I’m dancing in a crowd of black-and-white and sunglasses-clad individuals. My Doc Martens have come fully unzipped, my necklace is gone, and I’m almost certain that my mascara is streaking across my sweat-soaked face. On stage is Harrison Patrick Smith, professionally known as The Dare. In the brief moments when the only screens in sight are the monitors of digital cameras, I can almost imagine that the year is 2006 — and this is exactly what The Dare wants.

Widely regarded as the poster boy of the indie-sleaze revival, The Dare’s music and persona can best be described as shamelessly hedonistic. His debut album, “What’s Wrong with New York?” features debaucherous lyrics like “I wanna smell real good while I’m burning in hell” and “free your eyes and you might get laid.” In his most popular song, “Girls,” he professes his love (or more accurately, lust) for women of all varieties, from “girls with degrees” to “girls on killing sprees” to “girls who got a bone to pick with me.” 

The Dare is known for his sleek uniform of a simple black suit and tie and dark sunglasses, a look that many audience members have mimicked. Consistent with his mysterious persona, he keeps his between-song banter to a minimum. Near the end of his set, he tells us he has “three more songs, then you can all go back to your miserable lives.” In response, an audience member yells out “It’s Boston!” Grinning, Smith replies in a genuine tone “It can’t be that bad” before launching into the next song. Watching him snap into performance mode after this brief yet earnest moment is fascinating, as if we are watching him transform from Harrison into The Dare in real time. 

When I first listened to the album, I came to the conclusion that The Dare is at his best when he fully leans into the sleaziness of his persona. The tracks where he pulls back the curtain of irony and affectation fell flat for me. I much preferred songs like “I Destroyed Disco” where he begs the question “what’s a blogger to a rocker, what’s a rocker to The Dare?” to more earnest and confessional tracks like “You Can Never Go Home,” in which he admits that “sometimes I steal what I wrote” and “sometimes I feel like I just barely know.” The Dare is certainly not a philosopher, or a particularly impressive lyricist for that matter. His most pronounced talent is his ability to facilitate a good time, which is proven by the fact that these ballad-esque songs are the weakest moments of the live show. Nonetheless, they provide a much-needed reprieve from jumping up and down, so I can’t really complain. 

The concert consisted of all twelve of his released songs, plus two unreleased tracks and a cover of The Sound’s “I Can’t Escape Myself.” The Dare’s set culminated with “Girls,” his aforementioned biggest hit. The moment the opening notes played, the energy in the crowd reached a peak that didn’t come down until he had left the stage. Can I tell you that The Dare is much more than a comparatively hollow James Murphy wannabe with god-given swagger? No. But I can tell you that he puts on an incredible show.

After the show’s conclusion, I had the chance to meet and very briefly speak with The Dare, who introduced himself as Harrison. In person, he could not have been more different from his onstage persona. He was friendly and approachable, lacking the “holier-than-thou” attitude he takes on for public appearances. I knew that the length of our interaction was limited, so I only asked one burning question.

Sage: I’m a student journalist at Wellesley, a historically women’s college. You famously love Girls … Do you have anything to say to the student body at Wellesley?

Harrison: Stay beautiful.

Which I assure him, we will.

Contact the editor responsible for this story: Norah Catlin