A Message From Tomorrow: The 2020s Industrial Resurgence
1. Take me to the future, baby.
When I first dipped my toes into the broader world of “dark electronic music,” it was going through what one might refer to as a dry spell. It was the middle of the 2010s, and one of the recurring questions that seemed to echo across all corners of the scene, was, in the words of Raoul Duke on a whole lotta acid, “What’s the score here? What’s next?”
Across the social media spaces I frequented, “What is the future of industrial music?” would be posed as a thought experiment that yielded little in the way of optimism. Industrial music was the soundtrack of reminiscing about the golden years; the glory days of the genre truly sparking excitement, doing something new, were long gone. As a baby rivethead at this time, both in experience and literal age, there was something disheartening, even frightening, in the way people discussed it all as something largely of the past. I loved the old music, and I loved what I could find coming out currently, but I had a hard time envisioning a future for the genre, and the lukewarm enthusiasm from many who had been in it longer did little to abate my worries. In my blossoming adolescence I was growing aware of the mortality of the artists I adored most, and as an under-twenty-oner I was experiencing what I would best describe as absolutely catastrophic F.O.M.O., fearing that by the time I would be old enough to truly enjoy the scene, a scene there would no longer be.
To be fair, there was still a lot of good music. Youth Code, High Functioning Flesh, and 3TEETH felt like they were holding down the fort as the pillars of “new industrial music.” Bands like Boy Harsher and TR/ST were emerging, colder and dancier, drawing inspiration from darkwave and EBM to create a sort of dark synthpop. But there was still a general sort of disgruntled frustration that reverberated through the subculture. In part, it was due to the fact that throwback was where the power was. Just like the listeners, many of these bands relied heavily on the sounds of olden days. They loved the music that we did, and they made music emblematic of that, and for those who loved the preexisting music it was great to add more, with new faces to boot.
But the larger issue had significantly less to do with the quality or freshness of the bands themselves — these are all fantastic bands; game changers for the genre in their own way, who helped carve a path for future bands and revitalized their respective genres — and significantly more to do with the fact that it all felt very sparse. There just wasn’t much. Small croppings up of new bands here and there, but very little of a solidified “scene.”
I saw Youth Code only weeks ago, at the Los Angeles stop of their Industrial Worship tour. They put on a phenomenal show to a high energy, responsive audience, with a whole slew of incredible openers, and between songs frontwoman Sara Taylor herself took a moment to speak on the topic: Industrial wasn’t a word people were using much when they formed, she shared with the panting, sweaty crowd of moshing rivetheads. She expressed joy over the renewed life and vigor for the music she loved happening now and the new bands popping up everywhere, especially here in the band’s hometown.
Hearing the modern rivethead icon speak on the matter made me more confident that my own perception was correct: Indeed — something has shifted.
Two thousand miles east, Cold Waves Festival began in Chicago in 2012 as a memorial to musician and soundman Jamie Duffy, doubling as a suicide awareness and prevention charity event. Primarily focused on industrial music, no doubt due to the contributions of Chicago-based Wax Trax! Records in turning Chicago into the birthplace of industrial music in North America in the 80s, but happily spreading out to bands across the wider dark world, with darkwave, post punk, gothic rock, EBM, and all of those other genre-siblings that one can split hairs about endlessly should they have the time and energy. Over the course of the next few years, it grew in size and scope, bringing in more bands, more fans, and spreading across the United States, showcasing variations of the festival lineup on both coasts or sending mini-lineups on tours across the states. Cold Waves 2018 featured what I’d personally consider one of the best lineups I’ve ever witnessed, bringing in Front Line Assembly, Chris Connelly of The Revolting Cocks and Ministry fame for his project Cocksure, Paul Barker’s newly-reborn Lead Into Gold, Nivek Ogre’s ohGr accompanying an album release, and Jared Louche’s reformed Chemlab, alongside newer faces such as noisy electronic project HIDE, emerging darkwave project ACTORS, experimental multimedia artist Omniflux, industrial drone artist Author & Punisher with his homemade one-man-band machine, and countless others.
Something felt different. Familiar faces were returning from hiatus and retirement, new faces were bringing new sounds and influences. There was a renewed vigor permeating the legendary Metro. When Paul Barker sang “Faster than light and harder” alongside the screaming voices of every festival attendee, it felt real and imminent.
I can’t tell you how many people I’ve spoken to who were at those shows in 2018. People across the country were there, people I’ve met ages later have told me they were there. I look back at pictures of the crowd during those nights and recognize more people with each passing year.
I don’t believe everything just magically began again in 2018, of course. As already mentioned, the scene was alive and well with incredible artists doing incredible work before that. But it did feel like something had boiled over. Less than a year later, in 2019, the INDUSTRIAL ACCIDENT: The Story of Wax Trax! Records documentary would release with an American “tour” featuring Ministry doing an oldschool set alongside newer darkwave act Cold Cave, bringing many of the same faces out in droves to reflect upon that cherished moment in music history when gay couple Jim Nash and Dannie Flesher brought industrial music to the States. 2019 would also see Cold Waves bring in another spread of icons, from old guards like Nitzer Ebb, Test Dept., and Severed Heads, to fresher faces like Twin Tribes, ADULT., and Light Asylum. Curse Mackey of Pigface and Evil Mothers fame would be debuting brand new material from his first solo album, the dancey electro-industrial Instant Exorcism, <PIG>, project of former KMFDM star Raymond Watts would, too, be performing in accompaniment of his new, sexy, high energy, industrial glam rock album Risen.
Was dark electronic music, industrial, EBM, the whole subculture family… back…?
2. Your pussy don’t pop, my pussy explode.
Just barely missing the 2020 mark, 2019 saw the emergence of a number of notable projects that would, perhaps even more than the events mentioned prior, signify a mounting pressure in the culture. Chicago-based industrial pop group Pixel Grip would debut Heavy Handed in April, while electropunk EBM project Panther Modern (siblings with Sextile, another hard hitter of the 2020s) would debut with the perhaps prophetic (I’m biased!) Los Angeles 2020 EP in May, and sexy industrial “snuff-pop” group Patriarchy would release their first LP, Asking For It, in November. New faces were showing up, and there was something noteworthy in how they conducted themselves, with unique, distinct aesthetics and sounds, fusing the modern with the nostalgic, Pixel Grip paying tribute to queer culture and campy pop sensibilities, Patriarchy having an unrelenting BDSM motif from name to stage presence, featuring kinky play scenes during their performances, Panther Modern dripping in high fashion coolness as 90s rave culture was blended with 80s EBM.
The culmination of this came about with Los Angeles-based Spike Hellis, who would debut their first EP, Crisis Talk, in March of 2020, as the world was shutting down. Spike Hellis came out swinging with a distinct sound and look, merging oldschool EBM and sample-ridden electro-industrial with newer sounds, a playfulness to their lyrics (one of their first songs being about being stuck in LA traffic!), their look sporty and athletic on the stage. They would further refine their sound in their self-titled 2022 LP, where their song “Slices” would become perhaps more than any other the ultimate symbol of modern industrial music. To me, “Slices” is the anthem. Energetic and catchy, poppy in some ways while still heavy enough that few would argue it fits squarely into the world of industrial-EBM, lyrics both fun and now. “Take it from a baby, baby.”
In fact, if you have not heard “Slices,” you should probably just stop reading this right now and go do that first.
But even if Spike Hellis exists as the emblematic, the explosion certainly didn’t stop there. As the world locked down, the music sprang forth, filling our empty, uncertain days with something to cling to, existing as a fixture, both comfort in and a symbol of the darkest times — just as industrial music always has.
Noisy industrial genrebenders HEALTH would release a series of successful EPs and LPs within the 2020s, starting with DISCO4 in 2020 to RAT WARS most recently in 2023, their popularity seeming to grow exponentially with each new release, many of which bolstered impressive collaborations with both classic and newer artists, ranging from 100 gecs to Youth Code to Ghostemane to Street Sects to Poppy to Nine Inch Nails to Godflesh, cementing them as a force to be reckoned with. Meanwhile, synthpop project Male Tears would take the scene by storm in 2021 with their self titled debut, a campy, unapologetically gay tribute to 80s pop, followed in the same year by the much heavier, EBM-inspired Trauma Club. In a similar vein, Pixel Grip’s love letter to the queer nightlife, ARENA, would produce a series of club hits, most notably “ALPHAPUSSY,” another track I consider emblematic of the blossoming culture of modern dark electronic music, with lyrics every bit as ridiculous as the title would suggest. Newcomer Debby Friday would enter the scene with the explosive Good Luck in 2023, a masterfully mixed album that blends and fuses elements of various alternative electronic genres.
Meanwhile, the old guards were continuing to release their own projects. An unbelievable symbol of what the future had in store — both socially, perhaps, and musically — true industrial pioneers Einstürzende Neubauten would release their first record of new material since 2014, Alles in Allem, in mid-2020. Meanwhile, <PIG> would see the release of Pain is God in late 2020, which would be followed up with a slew of other terrific industrial glam-rock albums, Skinny Puppy’s cEvin Key would release his solo record Resonance in 2021 (featuring a series of collaborators such as The Legendary Pink Dots’ Edward Ka-Spel, IAMX’s Chris Corner, and Otto von Schirach) and, in 2024, partner with Bill Leeb of Front Line Assembly on eNdgame, the first Cyberaktif album in over 30 years, while Stephen Mallinder of Cabaret Voltaire would release the surreal dreamlike dance album tick tick tick in mid-2022. Paul Barker’s Lead Into Gold project would continue releasing masterful, heavy, and nightmarish new music since its reformation in 2018 in the form of 2023’s The Eternal Present and 2025’s Knife the Ally. Curse Mackey would follow up his Instant Exorcism release by rounding out his “IE” trilogy with Immoral Emporium in 2022 and Imaginary Enemies in 2025. Indietronica, synthpop-ish alternative electronic band IAMX would begin work on the Fault Lines project, a pair of two thematic sibling EPs, his first lyrically-driven album of new material since 2018.
Amongst it all (and there is so, so much), one particular element stands out to me, and while it may be obvious when spelled out, it feels notably fresh for the scene: There is a real blending of the old and the new at work. A fusion of elements from pop (from the 80s to now, Duran Duran to Marina), R&B, rap, more modern alternative genres from darkwave to emo to nu metal, blending with such clear affection for what made industrial great to begin with. Respect paid to the icons sonically, aesthetically, thematically. It should be noted that, while no formal recording of this exists, Spike Hellis were known for frequently doing a live cover of The Revolting Cocks’ cover (reimagining of?) Olivia Newton-John’s “Physical.” The multi-level reference, reinterpretation of reinterpretation, could not be more on the nose of a symbol of the affectionate Frankenstein-ing of inspiration at play.
On the precipice of it all, here in Los Angeles, 2019 saw the advent of Substance Festival, which focuses specifically on dark electronic music with a lean towards newer artists, rather than the nostalgiafest (I say it affectionately!) that Cold Waves Festival often becomes. Aside from the obvious break taken in 2020, each passing year of full bills of new dark electronic bands spanning multiple days reveals even more of the extent of the rapid growth of the broader industrial scene.
3. Let’s talk about money, power, wages, and greed.
And why not now? Industrial emerged from the rubble of the desolate post-war industrialized landscape of Great Britain and Germany. Bands like Throbbing Gristle and Einstürzende Neubauten confronted modernity and all of its ugliness and embraced the horror of the mechanical, the eroticism of the machine, the loud factory clang, the atom bomb, the paranoia of the cold war, and the devastation of the AIDS crisis in music — or, maybe, “music.” Skinny Puppy confronted animal testing and environmental degradation, Ministry made clear statements on militarization and imperialism, Severed Heads embraced the uncanniness of the computer with its inhuman beeps and blips.
What are we left with? A culture of increasing divide, hostility towards imagined Other, stranger danger paranoia in some ways greater now than ever before, a hypermilitaristic post-9/11 culture of Us Versus Them to the greatest degree. Even as strides are made, so too are rights repealed, as transgender people face greater systemic subjugation in this country than ever before. A growing culture of “irony” combined with the facelessness, and increased capitalist commodification, of the Internet making the cruelest among us feel bolder than ever. Endless war in the Middle East massacring people in droves. Censorship, isolation, propaganda, the rich growing richer as the poor get poorer. The continued collapse of our planet through sheer greed.
And the current generations have our own technological worries to deal with: The advent of the smartphone and social media — the total end to the now-foreign concept of “privacy.” It’s no longer conspiracy to say we live in a surveillance state! Within recent months, Orwellian censorship of the Internet becomes an increasing reality for many, as governments decide proudly and openly that they do in fact get a say in who is allowed to say what, buy what, look at what. The tension of increasing medical miracles (that few can afford) counterbalanced by increasing distrust — some understandable, some outright reactionary — towards the broader systems involved. Artificial intelligence models making reality and fiction increasingly difficult to tell apart. Self driving cars created by the man who is set to become the world’s first “trillionaire” by 2027. The future is now, and it’s a dystopia.
When I watched Portland-based EBM band Puerta Negra, whose first two EPs were released in 2022 and 2023, rip up an American flag and stomp on its remains on stage at the Los Angeles showcase for Cold Waves Festival in 2024, my honest first thought, for just one moment, was that it felt a bit heavy-handed. Silly me, for a moment I was living in a world where it was perfectly reasonable for anyone — but in particular the average industrial music concertgoer — to consider “anti-nation sentiment” the standard. But then, something changed my mind: People got mad. Concertgoers booed! A man in the front flipped them off, and spent the majority of the time between them and the next band cussing them out for their “disrespect.” It both baffled and humbled me, and it made me question what exactly the point of this music is for any of the complainers in the crowd, even more the man who had staked out a front row spot only to be angered that he had been confronted with (gasp!) radical political sentiment. At the industrial music festival!
There was real tragedy in the fact that people could even attend such an event and be anything but impressed (or at least unsurprised, dammit) by an act of resistance against the powers-that-be. What’s the point of this music, if not that? Dare I say it, the flag-desecrating may have been the most industrial act committed that night.
Industrial music exists to upset the norm. It is, at its core, a direct confrontation to complacency, a rejection of the hegemony, down even to a refusal to make music correctly, refusing the expected instruments, classical training, or a semblance of familiar musical structure. Maria Aguirre’s, Puerta Negra’s frontwoman, first language is Spanish, as are most of the band’s lyrics. The band is unwaveringly political and has never hidden this fact. Through the loud, aggressive ugliness of their music they confront the loud, aggressive ugliness of the world, in particular the ugliness of anti-Latino violence and discrimination in the United States of America. And, just as their forerunners, they back it up with brazen displays of unrest and a refusal to conform to the status quo.
Is that not what industrial music has always been for? “DANCE MUSIC AS HARD AS THE WORLD WE LIVE IN,” states an old advert for Skinny Puppy’s Rabies, used later by underground rivethead magazine Industrialnation. It seems fitting, and certainly not coincidental, that industrial and its offspring would resonate with both artists and listeners of today. And while it’s in some ways harrowing to see how little has changed, I think there’s something empowering, too, in being able to look at the art of the past and find yourself in it — and use it as a vantage point to make your own art for today.
In spite of it all, there are upsides to living in the twenty-first century.
As much as the streaming overlords like Spotify want to control the means of music distribution, one of the truly magical things about modern technology, and access to the Internet in particular, is that music is easier than ever to make, release, share, and discover. Music production is more accessible than ever. For better or for worse, anyone with a dream can sit down in their bedroom and cobble together a record. This can make the process of trimming the fat and finding the “good stuff” difficult, but it also means there is a constant, endless stream of music to explore. Now, anyone can come home from their grueling fulltime slave wage job, write a song to vent their frustrations with the fact that it’s still not enough to afford groceries, and throw it into the ether. Your new favorite song is just around the corner.
More than ever, industrial music feels like a world made for and by the marginalized. Of course, I would be remiss to not acknowledge that industrial music has always been for and by the marginalized: Genesis P-Orridge as the transfeminine founder of the genre, Cosey Fanni Tutti as brazen former sex worker, Coil as two out gay men releasing the first AIDS benefit music release, SPK coming to be fronted by a Chinese-Australian woman to sing about Machine Age Voodoo, My Life With the Thrill Kill Kult’s black and gay lineup unabashedly taking inspiration from disco as much as from Crowley (psst, donate to Charles Levi!). There has always been a sense that industrial music was for anybody — and the more marginalized from the mainstream you were, the better.
But I truly believe that there is more diversity now than ever before. Without wanting to even begin to ignore the crucial contributions of the women and the people of color of the past, I believe it’s hard to ignore the fact that, by and large, most of the early industrial scene is a very white, very male space, and this typically remains true of its listener base as well. The women and the people of color involved were statistical outliers, not the norm. This is something that is rapidly changing. Industrial hip-hop has found its own following both within the industrial scene and beyond it, with Black artists and Black-fronted bands like Death Grips, Ho99o9, and clipping. pioneering a new canon of music in a growing genre. One could make hours-long playlists composed only of woman-fronted projects and bands, as well as bands with women involved beyond the vocals.
The 2020s have been record-breaking in terms of general, society-wide hatred for transgender people. Having become the current scapegoats of the culture war, each year sees hundreds of laws considered (and passed) that further suppress the bodily autonomy, safety, and general rights and personhood of transgender individuals across the country and planet — And that’s to say nothing of the increase of direct violence against them. Those more interested in the politics of disgust-reactions than coherent ideology tend to fail to recognize this canary in the coalmine that opened the floodgates to an increased push to repeal the already measly rights afforded to cisgender gay people, and the war on reproductive autonomy in the form of anti-birth control fearmongering and anti-abortion legislation. It should come as no surprise, then, that the current subculture is absolutely teeming with transgender people. This has been the case for a long time — up to and including Genesis P-Orridge h/erself coming out and identifying as varying flavors of transfeminine, trans woman, and nonbinary until h/er passing — but it is even more apparent now than ever. Bands and artists like Backwash, tassel./YZBL, Freak Daddy, Vexagon, and LustSickPuppy, amongst many others, exist along the entire gender and genre spectrum. Pixel Grip’s club anthem “Demon Chaser” featured trans woman Cae Monāe, and it has become increasingly commonplace to see the new alternative drag subculture, also heavily steeped in openly trans artists, overlapping with the industrial and dark electronic subcultures, such as when transfeminine Dragula star Louisanna Purchase performed on stage with Boy Harsher in 2023.
So many recent bands involve members of the LGBT+ community, immigrants, nonwhite people of all sorts of racial and ethnic backgrounds. And newcomer fans are similar, with demographics increasingly diverse. I don’t want to tokenize and try to make a list here of “marginalized/minority industrial musicians of the 2020s,” but I also don’t feel it’s necessary; I think it takes very little effort to find them. They’re here and they’re vocal, and as censorship strips the Internet of anything but a tool for corporations, rights are repealed, bombs are dropped, and the world burns, there is a real sense that they aren’t going anywhere.
4. Turning in your head forever, split apart but held together.
I want to highlight the five albums I would personally point to as symbols of the current alternative music renaissance over the past half-decade, AKA “My favorite dark electronic, industrial[-adjacent] albums of the past five years.” My biggest worry with this list is, frankly, that I don’t want to disrespect the absolutely endless amount of artists who are not included here: I could be here all day, listing dozens of albums that have defined the last half decade of my own life that I believe deserve a shout out. Ultimately, though, I feel that being able to point towards a nice and tidy handful of specific releases that have stood out as symbols to me of the current moment would both better drive my point home, and potentially expose people to some of the music I personally have felt deeply moved by over the last five years.
I put a lot of thought into these, taking into account the factors I’ve discussed above (and will continue to discuss below) and just my own general biased enjoyment, but please don’t view this as a comprehensive list, either. Really, anybody I’ve mentioned deserves a listen, and so, so many more.
So, here we go. In order of release:
tick tick tick by Stephen Mallinder, Dais Records 2022.
What better symbol of the old merging with the new than for one of the pioneers of the industrial genre to release right in the heart of the pandemic something so fresh? tick tick tick [sic] released on July 15, 2022 and completely blew me away from the opening track onwards. Very rarely do I find an album so consistent and coherent, with every song fitting neatly into a larger body of music, while also so distinct, each with an identity of its own. It is very much a perfect album.
Prickly and sharp, buzzing and whirring, intensely atmospheric, a difficult album to easily label within any one genre, there’s a lot of fluidity here. Some house, some psychedelia, funk, minimal synth — Dais Records calls it “wonky disco,” and cites Mallinder himself claiming there was no specific aesthetic direction within the album (except a “cowbell on every track, and entirely no reverb”). There’s a real dreamlike element to it to me, possessing the surreal liminality of an airport terminal or a subway station at night. It at times feels unnerving, with distorted voices whispering beneath masterfully mixed layers of sound like eyes peering in from dark windows. “Hush” is the unrivaled achievement here, standing out as a warmer, softer, and more melancholic track, emotionally poignant amongst the heavier songs that evoke a more foreboding, colder mood.
I believe that tick tick tick fully holds its own besides Cabaret Voltaire’s classic albums, sounding just as fresh and unique. And, among other things, it stands as a symbol to the longevity of the heart of this music. Cabaret Voltaire’s first live show took place forty-seven years before the release of tick tick tick. All of the malaise, the melancholy, the nostalgia, the hope, the dreams, and the fears of the early 2020s are captured in the strange beeps and bells of this album. I really can’t recommend it enough. If nothing else, put on “Hush” the next time you’re peaking if you want to get the high higher.
Fault Lines 1 & 2 by IAMX, UNFALL Productions 2023-2024.
Another artist whose work had the chance to marinate through years of experimentation, Chris Corner has been involved in music since the formation of Sneaker Pimps in ‘94, and has since 2002 primarily devoted his attention to his dark electronic genrebending solo project IAMX. My bias here is that I’ve been a fan of IAMX since middle school, but I’ve stuck around ever since, through highs and lows, to watch and listen as the band’s sound developed into where it is today — what I’d consider some of the greatest dark electronic music of the first half of this decade.
The Fault Lines project (split between two EPs) is a celebration of all IAMX is, has been, and continues to become. Having taken a break from traditional albums to experiment with modular synths (resulting in the instrumental album Machinate in 2020), there’s the recognizable waltzes, sensuality, drama, and eroticism combined with a newfound heaviness and darkness, a curiosity with strange rhythms, distorted vocals, and out-of-sync beats. Chris Corner himself said much of the same in an interview with The A.V. Club: “In a sense this is a classic IAMX album from a songwriting point of view, but the sounds are a touch more fractured and fucked thanks to the modular beast now a part of my life.”
Fault Lines is dynamic and strange, familiar and illusive. The two EPS also communicate with each other playfully, with Fault Lines 1 often taking on tones more sinister, lyrics touching on domination and submission, explicitly evoking Thanatos, Greek personification of death, while Fault Lines 2 finds itself in territories both wilder and more tranquil, evoking themes surrounding nature and both the pitfalls and pluses of interpersonal labeling and identity. As “The X ID” from Fault Lines 1 begs, “Mirror, give me back my time,” Fault Lines 2’s “Grass Before the Scythe” answers, “Self-loathing gets messy as you get older.” I encourage any reader to listen to the opening tracks of either album, “Disciple” and “Neurosymphony” respectively, and chase the rabbit further into the field from there…
Performance by TR/ST, Dais Records 2024.
I used to hear stories about those who had the opportunity to experience the “Great” albums at their release: The Cure’s Disintegration, Ministry’s The Land of Rape and Honey, Skinny Puppy’s Too Dark Park. Considering the vast majority of the truly “iconic” alternative albums released far before I was even born, these were moments in history I could only imagine, and lived vicariously through the retelling of. I can honestly say that hearing TR/ST’s 2024 album Performance on the night of release was one of the first times I felt like I got a taste of that.
From its first note to its last, Performance lives up to its name, creating a fully immersive experience, cohesive from one song to the next with echoing themes and imagery across dynamic electronic music. At its brightest, “All At Once” is a warm, summery synthpop masterpiece, at its darkest, “Regret” captures in distorted, pounding synths the full breadth of the word, at its strangest, “Boys of LA” is a surreal, psychedelic nightmare beneath dim club lights; a collage of moments — the melancholy of nostalgia, the ugliness of regret, the humiliation of heartbreak — connected through Robert Alfons’ Cocteau Twins-style half-nonsense lyricism, leaving a listener with vivid emotional impression but intentionally avoiding too clear a narrative.
While prior TR/ST outputs have felt squarely centered within the club, Performance goes beyond that, crafting moments across the entire city; standing on the shore and looking out into the endless waves, in the passenger seat of a lover’s car, in the quiet tranquility of one’s own home, somberly pondering the irreversibility of the past. Performance feels like a celebratory evolution of TR/ST’s already-masterful work. Prior albums have managed to find success in the club scene, particularly the debut, self-titled album TRST from 2012. Performance takes the best parts, the danceable, strange, evocative “music about crying on the dancefloor” that the project has become known for, and expands upon them tenfold. I personally feel that the album is best listened to from start to finish, but if you’re desperate for a single song to explore I would recommend “The Shore,” the album’s catchy, transcendent first single.
Dead Channel Sky by clipping., Sub Pop 2025.
As liberally as I may use the word, I think it’s an open secret that the word “industrial” has come to cast a broad net — sometimes, I think, too broad. A lot of music touted as “industrial” by modern standards fail, to be blunt, to live up to the standards set by the forerunners, the pioneers who crafted the genre as more than just a sound, but an ethos, a lifestyle, a movement. Dead Channel Sky stands out to me as one of the few times over the past half decade that I’ve heard an album and my first, honest thought was: “Now this is industrial music.”
Industrial is more than a sound. It’s worldbuilding. It’s looking at the world around you, commenting on it, embracing its ugliness, rejecting what’s force-fed, and crafting a utopia beyond the now. An anomaly that often feels nothing short of magical, the best industrial is often both dystopian and utopian at once. Dead Channel Sky manages to capture this perfectly. It’s so aesthetically coherent while also being so exhilaratingly innovative. Borrowing sonically from 90s rave culture and thematically from both cyberpunk dystopia and Afrofuturist aesthetic and philosophy, the album both celebrates the works of Black artists of the past while addressing incredibly modern issues of the present moment. Frontman Daveed Diggs weaves stories of various characters and archetypes within Black culture, setting them into a dystopian future not-too-far from our current reality, and then, in the final track, “Ask What Happened,” reels it all back in, focusing plainly on the truth behind the curtain, on the history of Black music subculture and the current violence inflicted upon Black people, so that when he finally sings “History and future belong to the one percent,” it functions as a thesis statement for the entire album.
There is so much to say about Dead Channel Sky. As a band, clipping. has already done great work since its formation in the late 2000s in the realm of pioneering experimental and industrial hip hop. I think Dead Channel Sky takes all of that experimentation to the next level. Sonically, it’s fresh, it’s beautifully mixed, it deftly fuses heavy, danceable beats and sharply apt samples, tenets of industrial sound and culture, with modern, experimental hip hop and rap. It’s familiar and it’s new. Certain individual songs stand out — the ravey “Dominator” that samples the track of the same name by 90s techno group Human Resource comes to mind immediately, as does the glamorous, catwalk strut-beat and cheeky lyrics of “Mirrorshades Pt. 2,” or the haunting melodies of “Night of Heaven” with Daveed Diggs’ recurrent reminder, “They’re watching, you know,” — but I think it’s best listened to as a single composition from start to finish. It has an entire world to show you. Don’t change the channel.
Dry Drunk by Street Sects & FULL COLOR ECLIPSE by STREET SEX, Compulsion Records 2025.
The greatest testament to how strong these two albums are (taking up only a single spot because I feel they exist, or at least are best engaged with, like the Fault Lines EPs, as a single, larger project) is the fact that I went back and forth for a month over whether or not to include them, because they technically, just barely, miss the actual “halfway point” of the decade. Being released in early August, they technically kickstart the beginning of the second half of the 2020s, and I was unsure of how pedantic I wanted to be about the “first half” definition I’ve been sticking with. That said, the more I listened through both new albums, I decided that I simply could not, in good conscience, put this writeup out without including what I consider to be two of the most mind-blowing releases I’ve heard in years.
Street Sects formed in 2013, and over time their sound has only continued to develop. A harsh, aggressive, sample-driven fusion of hardcore, electropunk, and industrial rock with some of the bleakest lyrics I personally know of from any band, through the last decade they’ve continued to crisp up the mixing, intensify the sound, up the theatrics, and hone in on their vision. August saw the release of two sibling albums from the band: Dry Drunk, one of the heaviest pieces of industrial rock I’ve heard since the turn of the decade, and FULL COLOR ECLIPSE, under new side project STREET SEX, which is an unbelievably cohesive blend of the usual Street Sects aggression with a glittery veneer of synthpop, making it brighter and dancier while never compromising on the sharp anger and intensity the main project does so well. This means the band managed to put out two practically perfect albums, uncompromising in sound and vision, both familiar in their inspirations while still feeling entirely fresh. Songs like “Entertainment Law” and “Spitting Images” from Dry Drunk are uncompromisingly, frantically heavy, evoking if not surpassing the most intense parts of something like Ministry’s The Mind is a Terrible Thing to Taste, while FULL COLOR ECLIPSE perfectly adds a sprinkle of marginally-more-accessible synthpop magic with songs like “PERPETUITY” and “THE BIG HEAT.”
The boldness of the double release alone propelled Street Sects towards the top of my list of some of the best bands releasing music in the scene right now, but the execution really seals the deal. This is a project that has never faltered on its vision. Dry Drunk and its promotional material utilizes the artwork of A.J. Garces Böhmer, who has been the band’s consistent artist since its inception, showing dedication to the vision, while FULL COLOR ECLIPSE employs professional comic artist Flops Comics, which helps give the side project a distinct identity of its own while still playing into familiar visual cues of past Street Sects artwork (notably, the return of mascot Lizzy). On the stage, Street Sects has also become known for its uncompromising vision, with frontman Leo Ashline coming out beneath strobe lights and fog with a head of bandages, a blond wig that’s eventually discarded, and a chainsaw when venues permit it. Obviously visual design alone doesn’t make or break a band, but I think the greatest bands do consider every facet of their output, and to see a more recent band so clearly work to separate themselves from the rest with an entirely cohesive identity sonically, visually, on the stage and on the promotional material, is really a treat. If this is the start of the second half of the decade, it’s either quite daunting, prompting the question “How do we even improve from this?,” or, more optimistically, a premonition of the utterly overwhelming greatness to come.
5. Why is it not possible to free fools from their stories?
So what’s the bad news?
I mean, aside from the general music and entertainment industry fuckery. Streaming services like Spotify trying to squeeze every drop of capital they can from artists and listeners alike, aforementioned issues of censorship, the increasingly high cost of living overlapping with increasingly low revenues made through merchandise and ticket sales. I have a good number of friends in the industry and am well aware that all of these horrors are very real. They are also, fortunately or unfortunately, not unique to our subculture, which is where I’m more interested in aiming criticism (these things are external pressures we try to fight back against, not necessarily calls coming from inside the house).
There’s also the ever-present issue of the the edgelord fascists that linger in the corner of the scene; unfortunately, heavy, dark music has a tendency to draw those who care more about feeling badass while doing evil than engaging with the actual ethos of the art they’re consuming. How these individuals can make peace with listening to this sort of music while being outright cruel baffles me, and having a no tolerance policy for this sort of behavior in order to keep the scene at large safe for the most vulnerable amongst us is no doubt necessary, but I would hardly call this a new issue, as fighting back against reactionary skinrivetheads has been a problem from the very beginning (Boyd Rice, anyone?). It’s an ongoing battle to keep our communities free of assholes, but it’s certainly not a 2020s-exclusive issue, and in fact I would go as far as to say that the pushback against these types has been more enthusiastic than ever in many circles.
So, when I try to accurately and fairly summarize my biggest qualms with the current subculture, the paramount word that comes to mind is disaffected. There is a real streak of disaffectedness amongst many of the burgeoning young bands — at least sonically. That is to say, they may be very passionate about their art or a million other things interpersonally, but what comes across in the music is a sort of dreary, repressed monotony.
In comparison to the disaffectedness, there are certain tenets of the music of this world I truly love that are relatively consistent:
When I think of the highest highs, across the entire spectrum of dark and alternative music, from goth to industrial and everything up and down and in-between, I think of the variety of vocal affect: Robert Smith sounding on the verge of sobs, Olli Wisdom’s strange, theatrical whining, JG Thirlwell’s haunted, animated sleaze, John Balance’s demented mutterings, Nivek Ogre’s guttural shrieks, Ronny Mooring’s crying out of “Louise” at the end of the titular Xymox track, Trent Reznor’s moans and groans, Chris Connelly’s unrelenting tortured howls in Ministry’s “Cannibal Song,” Paul Barker’s sinister, nasally hiss beneath vocal distortion.
I think, too, of the energy: One of the things I’ve always adored about this subculture is that band members aren’t afraid to sweat. The musicians dance, writhe, stomp, bounce. As the Electronic Body Movie (2024) emphasizes strongly, the body is there for a reason; they weren’t just trying to be Kraftwerk. Electronic music at the time of industrial and EBM’s advent still had a sense of sterility to it, an association with machines and computers and the artificial. EBM and the wider genre family of which it was a part sought actively to shift that association, to center the flesh. As mentioned previously with Thrill Kill Kult, EBM also took heavy inspiration from the disco clubs of the time, with the Electronic Body Movie emphasizing in particular Donna Summers’ role in inspiring the pioneers of the genre.
And finally, I think of the theatricality. From the bold and iconic outfits worn by bands like Specimen and London After Midnight to Trent Reznor covered in mud to Nivek Ogre’s horrific stage shows that incorporate masks, props, and even fully developed narratives, to the iconic cage sectioning off Ministry from their audience during the In Case You Didn’t Feel Like Showing Up tour. Alternative music is as much performance art as it is music: Ron Athey’s bleeding, Cosey Fanni Tutti’s used tampons, Einstürzende Neubauten’s shopping cart, Genitorturers’… genital torture.
So why is it so common currently for the music coming from the dark scene to lack the variation in the vocals, with instead the majority of newcomers seemingly resigning themselves to disaffected half-sung drawling? Why do they so often stand up there on the stage stiff as a board? Where are the props? The theatrics? The passion?
Now, do not get me wrong: There is and always has been a place for disaffectedness. Severed Heads is one of my personal favorite bands, and I have seen the word “cold” used for them plenty. But Tom Ellard still sings — with a great variety in his delivery depending on the song, might I add — and that “coldness” feels like an intentional part of the atmosphere of the music, with music videos and backing footage often comprised of intentionally crude and uncanny computer graphics and songs about topics such as child-eating computers and tiny wounded birds. Similarly, Genesis P-Orridge’s cold delivery in “The Hamburger Lady” emphasizing the uncanny and horrific paradox of a body kept alive through machines comes to mind, as does more recent examples such as the harsh militaristic bark of “Right / Wrong / Right / Wrong,” present in Buzz Kull’s 2022 “Do You See.” I think Jae Matthews of Boy Harsher may be in part to blame for the current [dark]wave of a specific branch of disaffected vocal style, but she herself is far from a guilty party, with her delivery still having a gothic ethereality that ebbs and flows from soft-spoken low affectation to more visceral wails and cries that feels perfectly fitting for the music she’s involved in making.
But I think there is an utter inundation with it right now, and to be blunt, I think it often reads as a lack of confidence. It’s much, much easier to drone into a microphone than sing. It’s much easier to stand in one place than to expose yourself to the ridicule of those who find your theatrics corny. I have much more respect, and, more importantly, just think it sounds significantly more interesting, when a performer has some variety, takes some risks, and does something unexpected — even if they aren’t “technically” talented in whatever it is they’re trying to do. Because when has that ever mattered? Throbbing Gristle was going out of its way to avoid giving instruments to the members who knew how to use them.
This ties into another complaint, which is just a general lack of experimentation I hear in much of the music. Industrial is an experimental genre — it always has been, and it always should be. For all of the highlights happening right now, there are tenfold artists producing the same exact thing: EBM using the same dancey beats beneath disaffected vocals, darkwave using the same preset synths beneath disaffected vocals. Neither are doing anything bold or new, and it can feel horribly homogenous and downright boring at times. It’s “alternative music” because it sounds like alternative music. It’s not pushing any envelopes.
But this, finally, ties into my last frustration (really, it’s all connected!), which is that I don’t necessarily think listeners are always helping facilitate artists branching out by encouraging or desiring it. Instead, I often — very, very, very often — see so-called “music fans” who seem to have stopped wanting to discover anything beyond their comfort zone at least twenty years ago, if not longer. Frequently (very, very, very frequently) I see the bands of today either complimented or derided via comparisons to the bands of yesteryears. “This band is great, they sound just like somebody else!” is not an uncommon sentiment. Even the oldschool icons receive it: “This isn’t good because it doesn’t sound like your old music,” or “This is great, because it sounds like your old music!”
Many of the bands I’ve praised fondly have faced criticism from oldheads for not sounding like the old stuff — Pixel Grip have faced derision for their pop influence, for example. Fusion music in general is often met with discomfort. Even industrial hip hop often (shamefully) is relegated to a corner away from the other genres in the industrial family, despite the fact that even genre pioneers Cabaret Voltaire likened themselves to “sinister hip hop,” and major bands in the genre like Death Grips cite bands like Ministry (whom they have also toured with!) as major influences.
Earlier this year, I saw a very silly thread on the “Industrial Music Subreddit” where someone had the gall to ask if it was valid to not listen to any new music. This same person lamented the fact that this “preference” limited the amount of shows they attended, and their options were rapidly dwindling further as older artists retired and died. Unsurprisingly (it’s Reddit!), the comments were teeming with people offering this person reassurance that it was perfectly fine for them to listen only to music of the past. In fact, many of the commenters proudly admitted to doing the same, with some going as far as to broadly insult every single band that has formed since rougly the year 2000 over sweeping generalizations that quite obviously are far from universal.
To me, this mindset is a bit like standing in front of a closed door with a million dollars on the other side and refusing to open it while complaining that the money you inherited from your parents is slowly depreciating, and then asking for reassurance that you’re valid for starving. Now, the goal of this writeup is not for me to insult anyone for their personal musical preferences; of course not. Nor is it to complain about one single group of somewhat close-minded, not-fun people on the Internet. However, I found this particular thread indicative of this growing frustration I’ve had with many rivetheads in the last few years. I really can’t help but think about how many of these people, through sheer incuriosity, are simultaneously missing out on new music that they themselves would love, while leaving artists who are pouring their heart and soul into their work without the support they need to be successful in the increasingly anti-artist world in which we live.
Ultimately, when making music within a history-rich, very passionate subculture, a daunting task is met: Trying to make a living, or at least make your art known to those who love the same things you love, by appealing to people who have been listening to this type of music for nearly half a century. It’s not an easy task. But listeners need to approach new music with an open mind and a desire to see the core heart of the subcultures thrive… not just the sounds. Throbbing Gristle would not exist if they had been making music to placate an expectant audience ready to whine on Reddit about how they sound too different from the music they know.
That said, Throbbing Gristle also would not have existed if they had cared about such things, and to circle back around to the lack of confidence, I do also think it must be the responsibility of the artists to take big plunges into uncharted waters.
There’s one more element here, though, amidst the negativity, that I want to address, and I’ll put it like this: If Skinny Puppy released Remission in 2020, it would not be until 2027 that we would get Too Dark Park. If Ministry released With Sympathy today, we would get The Land of Rape and Honey in 2029. Many of these artists are still in the very earliest stages of their work, years before the icons of the past would reach what most would consider their “golden eras.” It’s much easier to look back fondly at an artist’s decades-spanning body of work than to wait in real time for artists to hit their stride, especially when it’s easier than ever for artists to independently release every single thing they put out. Listeners are privy to an artist’s entire journey, not just polished, finished products. We need to keep timelines in mind and be patient with those figuring out their musical pathway. This phenomenon is most certainly in effect in the list I made above: All of the artists mentioned have been in the game for a bit longer (some much longer) than the 2020s. I worried briefly if this was “bad,” hypocritical of me even, but I don’t think so. It makes perfect sense, especially in an age when artists can independently release anything, from their earliest experimentations to their fully-developed, finished LPs, that we’ll see, often up close and personally, a band’s development into something truly great.
6. The way you stole our hearts, in itself a work of art.
I feel that I would be remiss to write this without including a section to honor those who will not be here to see the future of the scene. Alongside all of the explosive growth, the reinvigorated excitement for this music and this subculture, new faces and new music galore, the 2020s have also been a time of great loss in our community. And it is a community — To celebrate all of the life while ignoring the death feels unhealthy. Confronting the reality of it all is necessary when you love something.
In February of 2020 we lost industrial pioneer Genesis P-Orridge h/erself, Throbbing Gristle and Psychic TV frontperson, founder of the genre, creator of Industrial Records of which all of this gets its name. Although I’m pleased to say (and I hope I’ve demonstrated clearly) that industrial did not die with h/er, this was a devastating loss that did, in my mind, represent in some ways the end of a chapter in the genre. Soon after this, in March 2020, we would lose Gabi Delgado of D.A.F, another formidable electronic pioneer, followed immediately in the same month with Bill Rieflin of Ministry and countless Wax Trax!-adjacent bands fame passing from cancer, shortly after this wife, the talented painter Francesca Sundsten (known to rivetheads for her design for KMFDM’s Nihil).
This “rule of three” moment for the scene was in and of itself shattering, and held within it more than enough grief to last a lifetime, but, of course, time marches on. September 2021 would see the passing of Richard H. Kirk, Cabaret Voltaire co-founder, another pioneer to whom we owe so much of everything after.
2023 saw the passing of both Yukihiro Takahashi and Ryuichi Sakamoto of pioneering experimental electronic band Yellow Magic Orchestra, as well as sudden loss of charismatic Buck-Tick frontman Atsushi Sakurai, followed by Monte Cazazza’s passing in June of the same year — Another industrial pioneer, and the coiner, I must add, of thee phrase “Industrial Music For Industrial People.” In November we would lose the indomitable Geordie Walker, Killing Joke’s guitar player.
Early in 2024 was the shocking death of Luis Vasquez, better known as The Soft Moon, alongside beloved DJ Silent Servant (John Juan Mendez) and his wife, an especially close death as the presence of these individuals in the Los Angeles scene meant seeing friends I care deeply for grieving lost friends. In May of the same year we would lose legendary musician and producer Steve Albini, whose reach extends far beyond the industrial scene, although also most certainly includes it.
In March of this year, performance artist and member of experimental electronic group Mirrored Fatality Láwû Makuriye’nte would pass away unexpectedly in a car crash, followed by June 2025 seeing the utterly shocking death of legendary Nitzer Ebb frontman Douglas McCarthy. In the local scene here, frontman of local band Fangbanger Alex DeVille would pass unexpectedly in July.
This is far from a complete list, of course. The community is massive, and I’m well aware of the fact that all over the world there are industrial musicians, artists, DJs, and listeners who pass away to some amount, or very little, fanfare. In late 2022 we lost a friend of our own from the local community, a rivethead named Syd who to this day is one of the biggest Ministry fans I’ve ever known — The last time we saw each other was at Ministry’s long-awaited post-lockdown Industrial Strength tour earlier in the year. I know from friends in the Austin scene that DJ Scorpio (Sky Hutchens) died in early 2024, a loss that was felt heavily by the vibrant alternative community there. Not unoften I log into Facebook, where many of my own early days of the industrial community were spent, making connections online before I could easily traverse into the goth clubs and concerts of the real world, to learn that another friend, or a friend of a friend, has passed away. These people are not necessarily artists, but they are beloved members of their community, and their death is felt by those who knew them, when they attend their next show or club night and are met with a heavy, disquieting absence.
And while I hesitate to compare human deaths to animal deaths and make it sound like I am in any way making light of the former, I would be remiss to not mention the loss of beloved little Chihuahua Weeps, owned by alternative personality Belladonna Atropa, and who had become something of a symbol in the Skinny Puppy community.
That said, the art still remains. The art left behind, and the art made in memoriam, and the art we use to cope and hold tight to the memory of those we love. I speak cautiously here, as in no way whatsoever do I want to suggest that there is a silver lining to the loss of loved ones — I believe any of us would rather see those we love alive than honored in death. However, I do want to acknowledge that our community is one that has never shied away from tragedy, loss, darkness, and pain, and through these things comes incredible art and connection.
Alongside a decades-spanning career of culture-shifting music, Genesis P-Orridge leaves behind a posthumous memoir, titled Nonbinary: A Memoir. The Soft Moon’s final album, Exister, released in 2023, is a heavy, explosive celebration of all things industrial, one of the many greats of this past decade. Douglas McCarthy’s final track would be a feature on the 2024 Houses of Heaven album Within/Without, contributing vocals to the ethereal, transcendent song “The End of Me,” which certainly took on a more melancholic and haunting, yet still wonderfully celebratory, atmosphere upon his passing. Only days before Alex DeVille’s passing, Fangbanger would release new single “Nobody.”
Upon Bill Rieflin’s passing, long-time friend and collaborator Chris Connelly would put out a series of tributes to him, which also doubled as fundraisers in support of the hospital that oversaw his care at the end of his life. Meanwhile, other long-time friend and collaborator Paul Barker would release the poignant instrumental track “Fugue (for BR)” as a part of his 2023 Lead Into Gold release, The Eternal Present. Curse Mackey’s 2025 release, Imaginary Enemies, would include the single “Blood Like Love,” a loving tribute to a number of those who were lost during the development of the album — DJ Scorpio, The Soft Moon, Silent Servant, and Geordie Walker.
In 2024, Pietro Anton’s Electronic Body Movie, a documentary about the origins and history of the EBM genre, featuring interviews with such legends like D.A.F, Nitzer Ebb, Front 242, and more, was released to a limited run of “touring dates.” I only just got to see it at a screening here about a month ago. It’s a lovely film with a banging soundtrack and great interview and concert footage, but more notably in this particular context, there was something both sobering and very sweet about seeing featured interviews from the aforementioned Gabi Delgado and Douglas McCarthy before their passing. There was something quite wonderful about having the chance to see the faces of those we’ve lost on the big screen, and it was a bittersweet reminder of the unimaginable contributions to music and culture left behind by those no longer with us.
And lastly, when I think of industrial memorials, I think of Cold Waves Festival. As mentioned previously, it began as a suicide awareness, prevention, and charity event after the passing of Jamie Duffy, and there has always been a culture there of being unafraid of acknowledging death and loss in the community, and how this both devastates us all and brings us all together. It’s a place to both mourn and celebrate collectively. It was at Cold Waves in 2018 that American Front Line Assembly fans would see the band for the first time since keyboard player Jeremy Inkel’s tragic passing, and 2019’s Acumen Vs 16volt performance would include a touching presentation of massive swaths of members of the community who had been lost. In 2020, during the lockdowns, Cold Waves switched to an online streaming format for the year, for obvious reasons, which was a cathartic, if not also bittersweet, lifeline for members of the industrial scene during an internationally horrible time.
Here in Los Angeles, the Cold Waves XIII showcase just wrapped up. Notably, Nitzer Ebb had been set to headline the show long before Douglas McCarthy’s passing, and I know for many fans one of the first questions we had as we processed the loss was what exactly that would look like going forward. There was, I think, some surprise, that the band chose to move forward with the Cold Waves shows, with co-founder Bon Harris taking the place of Douglas as frontman, and there was most certainly some apprehension in the crowd before Nitzer Ebb began, as people voiced total uncertainty with what to expect — sonically, or emotionally. Now, Bon has replaced Douglas on the stage before, during other situations in which the latter was indisposed. But there was a heaviness in the air, an unavoidable awareness that this replacement was not due to someone being unwell or an unexpected situation arising. There was a finality here, an awareness of mortality and loss.
Nitzer Ebb began with dancefloor hit “Control I’m Here,” and immediately the energy in the room changed. Relief, excitement, euphoria — Bon is, and this is an understatement, a fantastic frontman, and immediately the tragedy of the loss was replaced with delight at how fucking awesome the show was, how great the energy up on the stage was, and how fantastic all of the familiar songs sounded. I heard quiet whispers between songs from fellow audience members: “He’s actually really good!”
Of course, the band ended with a moving tribute to Douglas. Many tears were shed and it was a deeply cathartic experience. It was, in my opinion, exactly what events like Cold Waves are for. I spoke with a friend (a passionate Nitzer Ebb fan, maybe the biggest I know) who told me through tears that they had truly felt like they could feel and hear Douglas’ presence on the stage that night, up there with Bon and the rest of the band.
Putting this as tactfully as possible, the reality of being in a decades-old scene is that the legends who pioneered the genre will not be with us forever. Death comes for us all, and we’re seeing the effects of the unrelenting passage of time as more of our icons are lost. And many more of those who are thankfully still with us are closing doors: Skinny Puppy performed their final show in December 2023, Front 242 in January 2025. This is part of what makes keeping the scene itself alive so important. Their contributions should continue to be heard, celebrated, and serve as inspiration for countless artists after them, carrying their legacy onwards. We can mourn, but we should also, as this music has always encouraged, use that mourning to create something, and we should also celebrate those who are still alive and with us — both the pioneering legends continuing to fight the good fight, and the newcomers bravely carrying the torch into the uncharted future.
7. What are we doing? Where are we moving? Where are our brains at?
There are a couple caveats I want to acknowledge before the end here.
First of all, if you’re any kind of genre purist, there’s a chance you’ve been wanting to rip your hair out and/or strangle me for the leniency that I tend to use certain terms. I think this is a semi-fair criticism. When it comes down to it, I can tell you confidently the nuances between Generation 1 Industrial Records industrial, EBM, Wax Trax!-era post-industrial, electro-industrial, industrial rock, industrial metal, darkwave, etc. I think there’s a good chance someone might feel slighted that I even included a band like TR/ST on this writeup, for example, given how much more heavily he leans towards the darkwave, synthpop side of things. I know that there are some who treat correct genre labeling as a life or death thing.
I’m gonna admit right now that I truly just believe that the modern landscape for the subculture is more complicated than that. While I do think knowing the history of these various genres and how they came about is a good thing, I think some willingness to allow for genre fluidity is also quite healthy. When you look at major festival lineups, from Cold Waves to Substance to Cruel World to M’era Luna to Wave-Gotik-Treffen, you will see a blend of darkwave, post punk, EBM, aggro, industrial, and everything in between, and this is true within the discographies of individual artists as well. From the earliest beginnings of the scene, industrial has eclectically taken inspiration from across the wider music world, being a sister genre of neofolk, J.G. Thirlwell taking inspiration from showtunes, Psychic TV psychedelic surf pop, as well as helping develop the acid house genre, Coil sounding like… Coil. Nivek Ogre continues to cite The Cure, Joy Division, and Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark as major inspirations. Bowie, The Velvet Underground, The Beach Boys (RIP Brian Wilson), Kraftwerk, and Yellow Magic Orchestra are all pioneers that inspired the pioneers. I don’t think constantly, pedantically splitting hairs about genres, especially as said genres continue to evolve in real time, by passionate people who love the old and want to bring their own interests into it, is doing us any favors.
Further, I think it’s fair to admit within all of this that a big part of this comes down to preference. When I think of my favorite industrial music, I think of Skinny Puppy, Severed Heads, The Legendary Pink Dots, Foetus, Coil, Cabaret Voltaire — I like eclectic, strange, psychedelic industrial music, the type of industrial music you might show someone to emphasize the full range of sound the genre can encompass. I’m prone to thinking of “Harold and Cindy Hospital,” “Love’s Secret Domain,” or “The Pleasure Palace” as hallmarks of the genre even before “Headhunter,” “Join in the Chant,” or “Closer.” That is in no way meant to disparage the latter songs, just emphasize where my own interests lie. If you’re a hardcore EBM-head, you might be shaking your head with anger at my decision to prioritize TR/ST or IAMX over, say, FUEDAL, who is most certainly one of the most impressive, painfully underrated EBM artists in the game right now, or my failing to mention how awesome Choke Chain’s relentless, pounding sound is live.
I can also only say so much. I could, although I think it would be a significantly less interesting read, simply turn this into a list of endless artists deserving of praise. I could mention that Haujobb’s newest album, The Machine in the Ghost, is fucking fantastic, or talk about how MVTANT does the best Wax Trax!-era throwback sound I’ve heard while still being fresh (and how his 2024 Electronic Body Horror deserves to be a modern classic), how tassel. put on one of the most enthralling, high energy live shows I’ve literally ever seen, how local LA industrial techno band Lower Tar is putting out some of the coolest underground shit I’ve heard in years. There’s so much, and I know I’m barely scratching the surface.
But the point of all of this isn’t to just give you lists of band names. You can go have a look for yourself. You’d honestly probably be happier using the time you’ve spent reading this to go find new music to fall in love with. What I want to do with this, perhaps more than anything else, is document how truly alive and thriving this subculture is, some of the key moments that stand out to me in recent history, and, hopefully, encourage those who haven’t yet taken the plunge to dive in and help us keep it alive. In the past half decade, I’ve seen hundreds of bands. Most of them are tiny local acts, some slightly larger — but still, generally, tiny acts. I typically avoid stadium shows or large outdoor festivals, not out of any pretention but out of genuine lack of enjoyment. I think my greatest streak was December of 2023, when I saw 20 bands in 18 days. I am not a professional music journalist, but I am very much a lover of music as a full-time lifestyle. I love this subculture and this genre, and I believe in its power to bring people together, to offer solace and catharsis to those who need it, and to fight back against the corrupt systems that do so much harm to the most vulnerable among us.
Before writing all of this up I asked around both in real life and on social media for other people’s thoughts on the current state of the alternative scene. “Resurgence,” “revival,” and similar words frequently came up. Specifically within the context of industrial music. Rivethead friends celebrating and trad goth friends lamenting the way the larger dark scene has been utterly taken over by electronica. Nine Inch Nails feels nearly as big as they were when they went platinum in the 90s; Lady Gaga is wearing Skinny Puppy shirts on stage. As mentioned way back at the start, Sara Taylor herself acknowledged it during the Youth Code show.
I remember when I first started going out to these sorts of shows, first getting into this type of music: I was a teenager and an incredible outlier. It’s hard to fully articulate with enough emphasis how rare it was for someone my age to enjoy, let alone even know about, this kind of music. I was an anomaly in crowds, and I felt like I knew literally everybody my age who had even heard of these bands (and I’ve reaped the benefits of this, as I have many lifelong friends from the community, often bound together through the fact that we were all alone in our peer groups enjoying shit called things like Severed Heads or The Land of Rape and Honey). I remember how different it felt — in a good way! — to see the audience for Skinny Puppy’s final tour. There were so many kids! I know “not being the baby anymore” is an experience that every young person has to an extent, but I think what was truly shocking was that when I was the baby, there were no other babies. It was me and a handful of others. Nowadays, I see so many young people coming to this music and finding themselves in it. Every day I see more teens and young adults online and off who love this music and are sharing it with their friends across social media and in their Discord servers, making their own art inspired by it, and going out to shows and clubs to support their local scenes.
In early August here in LA, beloved industrial club Das Bunker held its annual Massive event, a dance party that fills the entirety of the iconic Catch One with contributors from clubs across the local scene. It was as massive as the name suggests: 1,500 people showed up. Amongst an endless sea of faces were countless old friends and strangers alike. It felt like every time I saw someone I knew, I would excitedly say hi to them, hug them, and then they would disappear into the crowd, never to be seen again. Every type of dark electronic genre could be heard in there that night, across a Winchester Mystery House maze of rooms. Johnny Health was there. Less than a month before that, Jewel Thais-Williams, founder of the Catch One, who opened the first Black-owned LGBT+ nightclub in LA (before women could legally tend bar, no less), sadly passed away at age 86. To be there partying with this wonderful community of people, faces old and new, felt in many ways like a tribute to all of her good works, everything she had done for these communities of vulnerable people seeking catharsis, kinship, and a good time beneath flashing lights and loud music. And although Jewel’s Catch One caters to more than just the rivethead scene, the whole moment truly encapsulated for me what the subculture has flourished into over these past five years.
Never stop, never ever.
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