The Uprights Invite You Into a Dreamlike Anomaly With Curse of the Yellow Butterfly

In a digital era hooked on speed and spectacle, The Uprights are an anomaly you can’t scroll past—or define easily. Cloaked in intentional mystery, the collective emerges not with flashy announcements or viral gimmicks, but with something far more disarming: a body of work that asks you to slow down, surrender, and feel.

Their new project, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly, unfolds like a secret whispered across multiple mediums—music, visual art, short films—stitched together into a single, breathing world. It’s not an album in the traditional sense. It’s a sensory labyrinth. A haunted letter. A piece of abstract memory rendered in sound.

From the first trembling notes, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly makes it clear: this isn't a playlist to cherry-pick tracks from. It's an interconnected experience. With no hooks, no choruses, and no regard for formula, the album weaves a seamless landscape where glitchy textures melt into sweeping orchestral moments, where ghostly fragments of jazz brush against ambient electronica, and silence becomes as potent as sound.

At times, you might catch the spectral fingerprints of Brian Eno, the emotional heft of early trip-hop, or the bold experimentation of mid-90s IDM. But The Uprights aren't mimicking anyone—they're conjuring their own folklore in real time, blurring genres until they no longer exist.

Perhaps the boldest move by The Uprights isn’t the sprawling sound design or the cinematic world-building—it’s their refusal to be known. No faces. No Instagram bios. No frantic clout-chasing. Just the work, standing alone, daring you to engage without distraction.

Formed by a blend of artists—writers, photographers, poets, videographers—the collective thrives on cross-pollination, threading different disciplines into one evolving tapestry. Every track from Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is designed not just to be heard but inhabited. Every visual is a door to another corner of the same, eerie dream.

Created during the claustrophobic backdrop of the pandemic era and rippling outward into today’s fractured world, Curse of the Yellow Butterfly doesn’t offer easy answers or soothing escapes. Instead, it holds up a cracked mirror to anxiety, loneliness, and the strange beauty that persists amid disarray.

Without lyrics to guide you, emotions are distilled into sound—the sharp pang of dissonant chords, the long ache of distant horns, the fleeting comfort of a melody that dissolves before you can hold onto it.

The Uprights aren’t asking for your fandom. They’re not even asking for your understanding. They’re extending an invitation to a place where identity evaporates, where art hums against your ribcage, and where the line between observer and participant blurs beyond recognition.

Curse of the Yellow Butterfly is an offering for anyone tired of disposable culture, anyone craving depth, anyone willing to listen with something deeper than their ears.