There’s a particular hour of the night when the air feels galvanic, not because something has happened, but because something is about to. Text messages sit unsent, you replay the argument in your head, and imagine a different ending. Artemas has built a universe inside that hour.
With the announcement of his forthcoming mixtape getting up to no good, arriving March 27, the Oxfordshire-born alt-pop architect doesn’t just tease a project. He opens a door and invites you into the kind of room where desire and destruction share the same mirror. The first glimpse comes in the form of a double release: “pyschokiller” and “myself.” Two tracks, two sides of the same restless propulsion.
If LOVERCORE was a manifesto, “psychokiller” is the falem held close enough to feel the burn. Brooding, deliberate, almost dangerous in its restraint, the track leans fully into the aesthetic Artemas has sharpened into something unmistakable: dark, addictive, magnetic. His voice doesn’t plead; it lingers, it circles its target like smoke curling against a ceiling.
There’s a cinematic weight to it, as though the chorus could soundtrack the final scene of a film where the anti-hero doesn’t apologize. He simply understands himself better.
And then there’s “myself.” Where “psychokiller” prowls, “myself” exhales. It turns inward, softening at the edges without losing its tension. The production feels closer, more intimate, the kind of track that plays through headphones at 2 a.m. when you’re not sure if you’re healing or unraveling. Artemas has always flirted with chaos, but here he lets vulnerability stand without armor. It’s not weakness. It’s awareness.
Together, the two songs read like a diary split open. They signal the beginning of a new chapter, one that stretches the sound he’s been refining and pushes deeper into obsession, recklessness, the thin line between craving someone and losing yourself in them. getting up to no good promises a cohesive descent through heartbreak and late-night confessionals. A mixtape that doesn’t ask for redemption, only recognition.
Last month’s “professional heartbeaker” was the warning shot. Dramatic, sharp, steeped in alt-pop theatrics, it reminded listeners that Artemas isn’t merely riding a wave; he’s shaping it. From the viral explosion of “i like the way you kiss me” – a track that accumulated over a billion streams and rewired timelines globally – to billions of plays across platforms, the rise hasn’t been quiet. It’s been seismic. But numbers don’t quite explain it.
What explains it is atmosphere. Artemas’ live shows feel less like concerts and more like controlled denotations. Currently rolling through North America on his “LOVERCORE On Tour” – London’s Roundhouse to Terminal 5 in New York, from the Hollywood Palladium to Miami’s Fillmore – he’s giving fans an immersive taste of this era in real time. There’s something almost theatrical about the way he commands a stage: not loud, not frantic, just deliberate. A performer who understands the power of restraint and then chooses the exact moment to let it snap. Festival fields have already borne witness: Coachella, Governors Ball, Lollapalooza, BBC Radio 1’s Big Weekend. Each set is less about spectacle and more about communion, thousands of strangers mouthing the same confession at once.
Offstage, the momentum mirrors the noise: covers, a BRIT award nomination, Tape Notes pulling back the curtain on the meticulous, obsessive process behind LOVERCORE with longtime collaborator Toby Daintree. The mechanics are exposed, but the mystique remains intact. Because Artemas’ sound isn’t just a collection of synths and hooks; it’s a mood, a subculture, a late-night text you probably shouldn’t send.
He calls it “lovercover:” dark, sexy, synthpop that captures every shade of yearning and self-sabotage. It’s a phrase that could feel like branding in lesser hands. Instead, it feels like a confession.
getting up to no good arrives as both escalation and evolution. A mixtape that promises to sit comfortably in the shadows while still chasing light. To admit that sometimes romance is reckless. That heartbreak can be intoxicating. That desire rarely behaves. If the last era was about defining a sound, this one feels about inhabiting it fully.
And as March 27 approaches, it’s clear Artemas isn’t simply entering a new chapter; he’s tightening the lens, dimming the lights, and daring you to stay in the room a little longer.
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