EVERY GENRE PROJECT - August 2 - Dariacore

Genre of the Day - Dariacore

Album of the Day - Dariacore 2: Enter Here, Hell to the Left by leroy (2021)

Though the titular show’s characters might get a head-splitting migraine if they ever heard one of these tracks, a genre of music named for one of my favorite TV series is a welcome and out-of-left-field moment for this column. If you haven’t been graced by the greatness that is Daria, MTV’s sardonic ‘90s animated sitcom about suburban high schoolers Daria Morgendorffer and Jane Lane’s cynical musings, consider it my gift to you. I’m not sure what led me to Daria, but it’s remained a cult classic, so photos scattered across Pinterest likely piqued my curiosity. I’ve rewatched it a few times since my first watch as a preteen. Its observations and character studies have held up among my generation, appealing to gen z’s dual influences of nihilistic outlooks and social media-driven hedonism.

That being said, Daria is not necessarily the major influence on Dariacore. The genre’s pioneer was simply a Daria fan and selected screen captures as album art. The genre deals more in sound-collage, high-velocity musical smorgasbords like a chronically online parallel to Sick Sad World, Daria’s show-within-a-show (is this permissible to write?) that spoofed ‘90s outlandishness. Dariacore is relentless dedication to the bit, especially as the genre lies outside any big streaming platforms due to the sheer amount of songs producers would have to license the samples for. It stays firmly in the hallowed halls of Soundcloud.

Social media overuse and subsequent anxiety is undoubtedly the plague of my generation. I know all too well that some light scrolling can quickly devolve into overstimulated unease as I suddenly realize I’ve been frozen still, my thumbs moving with a mind of their own. Dariacore emerged after a crucial year in the social media sphere, as 2020 saw quarantine-weary throngs of people flock to social media’s Godzilla algorithmic endgame, TikTok. As a talented producer still in high school, Jane Remover was a keen observer of the online culture that entertained and entrapped her and her peers. Her personal sonic pursuits were in EDM, punk, and the dubstep she’d grown up loving. She took these passions to hyperpop, which was getting its biggest online moment in the sun yet in 2020 thanks to releases by 100 gecs and Charli XCX. Her touches to its cuttingly vivid reflections of electronic music, the Internet, and what defines pop music were even more bombastic and zoomer-savvy. Her Dariacore releases under the side alias leroy (unfortunately, not even the name of a Daria character) combined recognizable, nostalgic pop samples often from the early 2010s sped up with assorted surrealist snippets from memes and audios. Explosive, blistering glitchy hyperpop percussion, giddy Jersey club, or breakbeats snake in and out with the rapidity of an algorithmic attack.

When in a properly prepared headspace, its high-velocity distillations of the online are riveting, chaotic dopamine hits. Dariacore rejects the idea of a dull moment: enter the loop. “Stupid Hoe” combines a diss by one of the most iconic Gen Z figures in Nicki Minaj with blistering drum’n’bass and Owl City-esque glitter. Female rap is a particular sampled favorite across many tracks as TikTok provided a new platform for a wider cadre of stars, Latto meeting a minefield of no-holds-barred crashes, exaggeration, and lasers on “...during pride month?” “starbucks employee vs. niche twitter personality” combines samples from a mind-blowing nine songs from Tyga to Taylor Swift, plus an intro by much-lampooned conservative influencer and Starbucks adorer Christian Walker cast under a pitch-shifted spell so well-integrated I didn’t even realize it was there. Emo-punk touches to Mariah Carey’s “Obsessed,” an early benefactor of TikTok-based resurgence in 2019, and stars who arose on the app like Pinkpantheress and Alice Longyu Gao ascend and drop into sound-blast euphoria on “wants mom to know she looks cool and doesn’t plan on changing,” referencing a meme circulating of a girl on TV in punky garb declaring the song’s title.

Leroy probes new paths then just as quickly disposes of them. These breakneck shifts cleverly imitate the careless act of scrolling, though the sound design and marriage of so many sounds at every turn takes sustained focus and craft, reminiscent of 2000s ghetto house. The other day, I reflected on my distaste for a hallmark of millennial music; today, the knife is turned on my generation’s quirked up, chronic onlineness. Dariacore’s distorted and delirious EDM explorations of that onlineness speaks to me in a way that I imagine doesn’t translate to those not as ensconced in that digital world. It’s a testament in equal parts to our creativity and brain rot, and it’s undeniably entertaining.