As Stranger Things reached its controversial end last month, many fans were left with the ache of times gone by. This may be directly linked to Joe Keery’s (under his musical alias, Djo) biggest hit, End of Beginning, topping the charts internationally. Djo has purposefully distanced himself musically from his on-screen persona as Steve “The Hair” Harrington (even using a disguise for the first few years of his career), but at this point, the cat’s out of the bag – End of Beginning has claimed over a month-long spot as #1 on the Global Spotify Chart, and new fans now know the man behind it.
What most do not realize, though, is that End of Beginning is nothing close to his magnum opus. In fact, it might be far from it. As an avid listener since his first album, Twenty Twenty, the song’s sudden rise in popularity led me to revisit Djo’s discography and rediscover the frankly powerful compilation of songs in 2025’s The Crux Deluxe.
The Crux released on April 4th of last year, a twelve-track glimpse into the mind of someone heartbroken, conflicted with his identity, and struggling with high highs and low lows. It’s a natural progression of songs with an optimistic conclusion, remaining close to the typical synth-psychedelic-indie-rock vibes that Djo knows by heart.
On September 12th, Djo re-released the album with twelve more songs: The Crux Deluxe. Some critics of the reissue believed the additions made the record too long and too inconsistent, ruining the otherwise simple flow of the album, turning an easily digestible piece of media into a disjointed and wandering mess of sound.
I, however, entirely disagree. Hardly any experiences in life are smooth and frictionless – why should an album covering so many themes be? The additions properly illustrate the total story told through its 24-song circuit. Let’s dive into the mashup of emotions, motifs, styles, genres, and vibes that Djo explores in The Crux Deluxe, and why they are so important to the listening experience of the entire record.
The album begins with a sense of whiplash. The tonal and lyrical shifts are wildly different – we first go through T. Rex is Loud (an upbeat, glam-rock homage to one of the pioneers of the genre, even name dropping the band’s frontman Marc Bolan) to Love Can’t Break the Spell (quietly acoustic and introspective, saying goodbye to a failed relationship) to the particularly interesting conman of Mr. Mountebank.
This song sets the tone for the experimental nature of the rest of the record. It’s totally unique in sound. No others are like it. It explores a cynical, personified view of fame and excess; essentially a diss track towards himself and his own place in the unfeeling world of stardom: “Rats can't hack it until the trash is out / Now my ears are burning, that last line spoke to me loud / Is the big life lucky? Yeah, is that what you want? / Are the crusts cut, buddy? / Complain, yeah, things are too hard? / Does the gold spoon do it the same or was silver enough?” It’s hyper-pop, fast-paced, and heavily autotuned. To most people, this song is out of place in the rest of the album’s overall sound – but it’s the first taste of his exploration of certain themes like self-loathing and fame.
Djo pulls through tracks like Carry the Name and It’s Over, both of which discuss the same heartbreak as Love Can’t Break the Spell, albeit with different sound. I’ve seen Carry the Name compared stylistically to Supertramp, which I can agree with – the jaunty, catchy, and melodic texture of the instrumentals alongside Djo’s voice paint an ironically upbeat yet darkly relatable picture of the sense of doom that everyone gets when unexpectedly seeing their ex’s face – but there’s an underlying sense of acceptance and optimism in this track.
Similar in lyrical content but drastically different in sound, It’s Over is soft and delicate. It’s plainly sad, and the musical atmosphere is reminiscent of The Beatles. It’s Over is dripping with disappointment from the little, trivial pangs of sadness from a breakup (like what about the laundry?), yet both songs bring up the emptiness that often comes with acceptance, and both approach the concept from different angles – another notch on Djo’s belt of musical experimentation.
Next, another Beatles-esque track is Purgatory Silverstar, a personal favorite of mine. It feels like three songs wrapped into one and is an excellent example of Djo’s occasional fun, absurdist lyrics (“But life keeps swallowing / That's why I learned to cook”) accompanied by a much deeper meaning – just as our forefathers, The Beatles, loved to do – “I took it for granted / All that you do / Coming up empty-handed / In a patchwork of truth / So, for the rest of my life, I'll pay my dues.” This song captures the in-between, purgatorial feelings that permeate much of life, especially close to a breakup. It’s dreamy, psychedelic pop, with several mood and tonal shifts in its four-minute runtime, sticking out from the rest of the album.
Who You Are and Grime of the World is another back-to-back pairing of two very distinctive songs. Who You Are is similarly sad and introspective like its predecessor, It’s Over, a piano-heavy arrangement with thoughtful, honest, and melancholic lyrics about the same breakup. It’s simple yet poignant. Alike in simplicity, but totally different in terms of content and sound, Grime of the World dives into the same realm of fame and fortune and its malignant side as Mr. Mountebank. It has a kind of 80s rock vibe: punchy, sharp, and energetic, also touched with some autotune: “Greed in the name of the green / Is the grime of the world.”
Try Me pulls the listener in for a mood boost. It’s upbeat, like Grime of the World, but leans more pop, more flirtatious: “Who’s gonna love you like I could?” It’s cheeky and downright fun, a good break from the more serious tones we’ve heard so far. They Don’t Know What’s Right is similar to Try Me in its playfulness, diving into the humor and irony in hypocrisy – why should anyone care what the people who lack morals think? As much as Djo can get into the uber-depressing sides of life, there’s also room to make fun of the nonsensical parts: “I'm just a joker? Well, I'd rather be a joker than you!”
The deluxe side of things ends on two slower-paced and acoustic-heavy songs: Thich Nhat Hanh and Awake. Again, the lyrical content is completely different, even if the compositions are alike. Thich Nhat Hanh is named for a Vietnamese Buddhist monk known as the “father of mindfulness” who greatly impacted the teachings of Western Buddhism. Layered over an acoustic guitar, Djo sings of this kind of serene meditation that Thich Nhat Hanh tried to spread throughout his life; a slow, intentional, peaceful way of existing. The music is full and rich and almost sweet – a total contrast to the empty, echoing sound of Awake, which finishes the first side of the record. What starts small becomes booming, with a bit of a 90s-grunge Something in the Way twinge to it. It feels angry and upset yet resigned to the emptiness that it holds in the beginning.
Even though this review serves to highlight the importance of The Crux Deluxe’s experimental additions, I can’t help but dive into the impact it has on the rest of the album. Don’t worry, I’ll try to keep it concise – but you can’t come to a conclusion about the whole thing if you only listen to half, right?
Firstly, I think the album cover for the Deluxe edition speaks for itself. It reveals the dark side of the moon; it tells us that there are two sides to everything. What looks one way in daylight will look completely different by the light of the moon. The moon! The side of ourselves that only those closest to us really get to see. In this world of The Crux Deluxe, we can see the differences in light, the emptiness, the streaks of neon on wet pavement. It’s a phenomenal way to display the differences between the deluxe and original version of the record (which is equally fun to look at – there are a million easter eggs to the songs on the record – Djo loves to reference). Where else does one get to search within themselves and experiment except in the solitude of night?
That’s not to say The Crux itself is a happy-go-lucky album on its own. There are plenty of tracks that delve into the lows I mentioned earlier, but we find more of that sense of optimism and love in the first release than on the deluxe version. Things always look brighter in the daytime. And to get to the daytime, you must make it through the rest of the night – including some of the darker tracks that The Crux begins with.
Lonesome is a State of Mind, Basic Being Basic, and Link are all more typical of Djo’s traditional sound, indie pop with some synth; there’s a healthy dose of irony and fun in the lyrics. Starting out with Lonesome is a State of Mind, he introduces that optimism – loneliness is temporary, it’s fixable. Basic Being Basic is basically a diss track for this same ex that pervades the record, pointing to the superficial people in the world who try so hard to be unique but end up being another face in the crowd. However, it acknowledges these people and attitudes can also be short-lived, and eventually, you can learn to make fun of the people and things that once hurt you – “I guess I'll thank you and spite your name again / The past's the past, and I'll outlast the hate to find real love that's not pretend.” Link is a song I’d originally not given a lot of credit to, but it’s become one of my favorites; pop-rock with driving percussion and a strong bassline. It’s about breaking patterns, about doing what you think is right instead of what other people might tell you.
After that, we are introduced to my favorite Djo song of The Crux: Potion. It’s just under three minutes long, but I think it perfectly captures the ambiance of the whole album. “When I wake up at 3 in the morning / Witching hour too strong / Like a witch, I know I need my potion / I might find love.” It’s a very texturally rich song. There’s a groove to it; the guitar is reminiscent of 70s soft rock. The sounds melt together to create a dreamy, sweet atmosphere that perfectly matches the lyrics. It embraces the late-night yearning, it greets the idea of moving on with warmth, and it finds comfort in that: “I'll try for all of my life / Just to find someone who leaves on the light for me.” It expresses the sadness of saying goodbye while still looking forward to the future, like much of the optimism we find throughout the whole album.
Delete Ya and Egg follow up Potion, both of which discuss the blues. Delete Ya is upbeat and poppy, expressing the desire to rid himself of all memories of a relationship (one of the most popular tracks from the record), but Egg stands out as one of the more soul-baring songs. It’s a letter to himself and his fears, his self-hatred; the things he knows are failing him but he feels he cannot change: “Every single step that you take is just another one back / Another step to take back, another regret / You just gonna let fear take that?” The sound is tight, reminiscent of a heartbeat, with a simple bass and echoey vocals throughout most of the song. Pitchfork criticized The Crux as having a “tendency to mistake mere observation for insight,” and it’s somewhat true, because this song is lacking nuance – but I think that’s what makes it so good. Not everything has to express feelings in a roundabout, metaphorical manner. Some of the most impactful music I’ve ever heard simply says it as it is. “Can one be great? Can one be kind? / When history shows, they're not intertwined / So what will you choose, your heart or your pride? / Could you really be so self-satisfied?” Fear limits everyone, and this song expresses it. “Is that the child that’s afraid in you?”
Fly and Charlie’s Garden both fit that Beatles Abbey Road psychedelic tone we’ve heard before. Fly matches the depressing streak we’ve been on, but Charlie’s Garden gives us another break from the sad. It’s referencing Djo’s Stranger Things co-star Charlie Heaton’s garden, which connected to his own backyard while they shot the last season of the show. It’s fun, falsetto, and a little silly, even featuring Charlie’s voice on a faux shooting-related phone call. It’s also one of the few glimpses we get into Djo’s life as an actor and how draining it can be – but at least he gets “one more day in Charlie’s garden.”
The cheery, happy vibe continues through the final four songs of the record. Gap Tooth Smile lifts us up even higher – who doesn’t love a cheesy love song about a partner’s unconventional quirks? “That's my little missus, she's my number one / My heart in your dreams / Freddie said it right, 'cause she's my killer queen.” It’s pop rock, catchy, and sweet, easy to tap your foot along to while thinking of your own partner’s version of a Gap Tooth Smile.
We have found that love is a reoccurring subject, and the last few tracks carry on with that idea. Djo said in an April interview with Coup De Main that Golden Line is for his parents, soft and gentle with commanding vocals, talking of the support and trust he finds in them: “How can I repay the due? / The way you know me, love me, pull me through / Yes, it's true / I do it all for you.” This is one of the most moving tracks on the album, in my opinion. I think familial love sometimes doesn’t get enough credit in the musical world (or maybe I’m just not listening to the right artists).
Continuing with the domestic elements, Back on You is for the strength one finds in friends and family. It opens with the Brooklyn Children’s Choir singing angelically (“Dry those eyes, hanging on / Through the tears, sing yourself a song / Come back home / Buddy, I remember who you are”) before launching into a rock, guitar-heavy anthem for those closest to him. His sisters help sing the chorus of the song: “When life's plan / Isn't shinin' through / You understand / You help me see it through / So, you can count on me / I'm leaning back on you,” and as it progresses, everyone can think of the people in their lives that they lean back on. I’m a big fan of this track, maybe because I find myself listening to a fair bit of depressing stuff – it’s nice to nod my head along with a smile for once, thinking of my own friends. “But in the dark backseat, I heard something / It was you telling me / I got your back, any day / My friend, my man.”
The album concludes with Crux. It’s piano and synth-heavy (I’m reminded of Mac DeMarco from his 2017 album, This Old Dog), returning to the atmospheric sound that a lot of the record has, and to its emotional core. It essentially serves as an epilogue for the entire album – to live a fulfilling life, to move on, to accept yourself, you must give in to vulnerability and love. You can find that in yourself and in those around you: “Get back to your heart / Only if you give you give it back again.” It’s a give and take, but by the end of the night, you might be able to see the light if you try.
All in all, The Crux Deluxe is what I consider Djo’s best piece of work so far, exhibiting his evolution and experimentation in style. Without the additions of the deluxe version, we don’t get to hear the story from start to finish. The dark side, the light side, all the gray areas in between feel properly fleshed out with the full track list. The Crux Deluxe puts it all on display in its 24-song run. All vulnerabilities and personality are exposed. As Djo comes into his sound further, I’m excited to see what the future holds in his next album – beyond the acclaim of End of Beginning.