Hours before doors open at Los Angeles’s El Rey theater, a line of die-hard fans — rocking JNCOs and True Religion — are already queued up for Jane Remover’s penultimate show of their first headlining tour. A mere three years ago, the Chicago-based digi-core producer/singer songwriter performed at the same venue supporting emo-rapper Brakence. “I was opening and nobody really f*cked with me like that,” they reminisce backstage during their Teen Vogue interview. “Now it's like, this sh*t sold out and then some.”
Slouching on a green room sofa, they hardly ever look up from the iPhone recording our conversation, sometimes anxiously tapping it to wake it up making sure it's still on. For an artist who screams lines like, “I'm the most famous person in this club” and “Dear God, place a curse on those who wronged me,” to a packed house of rabid fans, they are anxious, quiet, and often distracted. But for someone who’s been making music in their bedroom since they were a teenager, growing up online and crafting songs that resonated with those also terminally online, it makes sense that they would be shy offstage. In a way, their stage presence isn’t a contradiction, but a release—the physical expression of the same online anxiety they and their fans have lived with.
The dissociative musician has created a fervent online cult-following going back to 2020. They uploaded mash-up tracks on Soundcloud under the pseudonym Leroy, fortuitously creating a micro-subgenre dubbed “dariacore,” known for its wacky pitched up samples sourced from pop culture. In 2021, they debuted as Jane Remover with Frailty, a blend of emo, pop-punk, and hyperpop, which compared to their latest work, feels almost featherlight.
A year after coming out as a trans, they dropped their shoegaze and midwest-emo masterpiece Census Designated, a beautiful and tragic coming of age record heavily inspired by Ethel Cain, in 2023. This brings us to their latest and most chaotic release yet, Revengeseekerz —an angry, blown out, trap-infused breakup album that also delves into their newfound fame and the dissatisfaction that comes with it.
As Jane’s star has risen from their glitchy mashups and quirky EDM beginnings, their expectations of the music industry and their career have become increasingly unclear. They claim, “I don’t have any aspirations or goals anymore,” but then go on to describe a high-budget music video inspired by Britney Spears that they’d love to make someday.
Maybe this is what pop stardom looks like in an era where everything feels uncertain. Or maybe it’s a glimpse of Jane Remover’s darker, self-destructive side, suggested in their tracks. And if their incendiary, ear-splitting set that night is any indication, Jane Remover hasn’t just tapped into the hearts and souls of a wave of disaffected, pissed-off, yet fervent music fans. Their music has created a place where internet friends log off and play.
Below, Jane Remover speaks with Teen Vogue hours before their sold out show in Los Angeles about loneliness, world peace, and their disillusionment with fame.
Jane Remover: I used to take offense to it and I was trying to distance myself from being internet-y. And I was like, "Damn, this is backfiring." So I was like, "Why do I care so much? Let me just embrace it." But I didn't really think about it when I made this album. I made the first two songs and I was like, "Damn, this album is digicore."
JR: It's been good. This album is made for a live setting. It's meant to be played on a big-ass speaker with a bunch of moshing in a rave setting. It gives me a lot of room to run around and jump around, because I do a lot of that and I feel like I get full control of the stage.
JR: I dissociate a lot. I feel just being a famous person in general is just giving yourself up to people. Sometimes I just don't really feel like I'm my own person. It's on one hand where it's like I'm at the top of the world, I'm like, I've never been more up than now, but it's like I've also never been more lonely than now.
JR: No. I feel like this album is brutally honest, to the point like sometimes it's a little uncomfortable.
JR: It is really the only thing that motivates me. If I'm not in love, I can't make music. But also Revengeseekerz is a break-up album.
JR: I don't really get angry, but when I do feel things, I feel them really strongly. And I feel like I can only express it through writing, through music.
JR: There's a lot of that on the album, just swinging at everybody, even if you accidentally hit somebody that you love.
JR: Yeah. Because there's a lot of regret like, "Oh, why didn't I take this path?" Or, "Why do I work the way I do?" Or, "Why am I in this position that I'm in? Do I deserve any of it? Do I wish it was different?" And the answer is yes to everything, but it's also just, what would it be if it was any different?
JR: I wish I felt better about it. And it is not even the way, it's like, "Oh, I want more," where it's like, "Oh, I'm not satisfied yet." It's just like I just thought it would be different. But it's ironic, because it's like this is all I ever wanted, and now that I'm here, I don't regret a single thing, but it is just different than I thought it would be. It's not just a pipe dream anymore.
JR: I thought I would feel more fulfilled and more content, but I just feel like not that things are better or worse, it's just a status update.
JR: It means something to me to see hundreds of people every night scream the music back to me, word for word. It seems to be that my music brings people together and I feel like that is an overall good thing. I'm proud of myself, but something is just not complete. There's more to the story.
JR: I'm not sure. I just feel like the one thing I want is probably just peace.
JR: Period.
JR: I've thought about it more recently, because I downloaded that Pattern app. You know the one with the zodiacs? And I'm not really a zodiac person at all, but I'm like, "Damn. I need some kind of explanation for whatever the f*ck is going on in my life." I don't even really believe in God, but it's just looking up and asking, "Why, man?"
