Back catalogue: All genres

Review: Originally released in 1982, Upstairs At Eric's marked the arrival of a duo as timeless as they were era defining, capable of capturing the very essence of an emerging, tech-driven music scene while also writing tracks that still sound incredible today. Many of which have been repurposed, sampled and remixed to the ends of the Earth and we're still not bored. Produced by the two band members, Alison Moyet and Vince Clarke, alongside Daniel Miller, boss of Mute Records, the legendary British label that first carried this, we shouldn't need to namedrop tracks here - Upstairs At Eric's is, frankly, the landmark synth-pop record. Just in case, though, think 'Don't Go', 'Goodbye 70s', and 'Only You'. And that's before we get into the lesser radio-played gems.

Review: Yeule (Nat Cmiel) is something of a sonic scrapyard varmint, scouring the lost wastes for augmentable audio parts perhaps useable in their madcap experiments. An avant-garde spin doctor of ash-faced, death-ray-desert-bomb glitch-pop, they've kept their place at the knife-edge of innovation, blending genres and non-genres at the violent vanguard where sounds remain in constant, slipped flux. In the lineage of Machine Girl, ecolagbohrsac2021 or Hakushi Hasegawa, 2022's Glitch Princess laid nutritious ground for Cmiel's now evermore fractious work, Evangelic Girl Is A Gun, which hears the somewhat alter-egoic Yeule now delve into the complexity of a fragmented identity, embracing the duality of light and shadow while echoing surreal animes, such as Serial Experiments Lain and Angel Egg. The LP reimagines Yeule as a haunting figure, exploring ego deaths and transformations in partnership with visual artist Vasso Vu.

Review: Non-binary performance artist Nat Cmiel from Singapore, often also known as yeule, continues to push the boundaries of glitch-pop and alt-electronica with their latest release. After solidifying their reputation as a trailblazer with their sophomore album Glitch Princess and its follow-up softscars, Cmiel takes a more daring, raw approach here. It's a cathartic exploration of self-destruction, trapped identities and the dark undercurrents of post-modernity, where Cmiel's ethereal vocals intertwine with dissonant beats, creating a paradox of beauty and tension.The sprawling atmospherics of 'Tequila Coma' and '1967' unfurl into a liquid haze, giving way to the razor-edged urgency of 'VV' and 'Dudu', which channel a palpable, jittery rhythm that commands attention. Collaborating with the likes of A.G. Cook and Mura Masa, the album navigates between haunting introspection and electrifying energy. It's a striking nod to Cmiel's ability to balance vulnerability and sonic experimentation, presenting a portrait of the artist struggling with the very image they've built.