Chloe Slater talks fangirls, 'War Crimes', and the power of political music for DIY's Class of 2026 • Neu • DIY Magazine

It’s fair to say that Gen Z sometimes get a bad rep: they’re not going out; they’re not dating; they’re chronically, perennially online. They’re the architects of today’s internet activism - an age where news breaks on social media, and you can parse someone’s political beliefs via their Instagram story. But while out of touch politicians squabble about how to win the youth vote and boomers wring their hands over ‘woke’ culture, young people are taking matters into their own hands, using their voices (and, yes, their TikToks) to call out the bullshit and advocate for change.

Enter, Chloe Slater. “I think some people think because I’m younger, I don’t actually know what I’m talking about, or that I’m just hopping on the Instagram politics thing,” she says today, giving a small smile. “So sometimes I feel like I have to explain myself to older people to make sure they know that I’ve actually done my research.” She pauses to take a sip of hot chocolate, then offers a slight caveat: “I mean, I don’t think I’m the person someone should come to for all of their political information; I’m just a 22-year-old girl. I know as much as I know (which is not that much) but I do have a conscience, and if I see something happening and I can say something to help in any way, then I will.”

Armed with the sort of state-of-the-nation indie anthems that made Jamie T and Sam Fender their names, Chloe’s already staked her claim as next in line to this throne with a pair of pulls-no-punches EPs, ‘You Can’t Put A Price On Fun’ (2024) and ‘Love Me Please’ (2025). Defined by astute cultural commentary and a knack for immediate, undeniable hooks, her tracks nod to everything from deadbeat landlords (‘Death Trap’) and The Bell Jar (‘Fig Tree’), to trust fund babies (‘Nothing Shines On This Island’), influencer overload (‘Tiny Screens’), and a certain infamous Love Islander (‘24 Hours’).

“I really do think my music is just a regurgitation of my every thought,” she shrugs, reflecting on her magpie-like penchant for cultural references both high and low. “Politics, something I’ve seen online, something someone said to me… it’s all scrambled together, that’s how my brain works. Whether that’s Molly Mae or Nigel Farage - they’re all in the same boat to me.”

“Fangirls are the backbone of the industry.”

Far from bandwagoning, this sort of sociopolitical awareness is something that, Chloe muses, is actually somewhat lacking in mainstream music. “I think people are probably just terrified,” she says. “Social media hasn’t helped, because people’s opinions are so readily accessible, and you can be cancelled so easily for saying anything. So I think famous people probably used to be more outspoken about politics than they are now.”

Not that that’s fazed her. Recent single ‘War Crimes’ is her most unobscured, eviscerating statement yet, a vitriolic condemnation of Keir Starmer and his government’s complicity in the ongoing Palestinian genocide. (“The sir of starving children / You don’t suit the colour red” she sings; “Your money’s dirty and so is mine / Great British taxes, funding war crimes”). Was there any sense of trepidation about how such an unflinching protest song would be received? “Yeah, definitely,” she nods. “It’s obviously such a prevalent and contentious topic, and it’s so close to so many people’s hearts. So I needed to make sure that everything I said in that song was exactly what I meant… and I think I did that.”

Quite literally putting her money where her mouth is, Chloe also worked with Gazan artist Ahmed Al Da’alsa for the release, using one of his pieces for the single artwork and donating the profits from a limited run of ‘War Crimes’ merch to his family’s GoFundMe campaign. “[Ahmed’s] been documenting his and his family’s struggles throughout the genocide through photos, paintings and drawings, and he’s had some of his work exhibited as well,” she explains, recalling how the collaboration came about. “He’s a really, really talented artist and he’s still living in Gaza. He’s trying to raise enough money for him and his family to flee to Egypt, so I just thought it’d be really cool as a way of platforming a Palestinian artist, and also finding a way to raise money to help him.

“It was really important to me to actually try and do something - actions speak louder than words, you know? I can harp on about this and that but if I don’t actually do something, it’s pointless.” She pauses and reconsiders slightly, clearly keen not to completely negate the importance of awareness-raising discussion. “I do actually think there is a lot of value in words and making music about these things, and influencing young people to start conversations with their family and friends. I hope that’s what my music does.”

Much like the Green Party’s promising new hope Zack Polanski - an Insta mutual who she’s hoping to meet at a climate conference the week after we speak - Chloe has mastered the fragile art of engaging young people in important cultural conversations without patronisation or toe-curling cringe. It’s especially rewarding, she says, to have connected so strongly with teenage girls - a demographic who are often either dismissed as ignorant, or derided for their enthusiasm.

“Honestly, fangirls are the backbone of the industry,” she asserts. “But as a 14 year old girl, I wasn’t watching the news - you just don’t do that. It’s not something that’s really presented to teenage girls in a way that they would find interesting. So that’s partially what I want to do: pop music, with that message, in a way that makes it interesting and maybe inspires young people to look into it more. That’s how I felt about Sam Fender’s music - it is pop, but it’s also about important things and it makes you think.”

“I have a conscience, and if I see something happening and I can say something to help in any way, then I will.”

For her part, Chloe’s fangirl era was, like every other teen who grew up in the age of X Factor, dominated by the floppy-haired fever dream that was One Direction. Although she was a self-described “die-hard”, she recalls being too shy to immerse herself in online communities or camp with strangers outside venues, as some do. In fact, she admits, she “had no confidence at all when [she] was younger.”

Writing songs secretly from the age of 13, it took four years for Chloe to summon the courage to stop “whisper-singing” and start sharing her work online. “I used to write a song every night after school; it was a little thing I made myself do,” she explains, a sheepish grin playing about her lips. “I knew that the songs weren’t good when I was 15 - I was very objective about my own music. But I knew I had it, I knew I could do it. I always said that I would keep writing songs until they were good enough to show someone.”

Having spent the afternoon in her affable company - that is, a fairly full-on afternoon of press, pictures, and a freezing South London playpark - it’s almost hard to believe that Chloe ever struggled with crises of confidence. “It just feels like that was a different person,” she reflects, acknowledging that her trajectory to date has been something of a steep incline.

“I had a crazy year [in 2024]. On TikTok ‘24 Hours’ started doing well, and then straight after that I had this really bad ear infection, and I was told by the doctors that I was going to go deaf. So while my song was doing so well, I was the worst mentally that I’ve ever been in my life. As it turned out, it all cleared up and it was fine - the doctor was just not right at all - but it was such a scary time.” It sounds, we suggest, like a bit of a line in the sand; an innocence-robbing experience that forged a division between her childhood passion and her adult career. “It definitely felt like that!” she nods. “It [was] pretty traumatic, as a musician; imagine you’ve been working your whole life on this dream, and then you just go deaf. I was like ‘what the fuck do I do?’

“I think that’s partially why I feel so disconnected from that younger version of myself, because I felt like I was thrust into the music industry and then everything went wrong, and then it was okay, but I didn’t have time to process what had gone wrong. I definitely struggled with that for a bit…” She trails off, then laughs. “Sorry, I feel like this has been a therapy session - I’m spilling all my secrets! Maybe I need to do some journalling.”

From privately harbouring hopes of one day performing in public, to galvanising a generation to strive for better things, Chloe’s clearly an artist unafraid to push herself. “I hate public speaking a lot, and I’m actually quite a shy person. But I definitely have this musical alter ego - it’s like I have a switch that just turns on,” she clicks her fingers. “I used to find that once the song ended, it flipped off again, and I’d just be staring at all these people [who] were expecting me to talk to them. Now I think I’ve mastered keeping the switch on.”

Switch flipped, full beams on - hers is a light that’s only set to get brighter. So, what’s next? She smiles mischievously, staying tight-lipped about specific plans for 2026: “I had so many messages because Steve Lamacq said on his show that my album’s coming next year… is it?” Well, we couldn’t possibly say. One thing, though, is for sure - if Chloe Slater’s anything to go by, maybe the kids are alright after all.

‘War Crimes’ is out now via stolen juice.

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