‘Let's get freaky like they did:’ Why the Indie Sleaze Revival is Anything But

New York is going to spit in your face and tell you to enjoy it. New York is going to try it on with your mother, and if that fails, your brother. New York is going to eat up your whole generation with knives and forks made in the sweaty furnace of electroclash. 

This is New York City made in the image of the indie sleaze revival, which seeks to resurrect the messy party culture of the 2000s, in musty dive bars seemingly lit only by the flashes of Kodak Easyshare digicams. Though the genre is mostly defined by its hedonistic image, its sound is best characterised by indie club night White Heat promotor Marcus Harris as “the point where electronic music intersects and becomes electro-rock, or electroclash with more of an indie leaning.” With the Dare - the indie sleaze pin-up - currently promoting his upcoming debut album ‘What’s Wrong With New York,’ it is time to answer the question of whether this is truly a revival, or something more original. Alongside other stars of sleaze like Fcukers, the Hellp, and London’s own NEW YORK, something completely new is happening in the streets (while you’re online).

The social media landscape is where the first and second waves of indie sleaze diverge. While the first wave was only possible in the absence of social media, the new sounds of sleaze are a reaction to it. The not-so quiet storm of indie sleaze revival began in 2021 with characteristic indiscretion - the creation of the viral Instagram archive page @indiesleaze, created by the Dare’s friend Olivia, who gave the phenom his first buzz in 2022. By the divine volition of the 20-year trend cycle, in 2023, fashion houses like Celine began producing undersized biker jackets and oversized blazers that wouldn’t look out of place in an American Apparel store in Williamsburg. The revival was beginning to take hold. 

But unlike the original wave of indie sleaze, the revival was a reaction against social media. Indie sleaze epitomised a pre-Instagram age, when Facebook existed but wasn’t invited to the party. It is only natural that Gen Z would look back on the period with some envy: it was the last time you could dance like nobody’s watching - a time of innocence in an age of decadence. The indie sleaze revival spits in the face of immaculate social media presentation. It eschews the ‘clean-girl’ aesthetic, leaves behind the tasteful minimalism of 2017, and instead looks nostalgically at the messiness inherent to being a true ‘365 party girl.’ It appeals to a generation that knows what is real is never perfection, and what is authentic is never goodcleanfun.

The original indie sleaze movement was a continuation of the sweaty debauchery of the indie rock scene. Contrastingly, the revival rebels against a dour contemporary pop scene, rather than evolving from it. 2000s indie sleaze evolved from the indie scene of the era, and the party-rock that developed in the ennui of the Strokes. The band LCD Soundsystem was the missing link, being just as influenced by Daft Punk as they were by Talking Heads. In 2024, the context is very different. Indie sleaze bucks every trend in pop music of the last ten years. Artists like the Dare stand over the ashes of a pop scene that has been consumed by moody, downtempo vibezzz. This is a product of the streaming era, where a low-key approach to production is a must for getting on the maximum number of Spotify playlists. It's been a race to the bottom, frankly. Indie sleaze revival appeals to Gen Zs seeking sounds that will rouse them from the stupor imposed by Drake, on an endless mission to put the millions to sleep.

The consequences of COVID lockdowns also cannot be understated, as the youth escape bedrooms and basements and flee to Downtown clubs. Last year, the Dare said in an interview with Office Magazine that he had an untamed desire to compel people to dance post-COVID. The Downtown NYC party scene has famously been revitalized in the last few years, with areas like Bushwick and the Lower East Side exploding in popularity. Even Bloomberg Magazine has heard the sound of the underground, reporting on the uptick in use of early morning trains from the area as people escape into more civilized corners of New York. Reviews of shows at Freakquencies, the definitive sleaze club night in NYC, often comment on the average age of attendees being about 19: these kids are clearly on to something.

The new wave of sleaze is also unshakably queer. This might seem surprising, given the horny nature of the lyrics floating around the scene which veers into male gaze territory (cue Blaketheman1000 singing ‘I look nice but I’m actually a sexist’). However, thanks to the number of LGBT artists purveying electroclash and the obvious influence from predominately queer genres like hyperpop, the indie sleaze revival occupies a post-heterosexual world. The original sleazers embodied the straight, cisgendered outlook of the rock and roll that birthed it. Straight power couples were the talk of the town: think Pete Doherty and Kate Moss, Alex Turner and Alexa Chung. Despite borrowing from queer culture, it seemed there was little space for queer people.

Fifteen years down the line, the Freakquencies lineup has included queer provocateurs like Frost Children and Dorian Electra, as well as shows by Cole Foster Haden of homoerotic-noise band model/actriz. The Dare himself has received cosigns from queer icon Charli XCX, whose track Guess features him on production, as well as a shoutout encouraging her listeners to send their underwear his way (‘yeah, I think he’s with it’). BRAT, an album that clashes hyperpop influences with electroclash underpinnings, exemplifies the indie sleaze revival movement. It is an album which takes bad taste and turns it into an art form. Hyperpop, with its queer roots, is the primary reference point for new sleaze. Its aesthetic takes clear influence from 100 gecs, with oil-spill levels of grease and equally vivid colours culminating in a postmodern Y2K clusterfuck. If hyperpop is the mother of a genderless, genreless generation, then indie sleaze revival is surely its first and most unruly child. In this way, LGBT+ celebration is part of the DNA of indie sleaze in 2024.

So much of popular music in the 2020s so far represents the anxiety of the times. Whether it's Fontaines DC singing about panic attacks in the train station on ‘Starcatcher’ or Squid branding their sound ‘anxiety rock,’ or even Pheobe Bridgers and MUNA singing about being ‘high and feeling anxious,’ the wrong kind of adrenaline - cortisol rather than dopamine - is the order of the day. Didn’t pop music used to be fun? Didn’t it used to make you dance urself clean? The Dare has the solution: ‘I want to see somebody get naked and beat up his accordion player. Why don’t I do it myself?’