(my) 2024 in Art and Media

At the end of 2023, I started a tradition of writing about my artistic discoveries of that year. It’s a tradition I’m continuing as it helps me reflect on the stuff that really inspires me creatively. My year was a lot slower-paced than usual, but that isn’t to say I haven’t been discovering interesting work, only that my attention has become more focused. It seems appropriate to narrow the work I highlight this year, so that’s exactly what I have done: quality over quantity in the form of mini-essays. Enjoy.

David Foster Wallace

Most known for the somewhat dystopian Infinite Jest (1996), David Foster Wallace is among the most critically celebrated writers in recent memory, and for good reason. Infinite Jest has been canonized as an essential literary work of the postmodern era–it’s remembered for its gargantuan size, verbose prose, and biting commentary. But what discussions surrounding Infinite Jest often brush past, or totally ignore, is Wallace’s empathic spirit. 

Many of the characters that Wallace writes about are tragic or broken in some way. See: the addicts in Infinite Jest, the “depressed person” in the story of the same name, the fractured couple in “Oblivion”, etcetera, etcetera. A common reading of his work is cynical, depressing, and nihilistic. While it’s certainly the easiest reading of his work, given Wallace’s eventual suicide, to summarize his writing as somehow fatalist is to completely miss the point. 

A skeptic at heart, Wallace undoubtedly writes like an existentialist, but despite his cerebral tone, his work reads as comforting because of his understanding of what the human experience actually feels like. One of Wallace’s most defining works, “This Is Water” (a commencement speech for Kenyan College), deals with the everyday adult human experience–the unbearable commute, the tedium of grocery shopping, and the existential angst synonymous with the western middle-class. He does not frame these daily anxieties as trivial, but as crucial experiences that remind us how we think and who we are. In every frustrating co-worker, disgruntled customer, and reckless driver, there is a deeper story influencing the negativity we face. That rude co-worker could be depressed beyond your own understanding. That reckless driver speeding past you could very well be rushing to the hospital in order to save a life. There are so many things we do not consider when we react to the world around us. Wallace urges listeners to think; to be conscious and aware of our own patterns of thought so that we do not succumb to our “natural default setting”, which is often ignorant, arrogant, or just plain wrong. When “This Is Water” was republished as an essay, it was given an appropriate subtitle: “Some Thoughts, Delivered on a Significant Occasion, about Living a Compassionate Life”. Compassion is exactly what David Foster Wallace embodied. 

Even in his darkest stories, Wallace succeeded in making his characters layered and sympathetic. “Good Old Neon” is a story told from the perspective of a man evaluating his own psyche. In the opening sentence he concludes “my whole life I’ve been a fraud.” What follows is a lengthy case for why: All the times he’s lied in search of validation, all the ways he has hidden his true character, and all the mental in-fighting he’s experienced. As the story goes along–spoilers–it’s revealed that the narrator is actually already dead. He narrates his past, much of which is addressing his so-called “fraudulence” in talk-therapy. The narrator tries his hardest to paint himself as a contemptible man; a narcissistic, self-centered, shallow person, and in some ways he is, but Wallace’s masterful writing depicts his inner-turmoil with such clarity that makes his issues tangible and understood. It’s hard not to sympathize with the narrator’s dilemma–how often have you adjusted your manner based on what is “appropriate”? Can we really be authentic if our actions are a product of how we want to be perceived? There’s a depth to his thought that feels real. His kind of internal debate is something that anyone can recognize in themselves. This is what David Foster Wallace does that makes his writing so compelling: Inside of all of his characters is a universal human spirit that is deeply felt. Not only are their actions flawed, but there are limits to their own thoughts. It is in these limitations that we see ourselves.

When Wallace chooses to write tragedies, he still touches on a deeper sense of hope. The end of the narrator in “Good Old Neon” is already spelled out near the start, and it isn’t a happy ending. But that isn’t the end of the story itself. Wallace shifts the perspective of the writing outside of the narrator, choosing to uplift the reader with a different view. He argues that there is a voice inside all of us that can analyze and critique our actions beyond repair, like the narrator’s internal dialogue, but there is also a “realer, more enduring and sentimental” part of us that we can nourish and choose to listen to (“Good Old Neon”). It is that mental conscientiousness, the kind touched on in “This Is Water”, that is David Foster Wallace’s gospel. In a world that is oversaturated with media, consumerism, and brokenness, you get to choose where you direct your attention; you get to choose how to think. Be aware.

Cameron Winter - Heavy Metal

(Partisan Records, 2024)

Last year, one of my favorite releases was Geese’s 3D Country, a rock album emulating seventies rock with a dash of post-punk experimentalism. One of the most immediately recognizable characteristics of the band has been Cameron Winter’s completely original vocals. Technically, his range is undeniable, but what makes his presence truly felt is the personality he brings to Geese’s sound. There’s a boisterous spirit to his performances; Winter sings impulsively, switching from a nasally mumble to a high-pitched falsetto at the snap of a finger. Of course, Geese’s influences are eclectic, making Cameron just one piece of the puzzle. That was until, out of the blue, Winter dropped two singles: “Vines” and “Take it With You”; two stripped-down, folky, reflective songs. Undeniably simple while obviously beautiful tracks that played more like earnest ballads than Geese’s throw-everything-at-the-wall jams. With the surprise release of the debut album Heavy Metal, it’s apparent that Cameron Winter displays a sincerity that is mature for his age despite never taking himself too seriously. 

If 3D Country was an adamantly one-of-a-kind pastiche of seventies rock, then Heavy Metal is in the same vein as outsider songwriters like Bob Dylan, Tom Waits, or even Neil Young. The album wears its vintage influences on its sleeve, but the music doesn’t feel stuck in the past. In an interview with NME, Cameron Winter commented on how many people view his work as “far away from common sense and the current culture” but affirms that he “just tried to do whatever excited [him].” This passion is apparent as Heavy Metal never comes across as a cheap imitation of a simpler time. It is a standalone work that solidifies Cameron Winter’s voice—both literally and figuratively.

“Impressionistic” is the word that comes to mind when describing these songs. Sonically, the album is polished without ever feeling fake, but the songwriting is sporadic, as if every chord change and melody was stitched together with tape and glue. The diverse instrumentation on tracks like “We’re Thinking the Same Thing” is reminiscent of a more intimate Astral Weeks, while “The Rolling Stones”, fittingly, sounds like a forgotten demo from Exile on Main St. This impressionist tone is carried through the lyrics, which are stream-of-consciousness letters that read more like ciphers than poems: “I came to meet your cigarettes/You’d like to keep my salesman teeth, wouldn’t you baby?” Winter writes on “Cancer of the Skull”, one of the album’s most enigmatic tracks. Despite the mystery surrounding Winter’s lyrics, there’s something deeper that he hints at across the album. The single “$0” references both the “zero dollar man” from “Cancer of the Skull” and “Nina” from the song of the same name. Still, whatever story Cameron is telling is neither straightforward nor easily understood. 

Taken in full, Heavy Metal plays like a classic singer/songwriter album obscured with brain fog. The songs are rough around the edges and free-flowing like an incomplete thought, which is not the insult it sounds like. Because while Cameron Winter’s style is undeniably esoteric, the ideas that manage to shine through the haze are remarkable.

On Cinema at the Cinema

If stupidity were an art, Tim Heidecker and Gregg Turkington would be the Da Vinci and Leonardo of the genre. It’s hard to explain what Heidecker and Turkington actually do–both are multidisciplinary artists in several mediums, including music and film, but what cements their cult-status is their wholly original brand of comedy. Heidecker made a name for himself through the Tim and Eric duo, the surreal chaos of which makes Eric Andre look like Kevin Hart. The equally nonsensical persona “Neil Hamburger”, is Gregg Turkington’s claim to fame: a standup with a gel-drenched combover whose anti-comedy routine stumbles through jokes…at the expense of his audience. Both comics are brilliant in their own way, but their magnum opus has to be their collaboration “On Cinema at the Cinema”: a satirical movie review show led astray by Tim Heidecker’s narcissism–much to the dismay of the self-proclaimed “film expert” Gregg Turkington. 

The first few episodes of “On Cinema”depict an amateur production between two antagonistic hosts. Tim and Gregg regularly find themselves in arguments, most of which have nothing to do with movies and more to do with how their show is run. But even the deadpan and sardonic tone of the early episodes cannot possibly prepare you for the disorder that follows. Heidecker’s character is ambitious, a self-absorbed man in over his head. Which is why a little review show slowly morphs into a self-contained universe of content, including an incompetent thriller series “Decker”, an in-universe murder trial, and a confused political campaign, just to name a few. If that sounds daunting, that’s because it is. Just the review show itself is currently in its 15th season and it shows no sign of slowing down.  That’s not including the 6 seasons of “Decker”, 11 Oscar specials (each of which is feature-length), the mockumentary “Mister America”, and other short-form spinoffs.

When a series has this much content, it’s bound to have some kind of following behind it, but what’s surprising is that “On Cinema” has garnered fans at all. Heidecker seems to have carved out a niche designed to scare away viewers. So much of the comedy in “On Cinema” requires a good deal of context to land, either in the form of callbacks to previous episodes or in the way of uber-specific movie references. To truly appreciate “On Cinema” you have to entertain a dry sense of humor, know a thing or two about movies, and have the patience to commit to the bit. If you don’t fall into this criteria, then “On Cinema” is probably not for you. But if you happen to fill the niche of people who enjoy both theatre of the absurd and “Siskel and Ebert”, then the “On Cinema family” welcomes you with open arms. 

(You can find a comprehensive guide to the first nine years here: oncinematimeline.com. I recommend skipping the podcast and going straight to the show for a first-time watch.)

The Substance

(Dir. Coralie Fargeat, 2024)

Have you ever dreamt of a better version of yourself? In a time when self-improvement is more of an industry than an action, you’re often sold the idea that within your reach is a perfect version of you. Or more accurately, it’s a reminder that who you are, as you currently exist, needs refinement. In The Substance, a black market drug called–you guessed it–The Substance, is the key to perfection. The Substance creates a new, better version of you: the new “you” for seven days, the old “you” for seven days, and the cycle repeats. And if you try to cheat the system, there will be consequences. Your dreams become reality until you are starkly awakened by who you really are.

The Substance is good old fashioned moralistic horror. As far back as Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein, horror has been a genre of parables, using scares as allegories for very real moral and social dilemmas. However, in recent years, indie-horror filmmakers seem reliant on obfuscating. With some notable exceptions, e.g. Get Out, the modern landscape favors horror that is more atmospheric than substantive. One of the most successful releases of the past year was Longlegs, a box office hit that was effectively marketed as a stylistic, cryptic, thriller-horror. Director Osgood Perkins delivered on all those fronts in the style of a crime procedural that is aesthetically pleasing, but ultimately vacuous. Compare that with The Substance; a film that feels equally visionary in its approach without feeling like shallow eye candy. Each film delivers a consistently unique visual language, such as Longlegs’ symmetrical wide shots, or The Substance’s extreme close-ups. Both Osgood Perkins and Coralie Fargeat present themselves as auteurs, at least within their respective films, however, Fargeat creates a world that offers much more than a “vibe”. 

Based on the premise alone, it’s fairly easy to see where the messaging of The Substance leads. It is a bold satire on vanity, fame, and youth. These key themes are explored through a feminist lens, but Fargeat’s self-awareness makes the film more campy than preachy. Take for instance, Dennis Quaid’s character in the film: a stereotypical male TV exec, complete with oversized cigars and gaudy suit-jackets. Quaid’s role is your archetypal misogynist, who becomes the antagonist of the female lead (Demi Moore) after he fires her due to her age. In a desperate attempt to cling to relevance, Moore’s character resorts to using The Substance, creating the “perfect” version of herself who she calls Sue (Margaret Qualley). This is quickly followed up with Quaid, among other businessmen, welcoming Sue with open arms, the younger, sexier, up-and-comer. This fetishization of youth is heightened to such a degree that it is as comical as it is creepy, largely due to Quaid’s performance.

The film manages a tough balancing act between being atongue-in-cheek satire and an unnerving body horror, but Fargeat directs with enough restraint to accomplish both flawlessly. Each tone contrasts the other, echoing the differences between Moore and Qualley, but the film remains stylistically singular. Aesthetically, The Substance is in a world of its own, part femme-pop-music-video and part midnight movie, but the consistent use of close-ups provides a visual motif that pulls the whole thing together. Couple that with the brooding, Nine Inch Nails-esque dance music that permeates the score, and you are left with a film that feels claustrophobic and frantic for the whole runtime. This atmosphere is heightened by the exceptional practical effects used for the film, which are nauseating, to put it lightly. This is a film with capital-G Gore, which could be considered inventive or indulgent, depending on who you ask. Either way, it’s provocative, but the screenplay offers more than shock value; every scene adds something important to the story being told. 

The Substance is one of the best films of the year, and perhaps an all-time horror classic in the making. Its premise is simultaneously straightforward and fresh, making for a satire that is pointed in its critique of modern beauty standards. It is a cautionary tale about the way vanity hijacks your identity. Perfection is a myth, but in the realm of movies The Substance gets pretty close.

Fat Dog - WOOF.

(Domino, 2024)

FAT DOG is one of the year’s most exciting bands. Their sound is hard to describe, but it’s something to the effect of dance music written as jazz while performed like punk rock. Yes, really. I first stumbled upon the group from a live recording at The Windmill–an independent music venue that’s the birthplace of recent breakout bands such as Black Country New Road, Black Midi, Squid, and other post-punk inspired outfits. What stood out to me about the group is just how infectious their energy really is. Within the first few minutes of the set Fat Dog can turn a still crowd into a full-throttle rave. I was fortunate enough to experience that firsthand during their recent US tour, which was essentially an hour-long mosh pit. Joe Love, the curly-haired, gi-wearing frontman, has an unmistakable stage presence that holds the venue’s attention hostage until the end of the set. It’s the kind of performance that makes their concerts worthy of bucket-list status. 

Of course, Love & Co. are not just a live act–WOOF. is itself a bold, energetic, and memorable debut. The album begins with “Vigilante”, which acts as a perfect introduction to the album and the band as a whole. Low synths build underneath a dramatic spoken word poem that yells “We are all just dogs gnashing our teeth at the MOOON!”, followed by a seemingly unrelated verse about an amateur vigilante in “granny tights”. The lyrics are nonsensical, relying on silly imagery and eye-rolling rhymes, like on “Wither”: 

Like a moth crashing into the sun
Find a burger, a burger for your bun
Come on, baby, you like it raw
Now you see the side of my paw!

However, the surreal and playful attitude extends far beyond the lyrical content. “King of the Slugs” was the first single the band released, and in those seven minutes the band explores progressive song structures, thumping basslines, klezmer-inspired bridges, and an ironic, macho performance by Joe Love. From the get-go, Fat Dog come out swinging, proving themselves to be an adventurous and versatile tour de force in indie rock. They’re like a band from the 90s Madchester scene (Commonly associated with Happy Mondays/The Stone Roses) with a modern post-punk-meets-EDM twist. But really, any comparison does Fat Dog a disservice, because their sound, while distinctly British, is unlike anything else you’ve heard.

glaive - a bit of a mad one/May It Never Falter

(Interscope Records/Self Released, 2024)

The previous handful of years have been eventful for Ash Gutierrez. At the beginning of the 2020 pandemic, Ash began recording music for his Soundcloud account, which garnered the attention of major labels early on. Interscope records offered Ash a record deal, which he signed at only fifteen years old. Under the moniker glaive, Ash had a breakout hit with his first EP, cypress grove: a short and sweet hyperpop record with emo undertones. He continued releasing music in the same vein for several years, collaborating with ericdoa and Machine Gun Kelly along the way. While meeting big names and growing his audience, it seemed like the road to mainstream stardom for glaive was paved. That was, of course, until it was time for glaive’s official debut album: i care so much that i don’t care at all. On the debut, glaive became a lot more accessible in his sound while also more confessional in his lyricism. It was a project that felt personal in its approach, but lost a lot of what made glaive popular in the first place. That isn’t a critique on the album, which in many ways showed artistic maturing for glaive, but for fans expecting hyperpop-by-numbers it felt like a disappointment.

One of the common critiques his debut received was that it felt inauthentic. While his earlier work was by no means groundbreaking or one-of-a-kind, it seemed that he had gone in a direction more closely resembling corporate, “emo” pop. The songs were good, but there’s no denying that it felt a little too familiar. All of this changed when glaive released the single “huh” earlier this year, which brought back the hyperpop edge of his earlier work, but with a keener sense of songwriting and production. This growth continued to shine in the aptly titled EP “a bit of a mad one”, a record that covers a lot of ground in a meager thirteen minutes. “even when the sun is dead, will you tell them how hard i tried” sounds like an acoustic-electronic mashup from his debut album, only this time his lyricism has evolved into something more poetic: “Recently I’ve realized that death is not an opposite suppose it’s just a part of life/I envy all the little things, the dirt, the air, the fathers’ eyes”. glaive has focused on his strongpoints, his sentimental leanings and his ear for production, making for an alt-pop EP with no skips. Every song adds something, whether it’s a unique sound or a contribution to his discography overall.

“a bit of a mad one” wasn’t the only thing glaive released this year, however, as he started teasing snippets towards a larger project, “May It Never Falter”, a mini-album that’s the culmination of all of glaive’s best impulses. While “a bit of a mad one” was a great release, “May It Never Falter” is the first project where glaive cements his creative identity. It’s a record that feels like a fully-formed statement. Each track leads into the next, creating a seamless flow across the mini-album, even when it shouldn’t work. For instance, “Knock, Draw, Release”, a slow-tempo reflective track, is immediately followed by “EVERYDOG HAS ITS DAY”, a booming trap banger, without either song feeling misplaced. Thanks to longtime collaborator, Jeff Hazin, great production ties the whole project together. It’s hard to blend a raw approach to songwriting with polished electronics, but that’s what glaive and co. manage to do so well. It’s been hinted at on previous songs and releases, but on this album glaive has finally perfected the aesthetic he’s been building towards. This is perhaps best represented on the album’s opening statement “For God and Country”, which combines an ethereal sound, a vulnerable tone, and the catchy, melodic rapping that glaive is best known for. It’s a defining song in his discography because it feels like his most honest work yet. 

Across glaive’s discography, he has shown an enormous amount of growth with each major release. From the beginning of his career he showed signs of something truly great, and in 2024 it seems like his voice has finally developed into something unique. At only nineteen years old, glaive is still a young artist. And although he has matured into something beyond his years, it’s exciting to see where he’ll go next.