In an era obsessed with identity, branding, and viral visibility, The Uprights offer something radically different: anonymity. No selfies, no genre-hopping guest features, no neatly packaged bios. Just immersive, experimental electronic music crafted by a multi-disciplinary artist collective that would rather have their sound recognized than their faces.
Their latest release, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly, is not an album in the traditional sense. It’s a cinematic, genre-defying sonic experience—one that blends elements of ambient electronica, classical motifs, jazz phrasing, and visual art into a single immersive vision. It’s not just meant to be heard; it’s meant to be inhabited.
An Abstract World You Can Feel
Curse of the Yellow Butterfly doesn’t deal in hooks or choruses. There are no pop song structures to hold onto. What you get instead is a meticulously layered tapestry of sound: whispered glitches, swelling string arrangements, abstract percussive elements, and moments of quiet dread or unexpected beauty. It feels like walking through a haunted museum or drifting through someone else’s dream—shapeless but deeply emotional.
At times, the compositions evoke early Autechre or Brian Eno’s ambient works, but there’s also something warmer and more organic running underneath the digital veil. The jazz flourishes add human breath. The classical textures offer gravitas. There’s poetry here—even if no words are spoken.
Art Over Algorithm
The Uprights are not interested in chasing playlists or racking up streams. Their mission is different—and it shows. Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is an audio-visual statement, created in tandem with short films and artwork to form a complete, multidisciplinary experience. It’s a rejection of the disposable content model we’ve all grown numb to.
Instead of marketing themselves, they erase themselves. By remaining anonymous, the members—comprising a writer, photographer, cartoonist, poet, and videographer—force listeners to confront only the work. The mystery becomes a mirror: you project onto it. You engage on your terms. You don’t consume this record—you enter it.
Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is not an easy listen, but it’s not supposed to be. It’s a confrontation. It’s an offering. It’s a deliberately uncommercial, deeply creative, and emotionally resonant piece of experimental art that will resonate most with those willing to slow down and listen with intention.
For fans of Aphex Twin, Arca, Jóhann Jóhannsson, or the avant-garde end of Björk’s catalog, this album will feel like familiar territory. But The Uprights aren’t copying anyone. They’re building their own sonic mythology—and inviting you into it, quietly and unapologetically.
In a world saturated with noise, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is a whispered rebellion.
You describe this album as an “experience” rather than a collection of songs. What does that distinction mean to you, and how does it shape the way you approach composing and producing music? We are trying to cast a wider net than just producing songs. We want to create something broader, something that spills over into real life. The inclusion of atmospheric sounds, audio clips from movies and historical figures and spoken-word poetry give us a larger palette to draw from. Additionally, the inclusion of visual art in our videos helps to enhance the experience. By using AI art and film, we can add depth and perspective to the songs that go beyond just the auditory sensation. All of these elements give us a great deal of freedom in how we write and produce our music. There are literally no limits other than our own imaginations.
The anonymity behind The Uprights adds to the mystique—but it also shifts the focus entirely to the art. How has removing your personal identities changed the creative process or the way your work is received?
We feel that too many bands rely on their image rather than their music. Consequently, the music suffers. Our priority will always be to create something that has substance musically. Taking ourselves out of the spotlight also saves a lot of time and energy. We don’t have to worry about the stage show, the fashion trends, or the intrusions into our private lives. We would much rather be artists than stars. Not that we take anything away from actual pop stars. It’s just not a road that we wish to travel.
There are clear elements of classical, jazz, and cinematic scoring embedded in this album. What influences or inspirations shaped Curse of the Yellow Butterfly, and how do you balance such diverse sonic textures?
The first thing we did as a group was to decide that there would be no strict walls around what we could or couldn’t throw into the mix. We have a very wide range of influences, from Miles Davis to Tangerine Dream, Chopin to Chuck Berry. They are all important to us and if we can find a clever way to work them into our compositions, we will do so. The hard part is making those varied styles work together and flow from one another without sounding forced or out of place. Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is meant to be a ‘melting pot.’ It is up to the audience to decide if we have succeeded at that or not.
You’ve mentioned this album reflects “the complex and often oppressive times we live in.” Can you expand on how you interpret or express modern anxiety, alienation, or societal pressure through non-lyrical instrumental compositions?
This band came together during the Covid lockdowns. We were basically born into a world of anxiety and isolation. I’m sure that had a lot to do with our sound. We simply tried to reflect what we were feeling; to put it into some tangible form. And, of course, even after the emergency had passed, we still find ourselves in a culture of insecurity, injustice, and oppression. Sometimes, a highly emotional instrument can say more than mere words ever could. We hope so, anyway.
As a multidisciplinary collective, your work spans sound, visuals, poetry, and film. How do those disciplines speak to each other in your process—and how important is it that the audience experiences them together rather than separately?
As artists in several diverse fields, we are each trying to bring a little of our own disciplines into what we create as The Uprights. Personally, I think this is our greatest advantage, our secret weapon. These multiple layers to our project have the potential to make for a more interesting, more immersive experience. And truthfully, a judicious use of controlled substances never hurts either. Party on, Garth!