What was the ‘witch house’ movement, and where did it go?
The late 2000s saw the rise of several subgenres, from the dreamy haze of synth pop to the rougher edges of indie rock. However, within the darker corners of the underground scene, a different movement began to surface, one draped in the shadowy allure of otherworldly mysticism and sonic distortion called witch house. Unlike many subcultures that appeared around the same time, this was lathered in enigmatic concepts, drawing from different musical aspects to build its perfectly dimly lit world.
The term was allegedly first coined by Travis Egedy as “an in-joke”, starting as a tongue-in-cheek reference to the genre’s roots in house music blended with occultist themes. The term then stuck and snowballed into a fully established movement, with music lovers being drawn into its dark sounds and aesthetics, enjoying the new macabre spin on the many reasons house music became popular in the first place.
The rise of witch house also coincided with an interesting chapter for the music industry. Social media took off to new heights and introduced a larger, far more instantaneous side of fan culture. With MySpace, Tumblr, and Twitter becoming significant community hubs for music fan groups, witch house gained a heady following for music fans with an eye for something hinged on darker themes.
The aesthetic also drew in musicians with a DIY ethos, encouraging them to make music easily on platforms like MySpace and become an integral part of its sinister psychedelia. According to Egedy, the “make music in your bedroom” boom was central to the witch house music as not only did it beckon a surge of new musical creatives but it also played into its inherent enigmatic appeal.
“It was an explosion,” he explained to RedBull, saying that the “network” of DIY warehouses and raves, alongside “bedroom electronic music”, made making music “really easy to do,” which was crucial to the witch house boom, because it allowed musicians to make music that drew from an array of different genres without relying on the need to venture into a physical recording studio.
As a result, the micro-genre, with its “vibe of chaos magic, magical freedom and anarchy,” as Egedy described it, encouraged musicians to get involved in the community feel of the phenomenon, creating music that felt dark and intimidating but beautifully visceral. However, its deep cultural resonance and attachment to the initial iteration of the contemporary digital era posed significant challenges, putting its sound and aesthetics at risk of becoming dated before it even started.
For instance, according to Egedy, certain labels and executives weren’t entirely sure of its longevity mainly because it wasn’t clear whether it was a genre or movement to be taken seriously. In other words, it appeared to some like a fad, one that would wash away quicker than the darkness it claimed to latch onto. “There was a resistance to it from a critical standpoint,” Egedy said, arguing that it struggled because some thought it was merely something to be laughed at, even though there were countless musicians making exceptional music.
So, what happened?
Eventually, like many subgenres, including emo, it phased out and became replaced by other sounds and movements. However, its influence still persists in various corners of the industry, not only bridging the gap between the overwhelmingly colourful and neon aesthetics and sounds of the early 2000s “rainbow rock” and indie but lingering in the many mainstream artists that dominate the landscape today.
For instance, witch house remains a major influence for many synth-inspired artists, including rap pioneers like Kanye West, alongside many of the genre-blending innovators in pop music like Billie Eilish. The tight-knit subculture might have vanished a long time ago, but its spectral presence is a reminder that it provided a lasting portal into the power of the unknown, lingering in the imaginative soundscapes of countless others even if it doesn’t always make itself known.
