One of the South West’s most distinctive voices, Emily Breeze has spent the past decade carving out a world entirely her own, one populated by hopeless romantics, glamorous wastrels, anti-heroes, and beautiful losers. Her songs are equal parts darkly funny and deeply poignant, wrapped in infectious hooks and delivered with a knowing smirk.
Her latest album, Rats In Paradise, is arguably her strongest work to date. Produced by Stew Jackson (Massive Attack), the record blends shimmering synth-pop, gothic disco, post-punk guitars, and literary lyricism into a collection that feels both cinematic and gloriously chaotic. Describing the album as “a very English version of a Tex Avery cartoon,” Breeze fills each track with vivid characters, sharp observations, and the kind of one-liners that linger long after the music fades.
She has previously been compared to the likes of Patti Smith, Lou Reed, PJ Harvey, and Nick Cave, yet none of those comparisons quite capture what makes Emily Breeze unique. Her music exists somewhere between glamorous excess and everyday realism, where camp theatricality meets brutally honest songwriting.
While she has long been a cult favourite on the UK underground circuit, Rats In Paradise feels like the culmination of years spent refining a singular artistic vision. It’s bold, funny, heartbreaking, and endlessly quotable, the soundtrack to the afterparty you’ve just realised you never wanted to leave.
Rats In Paradise is in stores now.
