YUNGBLUD doesn’t make albums so much as he detonates them. That’s always been part of the deal—hyper-emotional delivery, glam-punk poses, and enough eyeliner to stock a Hot Topic armory—but with his 2022 self-titled LP, Dominic Harrison went full tilt: three shows in one night across L.A., live-streamed worldwide, crossing Sunset like a man with a messianic complex and a pretty solid cardio routine.
“It’s just something I always dreamed of,” he tells me. “It’s a bit of a vibe, innit?”
A bit. The self-titled YUNGBLUD isn’t just an album—it’s a manifesto disguised as a dance party hosted in a Glendale bedroom. “I think I’m understanding what YUNGBLUD is,” he says. “Not in terms of definition—because if you ever define YUNGBLUD, it’s over. But the feeling of it.”
And that feeling starts at The Funeral.
“It was the first song that came out. Everyone had an opinion on me. The love I built with this community was getting permeated by the mainstream. People started questioning authenticity, like, ‘Is this real?’” So he kicked the bear. “If the bear’s biting me, I’m gonna bite it back. Right on the ear.”
The track is an airing of insecurities—set to a beat you could twerk to at your own wake. “I’m dancing at the lowest point in my life,” he says. “If I’m boogieing at it, I don’t mind if anyone turns up.”
It ends with The Boy in the Black Dress, a quiet revolution that doubles as a mission statement. “I’ve never really sung about me,” Harrison admits. “This is like a three-minute song being like, ‘Hello, I’m Dominic. I wear a skirt sometimes. And I’ve felt pain. And I’ve felt love.’”
The album plays like a therapy session set to reversed snares and gothic synths. It’s DIY catharsis with a Cure sample and a bit of Suzi Quatro strut. “I wanted these songs to be like thoughts,” he says. “Not songs. Two-minute thoughts.”
That includes Tissues, a twitchy, new wave homage to the kind of classic that accidentally ends up in car commercials. It also samples Close to Me and inspired a session that started like a panic attack and ended like a Manchester nightclub. “I felt like I was in Footloose. I was bouncing around the studio shaking my ass.”
He rattles off influences like a Spotify algorithm on coke: Suzi, The Jam, Radiohead, Reptilia-era Strokes, even Town Called Malice. “That’s my alarm clock song,” he beams.
But what keeps the record from floating off into nostalgia cosplay is the lyrical core, which feels more considered, more lived-in. He knows it too.
“My fan base really wraps around my lyrics. People tattoo them on their bodies. I didn’t want to let them down. I had to write the best words I got.”
And Cruel Kids, that’s the Radiohead one. “With all the reverse snares, the delays, the reverbs… I wanted it to sound like Kid A as done by me.”
As for art in the digital age, he’s got one of the album’s most quotable lines: “Art is dead, killed by information.”
“I feel so fucking frustrated,” he says. “Everything now is based on a moment. On a trend. I feel like a lot of stuff’s not gonna last forever.”
He’s aiming to be one of the things that does. “Among all the bullshit, there’s some beautiful artists out there. Post Malone. Lil Nas X. Billie Eilish. I feel lucky to have come up around them.”
And if you see him at a festival, brace yourself.
“I’m excited to play the new ones live,” he says. “It’ll be wild.”
Of course it will. He’s YUNGBLUD. Definition pending.
Watch the interview above and then check out the video below.
