Every voice recorder that Alex Pall and Andrew Taggart have come into contact with must emit the faint scent of cheap liquor, chlorine, and post-coital funk. As soon as somebody presses record, The Chainsmokers will say shit like: "Even before success, pussy was number one. Like, 'Why am I trying to make all this money?' I wanted to hook up with hotter girls. I had to date a model." Or, maybe, "You'll never see us getting carried out of a club. We're way too good at drinking." The frat house becomes them; they become the frat house.
The Chainsmokers have moved EDM from the club to the sexual health clinic in just two horrible, unerringly painful years. And because God is dead, we can all be certain that their chlamydial new album Memories… Do Not Open won't make a difference to any of this. They'll still be successful. They'll still dominate the charts. You'll still need a course of antibiotics for that.
They played on SNL last night. Louis CK seemed unable to get the words out without laughing—"Ladies and Gentlemen, The Chainsmokers"—but then did, with a little smile, before handing it over to this Urban Outfitters sale rack on a stool. Does it matter what songs they played? Fine. They played "Paris" and "Break Up Every Night."
The Chainsmokers will go double-platinum. Donald Trump is the President.
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