What is life without thumping 808s and artificial horns so distorted that they sound more like alien mating calls than instruments? After all, it’s “Scary Monsters and Nice Sprites” by Skrillex; “Heads Will Roll” by the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, remixed by A-Trak; “Vanished” by Crystal Castles; “Paper Planes” by M.I.A and “Summer” by Calvin Harris that comprise the soundtrack to many of our Gen-Z quarter-lives— our childhoods.         

It would be remiss to dismiss this era of EDM as “club” music. As a 21 (almost 22) year-old in 2025, I can say that I was not found at a rave under a bridge at 5 years old, nor was I old or sentient enough to understand the landscape of electronic music as it was developing in the early 2000s. Little did I know, the likes of Skream, Four Tet, Burial, and Coki were lighting up the British underground scene with sounds that  nobody considered before, but ones that everybody would soon hear one way or another. 

Fortuitously, I arrived in the holy land of EDM through legends like Skrillex, deadmau5, and David Guetta in elementary school, at the tender age of 8 years old. This music was my lifesblood, and YouTube intro/outro music only made it easier for these earworms to force their heads into my young and impressionable ear canals. And I know this was the case for many other kids my age, as well, when we’d turn the radio to 102.7 KIIS FM, in some unfortunate parent’s SUV, and dance unscrupulously to the blasts and drones of the latest dubstep hit of 2012. 

Electronic music is part of all of us, whether we like it or not. Artificial sounds and digital manipulation occur to virtually every piece of recorded music you hear today. And here, I contend that a new internet electronica has been adapted as symbols of childhood for today’s youth. Rather than drug-induced forgetfulness, it evokes simple, childish ignorance and passivity. For many, it is this kind of reminder of a simpler time that makes those 808s, that gliding bass, and ear-piercing sirens feel more comforting than any concerto in E flat. 

Now this is not to say that the known and loved forms of EDM are gone, nor do I believe they are going anywhere. Techno, house, drum and bass, and even dubstep are still well and alive. However, it appears that the new generation is embracing this semblance of unseriousness and irony when reminiscing on the good old days. The McBling and raver aesthetic have become everyday garb for many fans of this internet community, as if in a competition for who can commit the most to the bit. Regardless, it is as lighthearted as it is deeply personal for fans of such “internet music”— whose fans exist all over the world.

For me and my Gen-Z folk, as cringe as it may be, our collective nostalgic consciousness has coalesced not in the form of sweet acoustic guitar melodies from Pink Floyd, nor the epic vocal chops of Aretha Franklin. Sure, we may all now know and love them, but the music that ran through our childhoods has a life (and meaning) of its own– what was on the radio, what went viral on the late but great Vine and Dubsmash, and what was mainstream current of the 2000s-2010s musical waterways. And for a generation who spent their formative years indoors during COVID-19, we were forced to revel in much of this music of highly-processed vocals and music that, itself, is indulging in its own sort of nostalgic gaze at 80s synth pop, classic rock, and even hip hop. 

But it is no new musical practice to reference older styles from times past and reinvent them. In fact, many of today’s most popular electronic underground artists are only continuing this trend of retrofuturistic interpretation. For example, the indie sleaze movement is one that has taken off only in the past 5 years, with artists like The Dare, The Hellp and Snow Strippers leading the pack. However, this underground runs deep. Consider Hi-C, Evilgiane and Bladee, who have all been influential to the sound of cloud rap and the indie sleaze revival. While they are entrenched in the rap scene, the ethereal trap and ostensibly hyperpop sound that they play with is texturally present in many electronic artists’ music, like Bassvictim, 2hollis, fakemink, Garett Caramel, 10cust, MGNA Crrrta, Feng, Suzy Sheer, Brothel in Belize, meat computer and many more.

But the rabbit hole hardly stops there. As a Korean-American-Gen-Z-Soundcloud-scouring-DJing-sexually-ambiguous-drainer at UC Berkeley, I feel that I reserve the right to speak on what electronic music has meant to my intersectional identity. The Korean influence on electronic music cannot be understated. From AOA and Sistar to BTS and BIGBANG, K-Pop is a global phenomenon that seems to grow by the day. And it is for this reason that modern internet music is a Triple Nostalgia Bomb for me. Initially, the early sound of K-Pop may have been reminiscent of all of the Western electronic music that came before it. With hits like “So Hot” by the Wonder Girls evoking a sort of Pussycat Dolls and X-Tina-era sound, more current sensations like NewJeans are still borrowing from the outside, melding their undeniably-captivating UK garage beats with their signature soft K-Pop vocals soaring over the iconic drum texture. 

Now, memes of 2hollis or Lil Uzi Vert pictured with K-Pop idols circulate the internet, proliferating the hashtag, “#kpopium.” The fanbase crossover, in reference to K-Pop and “opium” (i.e. Playboi Carti, Ken Carson, etc.), is indicative of an East-to-West influence, as well. Looking at how the Swedish Drain Gang has been influential around the world, inspiring artists like Charli XCX and practically every “indie sleaze” or “hyperpop” artist you can think of. Hence, there seems to exist a global community of circle-jerking music producers, rappers, DJs, “vocalists,” and fans alike, all invested in this new wave of quasi-underground electronica. 

But the global movement towards this artificial sound is something I attribute to the globality of the internet and the age of hyper-cosmopolitanism. We all, to an extent, had access to the same media through YouTube, Instagram and even Musical.ly. Such a homogenization of media consumption made for a wonderfully kaleidoscopic output. 

I think of Extra Small, a rap duo from Los Angeles, that raps about drugs, clubs, and girls in both Korean and English over their hypnotic, opioid-level-addicting beats. One of their common collaborators, damon rush (now damon r.), is another California local, producing for their trio DRES (damon r. Extra Small), The Hellp, and is said to have grown alongside 2hollis. Together, they have curated a sound of club beats that borrow sounds from the Chicago house/techno scene, as well as the griminess of UK garage and dubstep. Songs like Extra Small’s “Just Obliterate – Remix” and “Amoeba” are perfect representations of the striking culmination of the sound that we are used to from the 2010s, only this time, evoking an image of life in Seoul as a young 20-something in the digital age. Not only that, their production is top-tier; utterly impressive. 

Artists like jackzebra or Billionhappy, both from China, are thriving testaments to the spread outside of Europe and the Americas. Weaving in samples of the Chinese guqin in their music and rapping in their mother tongue has scratched the itch of knowing what Bladee might have sounded like if he was 中国人. 

Diving deeper into this internet scene is easy, and it’s even easier to get totally engulfed in it. If you know someone who starts dressing like Hedi Slimane or glazing Rick Owens may be giving you the first hint that they listen to chris144, snoa, SILICONE VALLEY, and probably even DJmegan23. But this isn’t just club music. Yes, we may dance to it at warehouse raves now, barely clothed, barely conscious; but it follows us outside of the clubs. In Smokedope2016’s “Eastbay,” he sings:

Bad kid, couldn’t sit still, focused on the screen

I was hungry, couldn’t eat a meal

All my friends were phony, I was so damn lonely

So I had to look cool…

Such emotional vulnerability resonates with many other adderall-medicated, identity-searching youngins of today, just like Smokedope himself. Not every song is so raw, with a huge part of the charm being fast living, substance-fiending, and obsession with fashion, like in “LV Sandals” by EsDeeKid, fakemink, and Rico Ace:

In a kush coma, EsDeeKid fried, I’m a fuckin’ stoner

Got a bottle full of Tris, kid, I’m never sober

I don’t push no shit, lad, I fuckin’ told ya

Never had an older

I was doing day trips to the ‘Dam, wait, damn

Got on a bally on me face and I’m rockin’ Ray-Bans

Wait, man, I don’t fuck with no snakes, fake mans

Keep a stack up on me lap, got twenty in the waistband

Some songs include samples of hits from our childhood, like the iconic melody of Gotye’s “Somebody that I Used to Know” in snoa’s “work it out,” or the unforgettable “I’m God” by Clams Casino—a remix of Imogen Heap’s “Just for Now”—which has been sampled and resampled countless times by the likes of Smokedope2016 and Joeyy, Lil B, and even A$AP Rocky.

So perhaps it is the combination of bass drops and sirens, familiar melodies and the occasional bar about mental illness and ketamine that makes this melange of 2020s electronica so immensely sentimental (and all too relatable) for those born between 1997 and 2012. It is a reminder for us in our emerging adulthood of the temporality of fun and youth, as we keep dancing to debatably good music and cope in equally questionable ways. 

Written by Jojo Pak

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