On paper, the young pop star Gracie Abrams has had a speed-run through the entertainment industrial complex.
She grew up in Los Angeles, the daughter of J.J. Abrams (“Star Wars,” “Lost”) and Katie McGrath, chief executives of Bad Robot Productions. She came of age as an artist in and around an emerging pop creative class that included the producer Blake Slatkin, the Kid Laroi and Tate McRae. Her best friend, Audrey Hobert, is a longtime collaborator who has become an emerging pop star in her own right. And Abrams’s witty and confessional whisper-pop has earned her opening slots for both Taylor Swift and Olivia Rodrigo, the current lodestars of big-tent singer-songwriters.
And yet all of those things, viewed through a different lens, could be perceived as a burden — an invitation to heavy scrutiny of an artist still early in her career development. Such associations and expectations have made Abrams, 26, sometimes reticent to share too much about certain parts of her life, especially as her star rises with viral songs turned radio hits (“That’s So True,” “I Love You, I’m Sorry”), a Grammy-nominated duet with Swift (“Us”) and a 2024 nomination for best new artist.
But something has shifted on her third album, “Daughter From Hell,” out July 17. She confronts, with more directness, where she came from and the disorienting place she’s ended up. “Hit the Wall,” the album’s first single, is about being a burden — “I’m not a problem you can solve,” she sings — while the follow-up, “Look at My Life,” dares to express at least a passing dissatisfaction with the trappings of fame. On the title track, Abrams reckons with her relationship with her mother, and the ways in which she now regards her charmed teenage years warily.
“Just how it is in any household, I think there’s so much going down all the time, you’re sometimes fighting to find your own lane, and for me that included a total rejection of being around my family,” Abrams, the middle child between two brothers, said on Popcast, The New York Times culture chat show. “I would sometimes put myself in positions that were actually unsafe that I think I probably thought I was hiding more successfully than I was.”
Her willingness to engage with family tensions comes alongside a surprise peek into her longtime relationship with the Irish actor Paul Mescal, who co-wrote a song with Abrams for this album. She chose to include the song, “Imaginary Friend,” despite the additional public probing it might invite. Abrams said that “no amount of hate or trolling” could take away “how happy your experience was making something or how much you learned about yourself or your partner.”
In conversation with Popcast’s Jon Caramanica and Joe Coscarelli, Abrams discussed shaking off the weight of old associations, navigating the internet as a young star and the things you miss when fame whisks you away.
These are edited excerpts from the conversation, which can be watched in full or listened to below.
JOE COSCARELLI I wanted to start with the title of this album, “Daughter from Hell.” We just met, but you seem like a very polite, well-mannered —
GRACIE ABRAMS [laughs] Yes, I decided to be decent for you all.
COSCARELLI You’ve made a name for yourself, been nominated for some awards. Where does this version of you, as a daughter from hell, stem from?
ABRAMS The title track was written toward the end of the process of making the album. It felt like the first time I was able to write a song — but really, write anything other than a text — apologizing to my mom for being so brutal growing up. Obviously adolescence is tough for the child and for the parent. My mom and I, we earned our relationship we have now for sure. We FaceTime, I call her like six times a day. It just took so long to get to this point and I feel like, as I have grown up, I have luckily had more time to reflect and I owed her a big fat sorry and thank you. It wasn’t always lovely.
CARAMANICA Were you a real hellion as a teenager?
ABRAMS It wasn’t the craziest [expletive] you’ve ever heard, but there was lots of sneaking out. I think I would sometimes put myself in positions that were actually unsafe. If you’re a young kid, especially growing up in L.A., there’s maybe more access to things earlier on where if I put myself in my parents’ position, I would also be scared [expletive] at times, you know? It was just lots of lying.
COSCARELLI We should say, for those who don’t know, your father is the producer J.J. Abrams, for many people associated with “Star Wars,” for me, the creator of “Alias.” Your mother, Katie McGrath, also works with him in entertainment. Did you play them the song — specifically your mom — and what was her reaction?
ABRAMS I did play it for her the night that we made the song. And she did cry, which meant a lot to me. We’ve communicated prior to that song being written — my laundry list of apologies for probably taking years off her life — and I think she received it in the way I hoped she might.
CARAMANICA Were there certain things that you feel could only come out in this format?
ABRAMS I was listening to David Byrne talk about this with Louis Theroux — he was saying that sometimes it’s the music that you hear in the room that makes you recognize a feeling that you have not been looking at that just kind of bubbles out. That was the experience writing that song, and I was really hardcore weeping in a way that I haven’t writing a song in a long time.
There are some descriptors, and I think there’s a softness in that song, in particular. While it is a love letter and a thank-you note, it also presents personal anxieties about never achieving the quality of person that I know my mother to be. And I don’t think I’ve ever said that to her directly before. It was nice to vomit that up.
COSCARELLI This album and the last seem to share this “one foot in adulthood, one foot in where you came from” thing, working on what it means to bloom into your full adult self. Another new song, “Look at My Life,” also has some angst and insecurity. You have this line: “I got what I wanted / it doesn’t sit right.” What is it that you’re still wanting and reaching for that makes it so all you’ve done doesn’t feel like enough?
ABRAMS It doesn’t feel like teenage angst was the place that I wrote that song from. I was in college for one year at Barnard and took a leave of absence and I sometimes — like, there’s so much life and so much beyond my wildest dreams has gone down in the past handful of years that it’s hard for me to wrap my head around. And I also think sometimes about, what learning did I miss out on that might be integral to my development as a person on this planet, not just as a musician, but as a friend and a family member and a — you know, this is corny but — global citizen? Not that college is the place you get everything you need to know, but there was something about that.
There’s like something fishbowl-esque about perception with a platform. That also feels strange as I do grow up. I was a bedroom-dwelling teenager in many ways. I was introverted and there’s something about the amount of energy that it takes — which I love giving — but my social battery drains quicker than other people’s sometimes.
COSCARELLI You grew out of this very vibrant emerging cultural scene in Los Angeles, and then a bit in New York. Your co-writer and longtime friend Audrey Hobert has a career of her own. Your teenage boyfriend, Blake Slatkin, was working for the producer Benny Blanco, and became a hit writer and producer on his own. You were around the Kid Laroi, Addison Rae, Tate McRae. What was it like to be part of this very hungry, very driven ecosystem at such a young age?
ABRAMS It was so cool in real time. When Blake and I met, I was 15 and he was my first collaborator, and he was always as amazing as he is. He was just so committed and so passionate and was Benny’s intern at the time. So it would be like my introduction to Benny’s world and there was this eclectic mix of artists from all different lanes, amazing chefs and sculptors and it was such a crazy thing to see, despite having come from the household that I did.
Nothing, when you’re a kid, is less cool than what your parents are doing. Even if now I can appreciate like, what a gift to have grown up with learning that vocabulary. It was like having this magical door into Narnia. Everyone was there because they loved each other, and everyone just wanted to make things. And then a couple years go by, and it is everyone you just listed really working hard and coming over to the house all the time. That’s what I learned from Blake: just the discipline of the whole thing. I was just so lucky to absorb their grit for it.
I also always felt like a bit of an observer, because even the kind of music that I was writing was like, not as heavy. I really did just feel like, I’ll be here [mimics strumming guitar].
COSCARELLI While they’re making pop smashes.
ABRAMS While they’re making “Stay,” you know what you I mean?
CARAMANICA Did it at least make the whole thing seem plausible? You weren’t strumming your guitar in the back of a two-bedroom apartment in Oklahoma City.
ABRAMS A million percent. I also think that growing up in L.A., period — it’s not a radical concept to pursue the arts as an adult. It was just rich with inspiration, ultimately.
COSCARELLI As much as you’ve benefited from the passionate stan communities of the pop internet, you’ve been on the receiving end of some brutal stuff from them also, whether the “nepo baby” stuff or just cruel memes that don’t account for the idea that there’s a human on the other side. Can you talk about what that feels like, as a young woman, to be pilloried in that way?
ABRAMS Well, I mean, the nepo stuff is obviously in the discourse appropriately.
I think about the privilege there and it’s like, I had a safety net and that allowed me the ability to experiment and to concentrate and I had the gift of time to dedicate to doing this thing I loved. I wasn’t growing up afraid financially and that’s the biggest deal. And then the specific household that I was born into, there is just this vocabulary that I’m so lucky to grow up with. So like, when I see people pointing that out, it’s like, I get it hardcore.
The jokes and things, I understand the tone of the internet.
CARAMANICA Like the “blocking Gracie Abrams” memes.
ABRAMS I’m fascinated these days, there’s just like abject cruelty floating. And I think when people decide to kind of cash in on that, I worry for their hearts. I feel very lucky. I feel support when I’m playing a show, or when I’m with my friends. I have a suspicion that people who either enjoy or just spend their time that way on the internet, the likelihood of them not getting support elsewhere is quite high.
CARAMANICA Comparing the last album to this album, there are two different modes of scathing-ness. There is the mode on this album, which feels a tiny bit more self-lacerating, whereas on the last one, it’s a little more playful, it’s little bouncier. What’s different about your songwriting?
ABRAMS Just a couple more years of living. This is something that has been embarrassing for me — having music exist out in the world forever after you’ve personally moved on from the point of view from which you were writing it. I was, in the past, quite careless about the impact of being on the receiving end of a song being written about you. And I think if you’re not being sensitive or gentle with the people you’re writing about and with that relationship, it can make someone feel terrible. And I have learned that.
I’m all for being direct and coloring with as much detail as possible and being honest — let your experience be your experience — but I do think there’s a way to be kind about it. I think you can be honest and I think you can be kind and I did not believe that, maybe, in the past.
As I am coming into myself, I suppose, I feel like all judgment is a bit of self-projection. On this album, I was careful to try to write from having been both the protagonist and the antagonist in the songs.
Credits
Popcast is hosted by Jon Caramanica and Joe Coscarelli and produced by Sophie Erickson and Kate LoPresti. This episode was filmed by Lauren Pruitt, Dave Mayers and Jack Belisle and edited by Mark Zemel with help from Rebecca Blandon. Our theme music is by Elisheba Ittoop. Nick Pitman and Sam Winter are our audio engineers and Amanda Webster is our photo editor. Brooke Minters is our executive producer. Header video cinematography is by Tim Schutsky.
Special thanks to Sarah Bonn, Dahlia Haddad, Mike Cordero, Nicole Huber, Aaron Byrd, Carl Mazurek, Zach Caldwell, Maddy Masiello, Brad Kimbrough, Andrew Wilcox, Sia Michel, Nina Lassam and Sam Dolnick.
The post The Semi-Charmed Life of Gracie Abrams, Pop’s Mischievous Middle Child appeared first on New York Times.
