If there’s one person who can lure a hoard of early-20-somethings who look like Euphoria extras above 14th Street, it’s the Dare. The musician has come to represent many things: the second coming of Manhattan’s pre-millennial-pink “indie sleaze” heyday; the type of debauched, lip-biting horniness that provokes both QAnon death threats and finger-wagging Pitchfork reviews; the nihilistic urgency of post-quarantine hedonism. But when you go beyond the discourse, when you get offline and into the club, he’s simply a guy in a Gucci suit who can throw and soundtrack a really fun party.
So naturally, when I heard Harrison Patrick Smith was holding his Freakquencies party at the newly-opened New York outpost of Silencio (“the Chicest Club in Paris,” according to Vogue), I volunteered coverage and hightailed it to my nearest thrift store in search of a vintage teddy to mutilate with scissors and safety pins. I hadn’t been to Freakquencies since the early days, during the year after “Girls” came out—when I spent my Wednesday nights at Old Flings’s We Take Manhattan party and my Thursday nights at Home Sweet Home on Chrystie, downing whiskey gingers and stumbling over Kevin Carpet in the bathroom line—and I was excited to see the nightlife industry’s latest attempt to make midtown happen.
Silencio NYC’s numerous glowing writeups, fuzzy red interiors, and associations with David Lynch and Studio 54 were promising enough that I didn’t mind taking three trains from Bushwick in 30-degree weather. I came away from the night with two major conclusions: The first is that Freakquencies is Freakquencies in any venue; whether you’re in the Lower East Side or the upper reaches of Hell’s Kitchen, the music is good and the crowd energetic, eager, and dancey. The second is that downtown’s reign over Manhattan nightlife is safe.
I brought along a couple of disposable cameras and handed one to the Dare to capture the party from his perspective. Read ahead for my diary of the night and photos by the Dare, myself, and other attendees.
7:33 PM: Naptime. Going out during the week is a lot easier when you don’t go into the office.
9:47 PM: Successfully got out of bed and into my new party “dress.” Wanted to go shorter, so I cut it while it was still on my body. Super uneven; I won’t do that again.
10:50 PM: Began the hour-long journey uptown with my roommate/DJ partner/ride-or-die Sarah. At some point in the mustard glow of the N train, I microdose. This is my trick for when I party and I have work the next day—no hangover and it gives me enough energy to dance.
11:39 PM: We spot the line in front of an unassuming door. The median age looks to be about 21 and a half, and the bouncer is confiscating a fake. Sarah and I don’t recognize anyone. The bouncer is shocked and complimentary when he checks my ID—I am both flattered, embarrassed, and a little annoyed that there has never, and probably will never be, a time in my life when my age is simply a neutral fact.
11:45 PM: Behind the door is a covered stairway leading down a narrow alleyway lit with strands of red LED lights. Coat check is outside at the end of the alley and is cash only. Two girls in front of me ask if they can Venmo me for $10, but there’s no service. They promise to Venmo me when later in the night, and I give them the money. I need the karma!
Courtesy of Maraya Fisher
11:55 PM: We enter Silencio. It’s striking at first—the red velveteen walls lined with the same LED lights as outside and the disorienting feeling of carpet under my kitten heels. The room is pretty small, a rectangle with a red velvet-curtained cutout nook on each of the two long sides, one behind a large DJ booth. Thoom is DJing fun 2000s classics like Yelle’s “Je veux te voir” and “Hung Up” by Madonna.
12:07 AM: After a quick lap, Sarah and I peek behind a curtain, step up into the alcove, and find a few spindly bistro tables, one of which has bottle service. The walls in this area are padded and covered in gold vinyl that stretches over deep bench seating. In one corner, three girlies take advantage of the metallic backdrop with a quick photoshoot. Harrison is in the opposite corner with a few friends. I give him a disposable camera, we make a few comments about the space, and he is promptly swept away into another conversation.
12:11 AM: Sarah and I introduce ourselves to the girls in the corner. One says the club is giving fashion pop-up, and now I can’t unsee it. The design and concept by Harry Nuriev are excellent, but the execution makes the space feel oddly temporary. The alcove walls are hollow and feel like a set, and one has strips of black masking tape to cover a power cable. Drinks are served in plastic cups, and there’s a visible outline of brick under the carpet. I can’t help but wonder how long it will stay that pristine with all the fluids that end up on nightclub floors. None of this is all that bad; it just undermines the air of exclusive luxury promised by the hype.
12:31 AM: Jackson Walker Lewis is on the decks, and the set is starting to hit hard. There’s a fair amount of acid house, and he plays “Mothers,” the debut single from his project Fcukers. Sarah and I run into our friends Serge Neborak, founder and creative director of Drink More Water, and Angelina Hazzouri.
Courtesy of the Dare
1:06 AM: the Dare is DJing “ADD SUV” by Uffie and the place is going nuts. Sarah and I end up packed against strangers in the alcove behind the booth. I see my boyfriend Avi Henig in the packed crowd, and a benevolent photographer pulls him onto the platform (karma, is that you?) The mood is pretty euphoric, and there is a line of girls and more photographers pressed against the DJ booth.
1:36 AM: the Dare plays the new Charli XCX single “Von Dutch” that’s been teased on TikTok. The people love it.
2:14 AM: A man who looks like he’s there alone asks us if we have coke and lingers after we say no. Why is there always one of these??
Courtesy of Maraya Fisher
2:23 AM: Avi and I step into the alley for a cigarette. While we’re outside, we hear a chorus of girls scream, which can only mean one thing: the Dare is playing the song that started it all. I catch producer Cahtayah and artist Valley Latini on their way out.
2:47 AM: The crowd has thinned. The carpet is littered with shooters, along with a lone, abandoned shoe insole. There is still a large group around the booth, however. I collect the disposable from the Dare, who honestly looks like he could go on DJing for another four hours or so. Avi, Sarah, and I agree to spend the $15 each on an Uber back to Brooklyn.