After the tidal wave that was Brat summer, a psuedo-british American man in a suit washed onto my Spotify. The “indie sleaze revival” and a Charli XCX co-sign blasted Harrison Patrick Smith, known as The Dare, into the category of “Next Big Thing.” Hoping to deliver on promised potential, The Dare released his newest album, “What’s Wrong with New York?” this past week. Aesthetically calculated, offensive and not something I’d show my mom, The Dare has arrived and is kicking down doors.
“What’s Wrong With New York?” has a deliberate and controlled unhinged-ness which was made for getting ready on a Saturday night. The album featured groovy and crisp production juxtaposed against wailing vocals consistently falling into the right places. Songs like “Good Time,” “All Night” and my favorite, “I Destroyed Disco,” are grimy, mischievous musical highs which sound on the verge of spontaneous combustion.
Potential combustion works because “What’s Wrong with New York?” is a masterclass in audio engineering. Instruments are layered crisply, nothing is too loud and nothing is too meek. Re-listening is an adventure in trying to find new sounds in each tune. It’s deeply impressive.
The gist of “What’s Wrong With New York?” is unadulterated fun, booze, clubs and being irresponsible. Contextually, of course I love this album. I’m newly 21 and abroad in London. The Dare’s debauchery scratches itches in my brain just the right way. At some point though, those itches get scratched too much and scab. “What’s Wrong With New York’s?” songwriting causes my head to hurt.
Many lyrics, especially on “Girls” and “Good Time,” are annoyingly on the nose. Hearing The Dare’s zany urges and wild stories are reminiscent of people who rely on drunk glory stories for personality. The type of person who incessantly carries their post-Friday-night debrief to 2 p.m.. on Tuesday. Do they have things going on? Do they have depth? Do I even like “What’s Wrong With New York?” I’m not sure.
The biggest strength of Charli XCX’s “Brat” is the ability to make great party music with nuanced emotional lyrics. Charli bleeds out over insane club hooks with blaring synths, carefully balancing the party girl persona with deeper insecurities. On “What’s Wrong With New York’s?” emotional cuts, The Dare complains about girls at clubs and being tired. Yawn.
The album’s party music loses luster when that’s all The Dare can manage. Instead of creating a moment, The Dare is one-dimensionally relying on the indie-sleaze-revival-whatever thing. When that moment passes, what happens? I love this album, but I won’t admit that in five years, because it may be embarrassing. The Dare will deal with the lack of longevity eventually, but for now, let’s party.