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Review: The Dare, Marble Factory – ‘Elvis Presley gone Gen Z’
From the first beat, it was clear that the Dare‘s performance was to be a reignition of ‘indie sleaze’.
If the original movement was started in New York by bands like LCD Soundsystem, Charli XCX‘s suit-wearing hypeman is doing a surefire job of posthumously reanimating it into a more provocative style.
You can’t fault the Dare (real name Harrison Patrick Smith) for one thing: his ability to generate hype (both the good and bad kind).
is needed now More than ever
Graceful descriptions of the artist as an ‘indie sleaze horndog’ in many variations have led to a split in his public perception, with one camp of fans relishing in the borderline pervy lyrics of songs like Girls and Sex, while the opposing group find it downright crass.
The crowd definitely seemed up for a night of sass and sleaze – the Dare is a natural hype-man
Maybe it’s his close orbit to Charli XCX that permits the eroticism of his popular themes that have made him so renowned – herself an out-and-out advocate for sexual emancipation and the party-girl hedonism that fills his own music.
What I find fascinating about these risqué topics of choice in the Dare’s account is how they’re so tinged with an erotic flatness in comparison to Charli.
Rather than posing provocatively or flashing skin, Smith’s own body is almost always hidden by a signature suit and sunglasses when he stands in photoshoots next to scantily clad female models.
The expression in his Spotify profile picture is sterile, with a buckteeth expression complementing his pale skin and, of course, a pair of unidentifiable feet hovering around his nose and absent gaze. Classy.
It’s down-and-out cringe (dare I say sleaze?) that makes up his Elvis Presley-gone Gen Z-persona. Even in the stack of fifteen Marshall speaker cabs that encircle him onstage, it’s clear that the Dare is attempting to invoke nostalgia through gratuitous excess that harkens to the classic days of rock and roll.
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Ironically, the cabs themselves were only for show, but they stood firm as reminders of his brand: a cult of raucous bad-boy rock and roll swagger with all the bark and a little less bite than you’re used to from the classics.
All this isn’t to say that once in a while, we’re not all privy to a little bad behaviour though, even in its crassness.
It’s clear that the naughtiness of his and Charli’s music is probably the greatest force behind its popularity too. People continue to flock to stadiums, concert halls and raves to party away their problems.
A 23rd vinyl repress of her now immortalised record brat that seems to closely resemble Class A drugs only furthers this fact, as ‘brat summer’ seems to carry somewhat infinitely over the many seasons.
But if the brat summer, autumn, winter and now spring are getting tiring, then you might enjoy a switch to the Dare, who may well have a new release on the horizon.
Debuting a new track, which opened with the classic Amen breakbeat, he followed the untitled track with a cover of the Sound‘s I Can’t Escape Myself before working through What’s Wrong With New York? almost in full.
His performance was expectedly glitzy and complemented by a hysteric light show with a fully animated and multicoloured LED setup behind him.
Jumping, kicking and hip-thrusting around the stage, the Dare’s performance was erratically choreographed and tastefully engineered by the sound team, who owe a special shoutout for harnessing such electronic wizardry so well.
It was a show that left my eyes and ears with clear reminders of its intensity in both the ringing and brief retina spots that followed the curtain fall.
Evading an encore, the 50-minute set was a brief account of the inner-workings of Smith’s latest and most successful project, but the shorter set was still enough to leave quite the impression.
All images: Benji Chapman
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