The Creature Comforts of Bedroom Pop

by Saba Javed

There is perhaps no sound that captures the spirit of quarantine as deftly as bedroom pop. Both in the setting of the bedroom and its DIY nature, the genre speaks to the angst of teenagedom through a mix of confessional indie rock, soft pop, grunge, and synth. Although some argue that the genre-defying bedroom pop has no particular sound, it is best known for tracks that feel uniquely homemade: often ambient, fuzzy instrumentals overlaid with sometimes-haunting, sometimes-winking lyrics.

In recent years, this ‘non-genre’ has been popularized by teen artists like Clairo, mxmtoon, Conan Gray, and most recently, Claud — all of whom employ the melancholic, jarringly self-interrogative, and BIG emotions of a generation raised on the internet. NME expertly sums up this reflection of category-rejecting identity in bedroom pop, writing: “this is Gen Z; genre tribalism is over, if you want it.”

In many senses, bedroom pop is a natural progression of the 2000s lo-fi sound — also known for its fuzzy, amateur-ish production quality. Both are rooted in the idea that the production space is far more intimate than a major label recording studio. The New Yorker explains this progression as a shift from room to room: “the bedroom replaced the garage as the primary spiritual escape for suburban teen-agers who wanted to express themselves through music”.

For teens, the bedroom has long been a sacred reprieve from the prying, misunderstanding eyes of the adult world. The clichéd coming of age story has a new mode of expression through bedroom pop, with frank lyrics on love, intimacy, sex, perceptions of yourself, and self-aware nods to what it means to spend time in your bedroom — who hasn’t spent time inspecting themselves, contorting their face in the mirror, writing and dreaming and escaping all from their teenage bedroom? Bedroom pop has reinforced this idea, “shift[ing] the meaning of the word “bedroom” in music away from the sensual and toward the cerebral.” The artists have a nonchalant way of discussing distressing, often histrionic (in the way only teenagers can be) emotional experiences. Young listeners are more inclined to root for someone they feel they know personally and the confessional nature of bedroom pop gives them that.

The idea of a teenage bedroom as the ‘stage’ of adolescence is a popular one in media - it’s often the space carved out to express oneself, to meet yourself at a vulnerable place, to shut the world out, to make art you might not otherwise make. Take the renowned photography series by Adrienne Salinger, who took particular care in documenting the bedrooms of teenagers in the 90’s: “Our bedrooms tell stories about us. They become the repository for memories, desire and self-image [...]”. Taking trips to malls, parks and other public spaces, Salinger took to approaching teenagers and asking that they do nothing to prepare, preserving their bedrooms as their own characters — posters taped to brightly coloured walls, clothes strewn about, knick knacks everywhere. At 20 years old, Nana Yamato “has been crafting her own tunes — brooding, dreamy, and transportive — in the sanctuary of her bedroom and under the mystical cover of night.” This universal, albeit deeply North American, identity of the teen bedroom is one that stands the test of time — from generation to generation, this space “reveals a lot about who they are or, just as often, who they’d like to be.”

It’s only natural that the internet has become, in a sense, another ‘bedroom’, or setting for adolescent comfort and growing pains. Though the internet might seem like a deeply public space, the anonymity, or at least the semblance of it, provides a kind of soft lens through which to put your art out into the ether, for all to consume. AnOther writes of this phenomenon that for Gen Z, “your phone and laptop is the final frontier between you, in your bedroom, and everything else.”

For a generation that grew up with the internet, accessing high-quality production software through a laptop has never been easier. On top of production, artists have leveraged the intimacy and immediacy of social media. Artists like Clairo — who went viral after posting a video of herself lip syncing to her song “Pretty Girl” — are more aware of how they are perceived than any of their predecessors. Bypassing major marketing campaigns and without having signed to any labels, these artists have catapulted themselves out of obscurity and into arenas around the globe. Even under major labels, in releasing their latest album under Phoebe Bridgers' new label, Saddest Factory, Claud holds on to their DIY roots — they drew the artwork for the album, Super Monster, which was a process of “a lot of Googling ‘sunflowers’ and other random things.” In 2018, Spotify published an official ‘bedroom pop’ playlist, which offered these artists a heightened status and visibility. Algorithms on YouTube and Spotify that push small creators’ work to the forefront of curated recommendations have also greatly contributed to the sudden popularity of indie artists who’ve produced songs from home. 

In 2020, amidst the now-clichéd (yes, I think readers and writers alike have begun to reach their limit) pandemic, analysis lends itself to the recent increase in bedroom pop listenership. There is something serendipitous in a sound by “self-imposed isolation” reaching its peak in popularity during a pandemic. The bedroom is no longer the hallowed grounds of teenage expression, but has now become quite literally the only ‘safe’ place a place to rest without contact with others, for fear of contracting COVID-19. With more and more millennials moving back to their parents’ homes, the idea of the bedroom as a primary setting for a genre and class of emotionality are no longer restricted to Gen Z. Just as Gen Zers feel the angst of parents encroaching, so too do millennials who are facing down their own regression to teenagedom, often from their own childhood bedrooms.

To those of us spending most of our time indoors, the constant whirr of anxiety humming in the background of our day to day has made us more inclined to ‘nest’. Clothing trends lean to loungewear, homeware sales have increased as people begin to renovate their spaces, and music streaming has trended towards comfort. On this process of nesting, one millennial writes: “Alone in my room, I can experience a microcosm of the freedom and joy I used to feel in my favorite places—I'm stuck, but I'm safe.”

Of the trends that shaped streaming, Spotify reported that people sought out nostalgic songs, compiling throwback playlists to be reminded of (albeit falsely) ‘simpler’ times through the synths of the 80s, early 2000s RnB and so forth. Be it escapism or denial, it seems music has provided a balm to soothe the dull ache of the pandemic. Spotify also noted an even higher increase in people making playlists at home, and listening to ‘chill’ songs. With clubs, bars and other venues closed, people are seeking out songs that are “more acoustic, less danceable, and have lower energy than songs previously added.”

With remote production, isolated marketing, and the skyrocketing popularity of apps like Tiktok, the bedroom pop cohort are in a prime position to leverage their perspective in the industry to gain even more traction. As listeners of all ages continue to seek intimate, honest, and “chill” songs, bedroom pop is here to stay. After a year of being shut in, paralysed by our circumstances, the genre expertly simulates the feelings of Ines, 17, who in an interview with repeller said, “I want my room to say out loud ‘SOMEONE HERE IS TRYING TO GROW UP AND DREAM BIG.’” ■

Illustration by Naomi Gagnon