Few artists capture the tension between euphoria and vulnerability quite like Tsatsamis. We spoke with the London musician about Tsycophant, queer identity and embracing contradiction as a creative force.
Navigating queer life as gay men in 2026 certainly feels challenging. In the midst of an ever-expanding social conversation about bodies, sex, addictions, types of relationships and countless other topics, the gay community is living a moment in which contradiction is a part of our ability to express ourselves and our place within the wider LGBTQIA+ community.
The most visible aspects of the Gay™ experience are apps, CrossFit workouts, fashion, selfies and DMs. Beneath the surface, however, loneliness and excitement coexist, as does a community still learning how to treat one another better as friends, lovers and everything in between. Fortunately, artists continue to transform their experiences into remarkable music covering these subjects among others, with grace, talent and originality. Few musicians seem as interested in exploring those contradictions as London-based singer, songwriter and producer Tsatsamis. His music lives in the uneasy space between desire and shame, confidence and vulnerability, intimacy and performance, embracing the emotional grey areas that so often define queer experience without ever attempting to simplify them. There is a spontaneous portrayal of moments in which we can recognise ourselves.
After the acclaim of Our Shame, the EP that introduced his music to us in 2024, these past few months have witnessed the release of Tsycophant, his new mixtape that portrays the clearest expression of his vision to date. Drawing on the theatrical melodrama of ’80s pop, shimmering synth textures and club-ready electronic production, the record moves effortlessly between euphoria and introspection. One moment you’re immersed in the exhilaration of a packed dancefloor; the next, you’re left alone with the thoughts that inevitably surface once the music fades. Throughout its nine tracks, Tsatsamis writes about infatuation, heartbreak, obsession, pleasure and self-doubt with remarkable candour, turning intensely personal experiences into songs that feel surprisingly universal.
The album never loses sight of the smaller, quieter questions beneath it all: why do we seek validation from certain people? Why do desire and shame so often coexist? How much of ourselves do we sacrifice in the pursuit of belonging? Rather than offering neat conclusions, Tsatsamis allows those contradictions to exist side by side, trusting the listener to inhabit the discomfort with him.
That willingness to sit with uncertainty is perhaps what makes Tsycophant such a compelling work: it captures the strange liberation that comes from acknowledging our own inconsistencies, recognising that growth rarely follows a straight line (no pun intended) and that self-understanding often begins with asking the right questions.
We caught up with Tsatsamis after his sold out show in the Village Underground in London, to discuss the emotional landscape of the album, the catharsis of writing songs like Angelina and Think About You, his fascination with melodrama as a vehicle for honesty, the role of synths in his artistic process, and why embracing contradiction has become central to both his music and the person he’s still becoming.
Hi Tsatsamis! How are you? Tsycophant, your new EP, has been out for some months, you’ve performed these new songs live and people have been loving it, what do you think of it all with a bit of hindsight?
It feels like the start. I wanna write more and perform more. It’s given me a lot of confidence that people are connecting with not just the music generally, but the stuff I’m speaking about.
Think About You is the new single, and beyond the story of liking someone and longing for them, it focuses more on the individual way each of us deals with our feelings and thoughts about love. What inspired this song?
It’s about a series of encounters with someone I would see every time I went out for about a year. It became increasingly serendipitous; in different cities, circumstances. We’d often get together on the night, but then he’d disappear afterward. I wrote this song after seeing him at a festival one year. Ridging the afterglow from seeing him, the whole weekend and the end of summer.
Angelina is an incredible pop song; one of the best of the year. ‘When you wanna talk and I wanna touch’ is a brilliant line: quite heart-wrenching, but it hits the nail on the head when it comes to describing that feeling. Did writing this song help you cope better with heartbreak?
Thank you!!! I’m very proud of it. Yeah, it was written quite instinctively. I’d had quite a big argument with my boyfriend the night before I wrote it, and I was feeling the pressure going into the session with Mark Ralph, so I didn’t really have time to overthink anything. I guess it was catharsis, but I still feel the same way, so not sure how much it helped.
You mention writing the song with Mark Ralph, after a sleepless night, using your Korg Minilogue synth. When did your passion for synthesisers begin? Are there any significant songs or artists that have influenced you in this regard?
The Minilogue is actually my first physical synth. My love for synths probably started when I started making music and everything was coming from my laptop (as it still mostly is). I grew up playing piano though and there’s just nothing like playing a physical instrument. The physical vibration. A hardware synth is that but has this whole other world of possibilities. The experimentalism you get from it. The unexpected outcomes. The textures.
Violent Thoughts starts the EP all speedy and worried about the thoughts provoked by an unresolved love story. The sound matches the lyrics “That’s how I seem to spend my days. Impatiently anticipating. What you’ll think and what you’ll say”, like if somehow this is the beginning of a story you’re about to tell throughout the EP. What inspired the production of this song?
Again, it was pretty instinctive to be honest. I had references later on down the line in terms of the mixing and how I wanted the song to develop. But in the room I remember just quickly setting the tempo and making a drum loop that felt urgent. I’d been listening to a lot of Prince -Purple Rain and Radiohead – In Rainbows, which informed the drums and that clean guitar.
Spit or Kiss sounds exactly like a song George Michael would have released if he were still with us, and it has a contemporary narrative. Do you think hierarchical social relationships have influenced the world of gay romance to such an extent that they are a decisive factor for some men when it comes to flirting?
In another timeline, he’s on the remix. Yeah absolutely. I mean, at least speaking for myself. Maybe being self-aware of that is a redeeming factor. But that’s the crux of what Tsycophant is about. How my own lines of attraction blur when I’m in an environment or confronted with people that I want to fit in with.
In a recent interview with Clash, you explained: “Recreational is about giving myself the hedonism I so desperately desire but struggle to give myself, and envy other people who can give it to themselves so freely”. I find this very interesting and quite universal; it speaks in such a raw and clear way about shame. How did this idea for the song come about?
I’d been on a night out and was getting along really well with this guy. He was on another level, taking a lot of stuff. I’m normally pretty anxious and find it hard to let go. But I wanted to be on his level, so I followed suit.
There’s a real melodrama to this mixtape in the best possible sense: heartbreak feels huge, obsession feels huge, desire feels huge. What draws you to emotional extremity in pop music?
Going to therapy could probably give you a better answer, but the first things that come to mind are: escapism, the opportunity to be outside of myself, and a desire to be more than I am.
There’s something very visual about your songwriting; even the way you describe scenes feels cinematic. When you write, do you see the songs physically unfolding in your head?
That’s funny you say because I would say I’m really not a visual person at all. I struggle to see anything in my head until it’s actually there in front of me. Which maybe propels me to need to make it in the first place?
“I just can’t imagine you wishing for intimacy. But that’s that something, that’s what I wanna be”, you sing in Something About a Boy, an incredible modern ballad. I might be getting it wrong, but it feels like this song talks as much about a boy as it does about yourself. Like, somehow, this EP could be a sort of musical self-portrait to understand your role in life better. Why did you choose this song to end the EP?
Some of my favourite lyrics I’ve ever written – thank you. I’ve had the idea that a ballad is a nice way to end a project. That’s how all pop albums were tracklisted in my head… that or track 5. I’ve done it as a final track a few times now, so I’m gonna switch it up. Track 5 is the next placement.
As we reach the final songs in the mixtape, there is a sense of getting closer to being more comfortable with contradiction, which seems liberating. Do you think you’re at that stage in both your personal and professional life?
I looooove that you’ve picked up on this. I don’t know if I have the answer yet, to be honest. I’m still writing to find it, haha. I’m aware of the contradictions, but I think I’ll always swing between being comfortable and trying to change.
Photos by Sam Taylor-Edwards @samtayloredwards
