Conan Gray's 'Wishbone' Turns Heartbreak Into a 12-Track Pop-Rock Masterpiece
Nov, 28 2025
When Conan Gray dropped his fourth studio album, 'Wishbone', on August 15, 2025, he didn’t just release music—he released a wound that had been stitching itself into songs for two years. The 12-track pop-rock record, steeped in 90s alt-pop melodies and raw lyrical honesty, isn’t about moving on. It’s about holding on even when the bone’s already cracked. And somehow, it sounds beautiful.
The Wishbone That Never Breaks
Gray, now 27, described the album as an “unintentional product of two years of songwriting and three hundred songs,” a confession that landed in The Falconer’s August 24 review. The metaphor? The wishbone. That brittle, uneven bone you pull apart on Thanksgiving—always one side longer, one side weaker, never a clean snap. That’s love, he says. Not dramatic breakups. Not fireworks. Just slow, uneven fractures. And that’s why the album doesn’t feel polished. It’s supposed to feel like a pile of half-formed thoughts, whispered into a microphone at 3 a.m.Three Singles, One Story
Before the album, Gray released three singles—‘This Song’ on May 30, ‘Vodka Cranberry’ on July 11, and ‘Caramel’—each with a music video starring him as Wilson and his longtime friend Corey Fogelmanis as Brando. The trilogy isn’t just promotional—it’s a short film. A quiet, devastating love story between two men who can’t say what they need, so they scream it in choruses instead. The videos, shot in dimly lit apartments and rainy parking lots, feel like home movies you weren’t meant to see. And that’s the point.‘Actor’ Opens With a Whisper, Then a Scream
The album begins with ‘Actor’, a track Baylor Lariat called “the most heartwrenching song Gray has written since ‘The Exit’” from 2022’s Superache. Just acoustic guitar, layered ‘ah-ahs,’ and Gray’s voice cracking on the bridge. No drums. No synths. Just a man admitting he’s been pretending to be fine. “I played the part so well,” he sings, “I forgot I was acting.” That line? It’s the thesis.‘Nauseous’—The Album’s Unflinching Core
Track seven, ‘Nauseous’, is where the album stops pretending. The lyrics are brutal in their specificity: “Your love is a threat and I’m nauseous / Scares me to death how I want it.” Augsburg Echo called it “a trauma diary set to piano,” while True Style Music’s Christopher Tang compared it to Lizzy McAlpine’s doomsday—but with Gray’s voice, “a trembling cathedral of pain.” The bridge—“Maybe I’m here waiting for someone / To get through my years of trying to trust them”—isn’t just poetry. It’s a confession from someone who’s been hurt so often, love feels like a threat.‘Connell’ and ‘Class Clown’—The Ghosts in the Machine
‘Connell’ is the album’s quietest scream. Orchestrated violins swell behind Gray’s voice as he repeats the name—over and over—like a prayer that won’t be answered. True Style Music called it “a slow-motion collapse,” while The Falconer noted its “self-deprecating lyrics” make it feel like a letter you wrote but never sent. Meanwhile, ‘Class Clown’ leans into childhood trauma with minor-key melodies that twist like old Christmas lights. It’s the sibling to ‘Family Line’, but darker, quieter, more haunted.
‘Sunset Tower’ and the Illusion of Healing
‘Sunset Tower’ is the moment Gray tries to walk away. “Just because I’m working on myself,” he sings, “doesn’t mean I’m eligible to get back with you.” It’s the closest thing to closure on the record. Baylor Lariat called it “the sound of someone choosing themselves,” while True Style Music recommended it as essential listening. But here’s the twist: the album doesn’t end there.‘Eleven Eleven’ and ‘Care’—Hope or Hangover?
The final two tracks, ‘Eleven Eleven’ and ‘Care’, are where critics split. Georgetown Voice questioned Gray’s claim that the album is “incredibly hopeful.” “These aren’t songs of healing,” they wrote. “They’re songs of superstition. Eleven eleven—wishing on clocks. ‘Care’—a synth-pop explosion that feels like holding a photo of someone you lost.” The final track, ‘Care’, ends with producer Dan Nigro’s guitars and drums rising like a tide—broken-hearted euphoria. It’s not triumph. It’s longing dressed in glitter.Why It Works (Even When It Doesn’t)
Wishbone isn’t perfect. The Falconer gave it 4.6/5 but noted, “not every song lands with the same weight.” And that’s the point. Relationships aren’t perfect. Grief isn’t linear. The album’s unevenness mirrors its theme: a wishbone never breaks cleanly. Cadence Corner called it a “puzzle-piece aspect”—messy, but deliberate. Gray’s vocal range? Stunning. That G5 in ‘Vodka Cranberry’? A seismic moment. His tone? More confident than ever. Not just in sadness—but in euphoria, too.Eight years after his debut, Conan Gray hasn’t just returned to form. He’s redefined it. Wishbone doesn’t ask you to heal. It asks you to sit with the ache. And for fans who’ve been there? That’s more than enough.
Frequently Asked Questions
How does 'Wishbone' differ from Conan Gray's previous albums?
Unlike Found Heaven, which leaned into glossy pop escapism, Wishbone strips back production to highlight raw emotion. Where Superache explored adolescent anxiety, Wishbone dives into adult heartbreak with more nuanced instrumentation—acoustic guitars, choirs, orchestral strings—creating a textured, almost cinematic feel. The songwriting is more personal, less performative, and the narrative arc is deliberately uneven, mirroring real grief.
Who is Corey Fogelmanis, and why is he important to 'Wishbone'?
Corey Fogelmanis is Conan Gray’s longtime friend and collaborator, appearing as the love interest—Brando—in the music videos for the album’s three singles. Their on-screen chemistry isn’t staged; it’s rooted in years of real friendship. The videos serve as a visual companion to the album’s narrative, making the heartbreak feel tangible. Fogelmanis’s presence transforms the music from abstract emotion into a lived story.
Why did critics debate whether 'Wishbone' is hopeful?
Gray insists the album is hopeful, but critics like Georgetown Voice argue the closing tracks—‘Eleven Eleven’ and ‘Care’—are acts of yearning, not closure. The former uses superstition (11:11) to cling to hope, while the latter explodes with euphoric production despite lyrics about lingering pain. The contradiction isn’t a flaw—it’s the point. Real healing doesn’t come in neat endings. Sometimes, hope is just refusing to let go.
What makes 'Nauseous' stand out lyrically?
‘Nauseous’ is rare in pop music for its use of second-person perspective to articulate trauma. Lines like “I’m haunted by people who’ve left, so you scare me to death” don’t just describe heartbreak—they show how past wounds warp present relationships. The bridge, where Gray admits he never learned how to love from his loved ones, adds generational depth. It’s not just about one person. It’s about inherited emotional patterns.
How does Dan Nigro’s production shape the album’s sound?
Producer Dan Nigro, known for his work with Olivia Rodrigo and Lorde, brings a textured, dynamic palette to Wishbone. He balances intimate acoustic moments with surging, cinematic arrangements—like the choir in ‘Nauseous’ or the electric swell in ‘Care’. His production doesn’t overpower Gray’s voice; it breathes with it, making the album feel both personal and grand. The contrast between stripped-down verses and explosive choruses mirrors emotional volatility.
Is 'Wishbone' a concept album?
Yes—but not in the traditional sense. There’s no linear story, no character arcs in the classical way. Instead, the album is a conceptual exploration of emotional asymmetry, using the wishbone as a recurring metaphor. The songs, the videos, even the track order, are arranged to feel like fragments of a broken relationship. It’s a concept album of feeling, not plot. That’s why it resonates so deeply: you don’t need to know the story to feel it.