It’s sweaty anticipation at Sydney’s Metro Theatre tonight as the crowd packs in, waiting for The Dare—the moniker of Harrison Smith—to bring his electrifying live show to life. Smith, a self-styled ringleader of the indie sleaze revival, has been turning heads worldwide, thanks to a high-profile collab with Charli XCX on the hit track ‘Guess,’ later remixed by Billie Eilish. But if tonight’s energy is anything to go by, there’s more to this story than big-name endorsements.
Smith’s brand of pulsating beats and swaggering energy doesn’t just flirt with nostalgia—it redefines it for a new generation, and tonight this crowd is primed and ready to rock. The lyrics from ‘Open Up’ seem pertinent ‘It’s just rock and roll, you won’t die, you can’t spend your whole life inside.’
At the merch table, T-shirts declaring I’m in the club while you’re online fly off the rack, a slogan turned battle cry for a demographic desperate to feel something. The Dare’s hedonistic anthems are a soundtrack for a generation clinging to fleeting moments of euphoria, chasing meaning through the blur of bright lights and bad decisions.
Smith arrives onstage in his signature sunglasses, black suit, white shirt, and tie, the kind of uniform that turns iconography into armour. In the crowd, a few diehards are cosplaying his look—mini Smiths scattered among the crush of bodies. One guy refuses to conform and is dressed in a Hawaii shirt, board shorts, wraparound sunglasses and is sporting a mullet.
“Send it to The Dare, yeah, I think he’s with it.” Charli XCX
The Dare might be snotty. He might be a brat—hell he could even lay claim to some aspects of BRAT summer—but from the second he steps on stage, none of that matters. From the moment the first beat detonates, a deafening, chest-rattling surge, it’s obvious: this guy is a star.
He’s backlit by a scorching wall of white light, flanked by two decks and a high-hat. Behind him, an actual fortress of Marshall stacks looms like a testament to the god of volume. It’s a stark, almost minimalist setup—no backing band, no flashy theatrics—yet somehow, he fills the space completely, commanding the room like a preacher at the altar of sound.
He high-kicks. He sways. He weaves between beats, into the crowd, through the noise. The Dare is not just performing; he’s possessed by it, and in turn, the crowd is possessed by him. There’s a hypnotic fervour in the way he moves, in the way his presence seems to stretch beyond the stage and into every shadowy corner of the venue. He has the entire room in a chokehold of joy and chaos.
By the end, it’s not just a concert. It’s a baptism. A coronation. A riot. No contest—this is the gig of 2024.
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