Luke Combs, Timothée Chalamet, and the Post-Ironic Artist
It’s one thing to say you want to be one of the greats. It’s another to attempt to meme it into existence.
It’s no longer hip to be ironic and aloof. In an age where everyone has a “personal brand,” artists promoting themselves are no longer gauche. They’re savvy entrepreneurs. But just like the rest of us, the blurring between the personal and professional shapes your image. It’s a tough line to walk.
Take the difference between Luke Combs and Timothee Chalamet. While they work in different industries and come from different backgrounds, their brands have a fair amount of crossover.
Chalamet unabashedly says, “I want to be one of the greats.” Combs admits he “would love to put out a bunch of hits.” Chalamet is “basically married” to a mother of 2 children. Combs is actually married to the mother of his three children. Chalamet is notorious for his social media self-promotion on Marty Supreme. Combs was one of the first country stars to use social media to launch his career (Vine at the time). Neither have the physique of, say, Brad Pitt or Glen Powell, but they make it work.
The key differentiator is Combs’s identity as a Dad. Since the birth of his son Tex three years ago, he’s been clear that his family comes first. That means scheduling fewer shows so he can be home with his family (he only played 23 last year). It also means releasing an album, “Fathers and Sons,” that was dedicated to his sons, so that they knew even when his career was taking off, they were still at the front of his mind. That album didn’t produce any #1 hits, but those who heard it loved it. And ultimately, he was making it for himself and his kids anyway.
Chalamet is undoubtedly a talented actor, but his brand is getting battered for its egotism. A career “retrospective” at age 30 struck many as ridiculous. Allegedly, he wasn’t invited to the Dune premiere because his romance with Kylie Jenner is such a distraction. And when he features on EsDeeKid’s rap song “4 Raws,” his Timmy Tim persona doesn’t seem too far off reality:
Look at the triple A girl goin’, “Choose me”
Look at my haters, man, they wanna sue me
Chill in the coupe, in the four door
Live on Arrakis and Mordor
I live like the king with my sword drawn
It’s that Marty Supreme and the four Raws
Though of course there’s no way to prove it, plenty of people speculated that his aggressive publicity campaign lost him the Oscar. It’s one thing to say you want to be one of the greats. It’s another to attempt to meme it into existence.
A friend of mine once joked that every young person wants to be an influencer and every influencer wants to be a foreign asset. Meaning, influencers are premised on being authentic, fearless truth-tellers, yet their business incentives often make them the biggest hucksters of all. No one likes being conned, and with someone like Chalamet, it’s hard to tell whether you’re in on the joke or whether you’re the mark.
By contrast, because Luke Combs makes “Dad” the centerpiece of his identity, his ambition takes on a completely different valence. It’s not just about him, and he clearly has more to his life than chart-topping singles. When he goes on “Bussin’ with the Boys” and talks football deep cuts from App State and the Carolina Panthers, there’s no “performance art publicity” to sift through. No media literacy required.
He tells stories like how he first met his wife when he was wearing $5 camo shorts from Walmart, or how he went into a watch shop looking for a stainless-steel Yacht-Master, but before he could ask, the clerk told him, “No public restrooms.” Recounting the story, he laughed, “Damn, I look like a bum? Do I look that bad?” He admitted he may need to step up his casual wear a bit. Though he doesn’t seem too bothered about it.
Tim McGraw said a great country song means “A great story that gets right to the heart of the matter, that hits right to the emotion.” That’s part of why the genre has a bad reputation for mawkish lyrics and tired tropes. A song like “Chicken Fried” by Zac Brown Band covers nearly all the bases in one chorus:
A little bit of chicken fried
Cold beer on a Friday night
A pair of jeans that fit just right
And the radio up
Well I’ve seen the sun rise
See the love in my woman’s eyes
Feel the touch of a precious child
And know a mother’s love
But as I’ve grown older and had kids, I’ve found these songs don’t sound quite as corny as they once did. In fact, working within the constraints of the genre feels a lot more true to life than the angsty or aggressive music I once preferred. Clichés are boring and cringe until one day you find yourself using them because they’re true.
They keep your life on track.
Finding pleasure in the simple things and the familiar routines of life is how you become a functioning adult. As Jordan Peterson famously said, “You don’t want to be the oldest person at the frat party.”
For most people, children really are the greatest joys in their life. A home full of the people they love is better than exotic vacations alone. Marriage is a slow progression from the hot fire of romance into the warm glow of companionship, not “Look at the triple A girl goin’, ‘Choose me.’” My marriage is the exception that proves the rule.
Jerry Seinfeld has a great bit about the changes that come with new life stages:
When I was single, I had married friends. I would not visit their homes. I found their lives to be pathetic and depressing. Now that I’m married, I have no single friends. I find their lives to be meaningless and trivial experiences. In both cases, I believe I was correct. No matter which side of marriage you’re on, you don’t get what the other people are doing.
Now that I’ve crossed over the country music divide, I find it harder and harder to enjoy the same music I did before. Yeah, yeah, you’re the “King” and live with your sword drawn, but what about how Combs sings about how you think you’re all grown up and then you “find out fast that life’ll put you back in your place”? Timmy Tim raps, “It’s Himothée Chalamet chillin’, Tryna stack a hundred million, girl got a billion,” and I tap my feet along to the beat. But my head nodding nearly severs my cervical spine when Combs sings on “Rich Man”:
All the money in the world, it don’t mean s— man
‘Cause it can’t go with ya when you die
Buy ya time or hold your wife and kids’ hands
And that’s what makes you rich man.
Of course, a line like that hits differently from someone who lives it.
Luke Combs’s new album delivers all the things you’d expect: foot-stomping anthems (“My Kinda Saturday Night”), reflective ballads (“The Way I Am”), the disbelief and glee of the kid who made it (“Tell ‘Em About Tonight”). It’s a doubling down on what got him here, a recommitment to his sound, a fastball down the middle. It’s a country album, from a man who’s not pretending to be anything he’s not, who’s happy with what he’s got.
I guess that’s a brand I can get behind.