Jessai Flores

Everyone has fantasized about being a rock star. We’ve all put ourselves center stage in these visions, imagined ourselves playing music to packed stadiums and writing songs that define generations. Admit that rubbing shoulders with household names at glamorous parties and donning outrageously bedazzled jumpsuits wouldn’t intrigue you — I’ll wait. Personally, I channel my inner 70’s celebrity when I thrift camel suede fringe jackets and listen to the Classic Rock radio station on the reg.

I know I’m not the only one who loses themselves in reveries of musical recognition. However, I can acknowledge that my narrow idea of stardom is not one-size-fits-all. Maybe the only microphone you’ve even belted ballads on is your detachable shower head. Maybe decade fashion doesn’t spark your fancy the way it does for me. But don’t lie and say you’ve never thought about what it would be like to be famous.

I first encountered “Daisy Jones and the Six” in its original written form. As a devout Taylor Jenkins Reid groupie, I spent my high school career reading all of her bestsellers, from “The Seven Husbands of Evelyn Hugo” to “Malibu Rising.” I was ecstatic when I heard that an adaptation of “Daisy Jones” was coming to Prime Video. For one, I salute the show creators for going the TV route. The complex storyline would not have been explored in enough depth in a film with a two hour run time. 

The story is told through interview format with the band members and people they interacted with along the way. The chorus of many voices creates a fuller picture of what really happened, recording crucial moments as the band rose to fame for posterity’s sake. The speakers, now older and wiser, can look back on their experiences retrospectively and provide valuable insight into why they might have made certain decisions. 

The show begins by flip flopping between Daisy Jones in Los Angeles and The Six in Pittsburgh. And while it makes sense to flesh out each origin story from its inception, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. “Daisy Jones” spends the first few episodes jumping between past anecdotes and present confessionals, California and Pennsylvania, a solitary songwriter and a band rooted in family. This constant panning between different eras, settings, and protagonists was jarring even for a viewer familiar with the source material. 

Until the groups eventually intersect, which solves the initial confusion, the plot felt like two parts and not a whole, Daisy Jones … and the Six. But the seemingly disjointed narratives are actually tied together right out of the gate by an established common atmosphere. The show maintains a consistent vibe bolstered by decade-accurate fashion and subtextually brilliant soundtrack. 

In the overarching plot, as Daisy Jones discovers her appetite for sex, drugs, and rock and roll with the backdrop of Los Angeles, her soulful blue eyes and wild auburn bangs hold the audience captive. While we follow an older Daisy reflecting on her childhood, the show flashes back in a rapid transformation occurring all in one episode, strung together by three different actresses. But the consistent through-line is the styling. 

She begins as a little girl in a pastel floral nightgown perched beside a red record player soulfully singing along only to be violently hushed by her absent parents. Then we watch her venture outside of what she knows, a naive teenage girl in a brown minidress, still floral, sneaking backstage into music clubs steeped in cigarette smoke, only to be taken advantage of by powerful men in the industry. Floral print evaporates entirely, along with Daisy’s innocence.

And then we finally are introduced to an adult Daisy Jones, portrayed by Riley Keough. I’m in support of this casting choice. I’m all for reducing nepotism in Hollywood, but she just has that star quality that’s necessary for a character like Daisy to be believable, a certain je ne sais quoi I can’t put my finger on. It is possible her “it factor” trickled down from her grandfather Elvis Presley. But because I’ve only ever seen her in this project, dressed to the nines in fur paneled coats, platform cowboy boots, and flowy see-through caftans looking straight out of the post-Woodstock era, I’m inclined to forget she’s entertainment business royalty. That’s the power of decade fashion. 

Simultaneous to Daisy’s coming-of-age development, The Six, known as the The Dunne Brothers in this era, become local sensations, prompting frontman Billy Dunne and his bandmates to expand their musical ambitions. They began their journey to stardom as five high-school age boys in a cluttered garage tuning their guitars in dusty plaid button-ups. These look like knock offs of the amps and equipment from the more legitimate LA concerts Daisy frequents, connecting the two worlds but also commenting on a stark divide between them. 

There are also two layers to the show’s music, which I think is a necessary complexity to develop a sonorous story. There’s the soundtrack sung by other artists, and then there’s music consciously created by the characters within the show. The first category is carried through seamlessly. Daisy embodies her artsiness with the backdrop of strong female vocalists of her time, like Violet Hall and Carole King, before she even ventures into songwriting herself. 

The Dunne brothers sing covers of pop songs by notable bands like The Byrds and The Animals before endeavoring to write their own material. I’ll note here that Sam Claflin, the actor portraying frontman Billy Dunne, looks way too old to be in a high school band, or even 20 years old. And considering the recent “The Hunger Games” revival mania online, I can’t get his younger role of Finnick Odair out of my head while I rewatch the show. I know this sounds like a me problem, but I don’t think I’m alone. I assure you, it’s not Ben Platt in the movie adaptation of “Dear Evan Hansen” bad, but it’s not great. 

Nevertheless, I braved my qualms with Billy Dunne in hopes of watching the other characters find their respective musical identities. When Daisy and The Six eventually merge into one whole band, the show’s score becomes dominant with new songs unique to this story. Reid admits that Fleetwood Mac influenced the band’s distinct 70’s sound, as well as their romantic dynamics. And that is evident in the bouncy single “Look at Us Now (Honeycomb)” and the rousingly passionate fury of “Regret Me.” It would not be a jump to say that the Aurora album sessions in the show, with moody duetting vocals and encoded messages reeking of forbidden love, are directly inspired by Fleetwood Mac’s notorious “Rumors.” 

Fans of “Daisy Jones and the Six” in its novel form might notice that the lyrics of some songs are altered almost beyond recognition. But I care more about if the music conveys the adequate feeling of the scene, and also whether or not I can listen to the song recreationally outside of the moment’s context. If the exact wording and proposed melody needed to be reworked so Daisy and Billy could better emulate the chemistry latent drama between Stevie Nicks and Lindsey Buckingham, then I’m on board with any changes necessary.

Fashion and music keep “Daisy Jones and the Six” consistent, even in its somewhat disorienting moments. Beyond the obvious focuses of the band, Daisy and Billy, the characters on the periphery shine through these same atmospheric choices. Some of my favorites include drummer Warren Rojas, often found making a comedically off color comment, who strikes high hats and cymbals in skin tight graphic tees. Simone Jackson, whose fringy, leathery, metallic, and shiny aesthetic undeniably marks her as a pioneer of disco, acts as a key older sister figure, guiding Daisy through rough patches. Teddy Price, a famed music producer with a perfectly coiffed afro, has a clear vision for uniting talented musicians, and in doing so, falls into a paternal role for the band as a whole. 

And how can I forget Graham Dunne’s sweeping guitar solos and Karen Sirko’s rebellious turtlenecks? Or Camila Alvarez’s cinematic photography and gorgeous maternity dresses? All of these characters contribute to the meteoric rise of the band in their own ways. But let’s zoom out from all of the action of music production, the drama of love triangles, and the heartbreaking twist ending. For any of these moving pieces to come together in a coherent oral history, every moving piece must play its role to amount to a finalized symphony. The many voices recounting their perspectives act as instruments, and the flashback dialogue composes the multilayered lyrics. The many places across multiple years give the depth of a melodic tone. Fashion offers visual intrigue, and the soundtrack stimulates oral engagement.

The series itself is a song. No adaptation of a fan-beloved book can keep everyone happy. Some of my other complaints were that the hiatus in Greece felt too long, and the character of Eddie Roundtree somehow managed to come off as both underdeveloped and overdeveloped in his motivations. Also, his hair in later episodes needed some serious work. All that to say, what fell flat for me might have hit the note for other people, the same way songwriters argue about the necessity of reprising a chorus here or omitting a bridge there. 

“Daisy Jones and the Six” strikes a chord with me, and I know it will with you too. The plot, fashion, characters, instruments, decade, soundtrack, and overall trajectory over ten episodes creates a near perfect harmony when mapped out in chronological succession. But even more, it does what every good piece of media should do: momentary wish fulfillment. You get to follow along the exhilarating journey of a band until they reach their peak, from mundane and empty childhood bedrooms to electric arena performances for thousands of fans. Viewers get to taste the most enticing aspects of fame through musical notoriety. And thankfully, the privacy violations of nosy journalists and addiction-related pitfalls of multiple rehab stints will not be following you beyond the screen. 

It may sound like I’m singing the same refrain over and over again at this point, but fashion and music are the two things that kept me enthralled with “Daisy Jones,” and that stuck with me beyond it. On my Spotify account, I’ve liked practically every song on the show’s album Aurora. Some of my favorite more underground original songs are “The River” and “Let Me Down Easy.” And I’ve rediscovered some classics thanks to the show’s soundtrack, so of course I’ve been on a Fleetwood Mac, Boston, Aerosmith, and Earth, Wind & Fire kick. 

And you can’t channel the show and live out your rockstar fantasy without the appropriate outfits! I’ve already put the silver studded belt and the burnt orange high waisted flare corduroys from the Free People The Daisy Jones & The Six Capsule Collection in my cart. My aforementioned camel suede fringe jacket has come out in full force, so if you see a bundle of flipping tassels and thigh highs stomping her way over to Sterling Memorial Library, that’s me. 

And don’t let my anachronistic Airpods fool you — I’m probably listening to the “Daisy Jones and the Six” soundtrack.

ELIZA JOSEPHSON
Eliza Josephson writes personal essays for the WKND desk as a staff reporter, ranging from contemplative memoir to light hearted satire. Originally from New York City, she is a sophomore in Pierson majoring in Comparative Literature.