianic personalities and asking them to be limitlessly talented – all the while neglecting the most exciting grassroots music. It is almost as if we struggle to departmentalise the rank of the celebrity; preferring a familiar face than the occupational candidate. It works the other way too; from the music to the acting sphere, what with Harry Styles’ cherubim features collapsing the perfectly-constructed illusion of ‘the film’ in Dunkirk; Ed Sheeran pointlessly popping up in Game of Thrones, and Alana Haim’s (pretty exemplary, in fairness) performance in Liquorice Pizza. This is a Pandora’s proverbial, peeled open by The King in ‘56’s, Love Me Tender.
To her credit, Hawke is not deaf to the platform from which she benefits. The lyrics on ‘Missing Out’, are candid and self-reflective: “I was born with my foot in the door and my mind in the gutter…” There is a bravery to be commended here. The instrumentation is reminiscent of José González’s side-project, Junip, with its colourful synth palette and damp, understated kit. It is one of the most enjoyable cuts on the LP.
Hawke’s least-streamed single on Spotify is ‘Hang In There’, which seeks to support a friend through a toxic relationship. Once again, pleasing indie influences trickle through, with the roomy arrangement reminiscent of Vampire Weekend’s Modern Vampires of the City. This is also subtle, sparse and sodden with reverb, though we’re missing that boldly experimental edge.
The other single, ‘Dark’, is a dilute, minimalist, and slow acoustic guitar ballad about heartbreak and anxiety, which builds into a full-band arrangement, with fuzzy electric guitar just before the 2-minute mark. Usually, such an evolution would make for an exciting audio-cocktail, but the track starts and finishes without ever veering too far from the middle of the road. Listeners may struggle to sing any of the melodies back after the first listen – a fool-proof litmus test for song writing with verve.
Some tracks do offer stirrings of inspiration, though. There’s ‘Okay’, the lyrics for which stray from the well-trodden path of romance, and dissect Cassavetes’ A Woman-Under-the-Influence representation of dependency. Then there’s ‘Black Ice’, which shows off Hawke’s homework around America’s cult-folk world of the ‘70s. All the while, Hawke is trying on different personas with her voice: from wide-eyed, whimsical, thespian, to fragile, emotional, bohemian – a character-muscle no doubt kept warm by her day job.
That is the redeeming feature of the album: Hawke’s performance. No, it isn’t perfect – and her voice does sound rather untrained – but it comes across as warm and endearing, anyway. It is refreshing to hear vocals on such a big album left intact, exposed, and underproduced. All too often, character is unlovingly sanded off in the post-production phase of projects this size. For such restraint, Hawke has her boyfriend and the album’s producer, Christian Lee Hutson – a collaborator of Phoebe Bridgers’ – to thank.
The goal of Chaos Angel, then, was never to chart. It was simply to provide another creative outlet and repository of self-expression for this broadly talented American actress. It’s a right that, on the day, should be afforded to everyone – whether Uma Thurman is your mum or not.
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