‘What’s Wrong With New York?’ Plays Fast and Loose With Indie Sleaze Standards

From 2005 to 2011, slipstreams of the broader hipster consciousness imbibed themselves in what is now called “indie sleaze.” It was trashy, messy and above all loud — loud fashion, loud music, loud everything. 

Following a largely online cultural push towards hedonism, electronic artist The Dare tried to forge a new scene with his latest album, “What’s Wrong With New York?” This is the second project from the rising indie star Harrison Patrick Smith, a Los Angeles-born, now West Village transplant.

The production is competent but nothing special — the lyrics par for the course. But in that spanning mediocrity, The Dare as a project of revival comes apart. 

The aptly named “Open Up” kicks off the record with an invitation for listeners to join him as he parties among the nouveau chic. Beyond the song’s classic rock inspirations — the same sound that spawned his hit single “Girls” — there’s not much special about “Open Up.” 

“Good Time” is a shining star in an otherwise dim sky, striking the perfect balance between the clashing sound and the funny, debaucherous songwriting that defined the sleaze era. A thrumming baseline bounces in time with higher-toned instrumentation, showcasing Smith’s genuine ability as a producer.

Standout track “Perfume” takes the vigorous production and unserious approach of “Good Time” and pushes it to its absolute limit. 

“You’ll have to pry it from my cold dead grip / In fact, spray it in my grave so the worms can get a whiff,” Smith sings of the titular scent. 

“Perfume” and “Good Time” shine because, for once, The Dare’s formula works as it should. The vapid songwriting and the borderline noisy instrumentation meld together into something truly fun. 

“Girls” was The Dare’s breakout first single, received at the time of its release as a dark horseman of the coming sleaze revival. The song is so completely devoid of any and all deeper meaning that in its flattened artistic contribution, it circles back around to being enjoyable. 

I like the girls that do drugs / Girls with cigarettes in the back of the club (Club) / Girls that hate cops and buy guns,” Smith sings. 

Set in the neverending internal struggle a soul has with fame, “I Destroyed Disco” reckons with The Dare’s newfound presence as a cultural figure. The song is nothing short of irritating, worsened by a strange, nasal voice that cuts through the din midway through the song. 

“You’re Invited,” released as a single in August, attracted the ire of LCD Soundsystem fans who accused Smith of being a poor imitator of the band’s sound. 

What makes LCD Soundsystem different is sincerity — even tracks meant to come across as detached or sarcastic have moments of deep, saddened clarity that cut through the noise. 

The Dare lacks that same kind of fundamental honesty. His irony-poisoned persona has tainted the creative waters entirely it seems, and the performer just can’t get the balance right. 

“You and your keyboard / You just make me bored,” Smith sings in “You’re Invited.”

One might ask him to start with the man in the mirror. 

“All Night” yearns for something more than the endless expanse of nightlife, dipping into a more introspective register. Smith longs for something beyond the circles he’s found himself in — something far more stable. 

The next song, “Elevation,” plunges even further into The Dare’s inner turmoil, with a slow-building instrumentation that allows Smith’s raw voice to shine right when it needs to. 

“Movement” is appropriately hasty, playing with the same slow build and release formula “Elevation” executes so well. The deep, crackling instrumentation crammed into two minutes and 52 seconds pulls audiences into the same drug-induced elation the lyrics describe.

The Dare’s journey through the doom spirals of the indie sleaze era culminated in the album’s final track, “You Can Never Go Home.” Smith’s voice echoes loud and clear over dampened audio, weaving together the disparate introspections that make their way through the fog on other tracks.

The shockingly raw descriptions of a life lost in the dark recesses of the club still ring hollow — something is still missing, the full portrait incomplete. 

What made sleaze special was its presence as an embodied subculture, a closed system of music, fashion and distinct cultural outputs and artifacts. The Dare and “What’s Wrong With New York?” lack that distinct, truly creative context.

Listen to “What’s Wrong With New York” on all major streaming platforms.