Tulpa consist of Josie Kirk (vocals, bass), Daniel Hyndman (guitar), Myles Kirk (guitar) and Mike Ainsley (Drums), and are based in Leeds. Daniel was lead guitarist and songwriter in esteemed post-punk band Mush. Tulpa are nothing like Mush, and yet… all the energy, ambition and inventiveness of that earlier group are still here: it’s just that the creative power has been diverted into the service of a set of pop songs in love with melody. Tulpa are very new: yet, before even releasing this debut digital single, they attracted the attention of Marc Riley & Gideon Coe, who invited the band to record a live BBC6 Music session this summer. Around the same time, Skep Wax Records were sent the finished album and knew they had to release it. Meanwhile, in the creative hotbeds of the UK’s DIY festivals and indie venues Tulpa are quickly gathering a loyal following. They have recently supported Throwing Muses, Pale Blue Eyes and Bug Club and will be playing a series of headline gigs in October and November 2025. Let’s Make a Tulpa!, the debut single, is out today and is an upbeat crunchy pop song that explodes into a huge chorus, somewhat in a Breeders vein, that will encourage sober people to throw themselves around their living rooms. Their debut album, Monster Of The Week will be out on November 28th via Skep Wax.
Let’s get this straight: we love Constant Follower, and The Smile You Send Out Returns To You, released in February via Last Night From Glasgow, is further proof -if any were needed- of their talent and the heartbreaking beauty of their music. Again, today, we find ourselves drawn into their quiet splendour, into their music that glides between chamber-folk and dreams (or nightmares?), with the release of a hand-made stop-motion film for Gentle Teaching (one of the highlights of the album -though, frankly, every song there is a highlight), animated by Tsumugi Yagi, a rising star in Japanese animation. We’re not talking digital shortcuts or AI trickery: no, just patient human hands. Tiny movements, captured frame by frame, hour into the wee small hours. Sets and puppets submerged in real water, trembling under the pull of sea and sigh of the Selkie myth (the half-seal, half-human of Scottish folklore, caught on land, yet imprisoned by memory of the sea, longing always for the tide) at the heart of the song.