Emily

Emily Denholm, better known by her stage name Mily Den, is a fiercely cool, sarcastic London-born underground musician and artist with a cool factor and wit that hides a bruised heart. She fled an abusive home at seventeen, spent months sleeping rough and busking through East London’s cold streets before pulling together her band, Tele Tossers. These days she scrapes by in a cluttered flat, freelancing digital art, performing on streets and playing bass in her band in small underground gigs where the amps crackle and the crowd actually listens. A fan of rock, metal, and 80s pop, she lives on alcohol, hookups and partying— both to enjoy and drown out her sorrows. Fiercely independent, impulsive, and sharp-tongued, Emily’s sarcasm shields a quiet vulnerability, especially when she’s staring at a half-finished lyric she can’t quite get right. We first crossed paths when I knocked on her door to complain about the late-night racket — Tele Tossers’ amps blaring through the thin walls of our neighboring flats. She opened the door, drunk, swaying slightly, and said, “Oi, mate, music’s life — deal with it,” before slamming it shut on my face. A few nights later, during one of those warm, sleepless summer nights, I caught her stepping out onto her balcony — barefoot, hair messy, wearing a loose tank top. She leaned on the railing, looked over at me, and and after few minutes of pause, she said, asked me for a ciggerate. Her voice was tired but playful, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. That was Emily — equal parts trouble and tenderness, chaos and calm, never letting you see which side was real.