ABOUT GLITCHLETTE

Based in the gothic paradise of the Pacific Northwest, GLITCHLETTE’s sound is firmly rooted in pop sensibilities but not confined by them. The producer and singer resists categorization by occupying the liminal spaces between genres, evoking her diverse influences of art pop, progressive metal, trip hop, and IDM to craft an original sound that is uncompromising, emotionally impactful and unmistakably her own.

GLITCHLETTE’s music is not for the background — it demands engagement. Her irregular song structures swerve from ethereal crescendos to crushing bass drops, more akin to scene changes in a film than traditional pop structure. At the heart of the GLITCHLETTE multiverse is her voice: a versatile, three octave instrument showcased through theatrical belts and ambient whispers that are catchy, devastating and often both at once.

Her sophomore EP EVERY RAT WANTS TO CRAWL IN YOUR MOUTH AND CLEAN YOUR TEETH, set to release October 17, 2025, is a raw and unfiltered confessional of manic love and heartbreak visualized through the lens of a surreal, psychological horror film.

EVERY RAT sat unreleased for 5 years as Marceau left an abusive relationship and weathered the effects of career shifts due to the COVID-19 pandemic. The original files were lost, leaving Marceau only with the demos. “I decided to release these versions instead of remaking them because they’re a perfect snapshot of the emotional urgency I was trying to capture when writing them,” Marceau says. “I’d rather they sound unpolished than unrecognizable.”

On EVERY RAT, GLITCHLETTE writes about heartbreak the way others write horror. The familiar ache of unrequited love is amplified into existential devastation, with each track functioning as an emotional ritual to exorcise catharsis from obsession.

Though softer in sound than a typical slasher score, EVERY RAT lovingly borrows from the language of cinema: tension and release, tonal shifts and left-turn plot twists. It carries the emotional viscera and ethos of psychological horror — the monster is never seen, only felt.