Every single thing we hear and see of Perfume Genius only makes us fall deeper and deeper for him.

The shattered-heart spectral-soul of this Seattle loner seeps further into my guts, day-by-day.

One of the most honest and tender streams of art and music we've witnessed coming from any single person all year.

Below are a series of his homemade videos, followed by an exclusive download.

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Will officially happen in our new music issue, out second week of January. We know who it is, but have been sworn to secrecy until after the next single drops.

Sorry, a bit of a swizz that title, then. But right now blog-house inner-circles are getting all dizzy -well, as dizzy as any blog-house circle allows itself to go, which isn't very- over the indentity of these enigmatic producers putting the anthemia back into tech-lektro.

Mainly cos if this choon:

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Radar had another little party the other night. It was nothing but pure distilled aceness.

It kicked off our new monthly residency @ Upstairs At The Garage, in Highbury, London, under the banner of 'Radar Live'.

As a brief means of explanation, every month we're hosting in this very special intimate setting (just 120 peeps), a showcase of our current Radar stars and breakthrough alumni. It's like totally a kinda 'I swear I was there!' type scenanrio...

We foolishly booked Gaggle to open, forgetting that their alto section alone would fill-up 60% of our capacity

Wolfgang did his thing next. Bolstering his bold claim to Number 1 Cheekboned Cred-pop Solo Male 2009.

Marina And The Diamonds topped the bill. I sat here staring at my monitor for approx 37 minutes wracking my brains as to a glowing, pithy remark to make about Marina, until I finally realised that I have in fact totally exhausted every single possible combination of positive/pithalicious adjectives in relation to her over the past twelve months. So I'm settling with: 'Marina, she's good.'

Next month we have another killer night lined-up. Headlined by New York's splendid indie quartet The Pains Of Being Pure At Heart, and support from two -for the time being secret- acts we're VERY amped/pumped/stoked/etc about, one solo lass from down south, and one nonsensically named four-piece from up north. Cannee wait.

We were sat in the office the other day and Jaimie came over and asked if I wanted to spend Halloween in Houston, Texas. Before I'd even enquired what responsibilities came in-hand with that I said, "Yes, please!" Luckily he wasn't sending me to handle trick-or-treat door duties at the NRA's annual Halloween hoedown.

As it turns out, Radar had been asked to come gawp at the latest Stateside monster chart mutation: lekro-tweemo.

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Instead of dressing up as a sexy devil/cat/mouse/witch and going trick-or-treating, this year I decided to spend some quality time with Ellie Goulding in Bristol. It garnered decidedly less confectionery, but thankfully involved much less traipsing and chafing tights.

New Buzz Producer Chap Starsmith (who does lots of her choons) plays in her live band, he dressed up as 'dead Little Boots.' Ellie wasn't sure what she'd come as.

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The Orkney Isles are a strange place. This is the kind of thing they do to pass the time:

An archipelago off the coast of northern Scotland, it's cut-off from much modern humdrum and rich in folklore and tradition, notably about tales of the Trow, Orkney's very own special breed of mischievous troll.

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