The Dare: Industry Plant Or Dance Floor Messiah?
The Dare, an emerging artist in the electroclash scene, is quickly gaining traction thanks to his raw energy, brash attitude, and undeniably catchy beats. His rise to fame has been powered by the success of the song Girls on platforms like TikTok, where his infectious, danceable music has found an eager audience. Allegedly written quickly as a joke, the song captures a sassy humor that’s arguably missing from the current musical landscape. But as with many artists who explode onto the scene, there’s been no shortage of criticism, especially from those who remember the early days of electroclash artists like LCD Soundsystem and Peaches. To some, The Dare—aka Harrison Patrick Smith—feels like he’s trying to get away with something, or like he’s blatantly ripping off a cultural phenomenon and reselling it to an unknowing audience. As is commonplace now, the words “industry plant” get thrown around willy-nilly. Is there any validity to this backlash? Is The Dare a con artist or a dancefloor messiah? Internet Tattoo investigates.
Is The Dare An Industry Plant?
Let’s start with the elephant in the room.
For anyone familiar with James Murphy’s early work, the similarities between The Dare and LCD Soundsystem are hard to ignore. The Dare channels Murphy’s signature vocal inflections, with the same sardonic delivery and spoken-word style phrasing. I can clearly picture a teenage HPS sitting on his bedroom floor, figuring out how to use his voice by singing along to LCD’s 2005 self-titled debut, or more likely the This Is LCD Soundsystem playlist on Spotify.
Musically, his tracks are a clear homage to the minimalist, synth-driven, punk-inspired electroclash sound that defined LCD’s early singles like "Losing My Edge" and "Yeah (Crass Version)." We quickly recognize the squelchy basslines, distorted drum grooves, and incisive Rapture-style guitars. It wants so desperately to put old wine in new bottles, but it can come off as someone cosplaying as a third rate character from Meet Me In The Bathroom.
Some have written this off as a running gag that’s gone a little too far. We hear the story: Harrison Patrick Smith made Girls—an LCD parody—for laughs, it blew up on TikTok, and suddenly, he’s signed to a label. End of story. Or is it? Was The Dare the result of a spontaneous viral moment, or was there a quiet, behind-the-scenes audition process for the next indie pop star, carried out in secret boardrooms? The more you think about it, the more absurd the idea seems.
In the end, the question of whether The Dare is an industry plant becomes less important. To some degree, you could argue he is—after all, he’s a musician who scored internet fame with a novelty hit, and the industry seized the opportunity, throwing money at it to ride the wave. By that definition, most major artists—from The Beatles to Tyler, the Creator—could be called industry plants. At some point, every successful artist is scouted and signed, whether by a label, management, or a booking team.
But here’s the truth: Girls wouldn’t have caught on if it wasn’t catchy. It’s easy to feel like success is just a product of industry connections and label-backed marketing. Yet, even the biggest budgets can’t make a song stick if it doesn’t resonate. Plenty of artists with endless resources release tracks that go nowhere, despite all the buzz-building efforts. If the beat doesn’t slap, people won’t dance. Any DJ can tell you that.
I highly doubt that Smith is just a pretty face with a behind-the-scenes Svengali pulling all the strings. He’s no Milli Vanilli-style stand-in. But even if he were… who cares? A) That would actually be a pretty fascinating piece of performance art, and B) let’s be real—hardly any pop stars write their songs alone anymore. Most pop stars are pitched tracks that they record with the help of powerful pitch-correction software, and on stage, they sing over backing tracks that are cranked up just as loud as the live vocals. We’ve long passed the point of no return when it comes to so-called artistic integrity. It’s not art—it’s show business, baby!
So, the real question isn’t whether The Dare was “planted” by the industry. It’s whether he has earned the buzz or not. Unfortunately that answer, well, it’s a bit more complicated.
Facing the Generational Mirror
For many millennials, this raises an interesting cultural question. The Dare’s music feels like the first time our generation is experiencing a rehash of the culture we grew up with, or at least one that was cool. It’s like looking into a mirror and seeing the influences that shaped our coming-of-age reflected back at us, only this time repackaged for a younger audience.
There’s something unsettling about it. It’s not unlike how our parents must have felt in the 2000s when bands like Yeah Yeah Yeahs and The White Stripes heavily referenced the rock music of the 70s. It’s a strange but inevitable realization: we’re getting older, and the music we once considered groundbreaking is now part of the cultural past. The next generation is mining for inspiration.
Is capturing the spirit of NYC’s indie sleaze scene is no different from artists 20 years ago putting post-punk and Britpop in a blender and coming out with masterpieces like Is This It? and Turn On the Bright Lights? And mind you, we’re quick to forget that—at the time—The Strokes and Interpol received similar accusations of cannibalizing the past, ripping off Television and Joy Division respectively, and selling it back to the masses. Yet, we now know they were building a template for the indie rock of the post-internet age.
To the elderly millennial who was around when all that NYC stuff was being played in dance clubs and dive bars worldwide, The Dare’s music might feel like it’s piggybacking on a cadaver that’s not cold yet. But to Gen Z, this is closer to a digging up a relic of the past—something gathering dust in their parents’ CD collection before being rediscovered.
We can’t blame a young person for repurposing a vintage band t-shirt that doesn’t fit its owner anymore. We’ve all done it.
Embracing The Dare’s music is about accepting that cultural recycling is part of the natural order of things. Every generation builds on the past, and in the same way that LCD Soundsystem drew on the legacy of artists like David Bowie, Liquid Liquid, and Can, The Dare is drawing on LCD’s legacy. Critics have been particularly harsh on him, with Pitchfork recently delivering a scathing review that reeks of hot take, essentially calling his music derivative and hollow. I don’t know if that’s fair.
I’ll admit that Smith’s lyrics can sometimes sound like they were written by a group of copywriters brainstorming around the word “edgy,” and that they pale in comparison to James Murphy’s words that expertly tow the line between cynicism and sincerity—often blending both. But beyond that, these critiques may miss the point. In today’s viral music age, artists like The Dare thrive on attention—good or bad. While critics dismiss him as a ripoff, they may underestimate the excitement that comes from a fresh take on a familiar sound.
Reviving a Disappearing Sound
The Dare isn’t just copying LCD Soundsystem—he’s reviving a style that’s largely disappeared. LCD’s music has evolved over time, becoming more mature and layered. Their recent albums, while still incredible, have moved away from the gritty, carefree energy of their early work.
For today’s 20-somethings, that raw, unpolished sound represents something exciting, something to dance to. The Dare isn’t here to be LCD 2.0—he’s reigniting the spark of early 2000s electroclash, which was built on rebellion, fun, and the urge to party. It’s music that feels chaotic and immediate, and for younger audiences, it’s as fresh as it was when LCD first burst onto the scene.
The criticism of appropriation would make more sense if Murphy and co. were still making busted beats with thrift-store drum machines. But the truth is that The Dare isn’t ripping off electroclash—he’s simply reviving the flame of a bygone era. Sure, he sounds like LCD, but it’s an LCD we don’t have anymore.
Gen X has moved on, but the demand for brash, rebellious dance punk hasn’t disappeared.
If anything, it’s a testament to how timeless electroclash can be—20 years later, it still sounds fun and fresh, even to a generation that wasn’t there for its original wave. And let’s not forget: music history is full of moments when critics dismissed artists too quickly. Think back to Weezer—their early albums were panned for being late to the grunge party, but today, The Blue Album and Pinkerton are regarded as alt-rock classics.
It’s the public, not the critics, who ultimately decide what sticks.
The Fun Factor: Why The Dare Deserves a Chance
At the end of the day, music isn’t about who did it first—it’s about what feels fun, fresh, and cool in the moment. If people want to hear it, any criticism is irrelevant. So, instead of dismissing The Dare, maybe we should give him the space to grow and see where he takes this sound.
After all, it’s often the artists written off as imitators who end up defining the next wave of music. Only time will tell if The Dare can breakout of the corner he’s painted himself him, if he can be more than the punchline to his own joke.
His album What’s Wrong With New York? hints at interesting directions. Collaborations with producers like Dylan Brady, Romil Hemnani, and even Charli XCX offer a glimpse of where Smith may head: a versatile aesthetic that captures his cheeky attitude while going deeper musically.
I have no doubt that The Dare can be more than “the guy doing electroclash in 2024”.
The fact that he’s sparking this much conversation means he’s onto something.