Copenhagen-based artist and Anyines label founder Villads Klint, known under his moniker Minais B, emerges from the ambient shadows with something unexpected, intimate, and utterly magnetic. Out June 20 via Anyines, And i know i can feel bad when i get in a bad mood finds Klint trading his signature experimental minimalism for a surprisingly lush, emotionally raw blend of synth-pop, post-breakup balladry, and early-2000s R&B-influenced songwriting. It’s his first full-length to feature his own voice—and it’s a revelation.
The latest single, “3 phases,” is a sun-faded, ironic anthem that sounds like a confessional whispered under neon lights. Over gauzy synths, vintage drum machines, and contributions from cellist Cæcilie Trier and drummer Jens Konrad Barrett, Klint delivers one of the album’s sharpest moments: “Cold noodles in the dirty sheets / Just came home from couples therapy…” It’s a song that teeters between self-deprecating humor and emotional transparency, offering ‘80s flair with a 2025 bite.
Across the album, Klint dives headfirst into personal upheaval: heartbreak, shame, and ambivalence are refracted through shimmering production and off-kilter warmth. Tracks like “A drink tonight” and “No surprise it’s saturn return time” reveal a quietly transformative reckoning—both messy and beautiful. There’s the same DIY immediacy that’s defined his past work, but here it’s paired with unfiltered storytelling and melodic vulnerability. Think Stevie Wonder meets Choir of Young Believers, on a late-night walk through Nordic wetlands.
Written largely in his hometown of Birkerød while wandering the wetlands of Vaserne, the album feels like both a reflection and a release—Klint’s version of emotional cartography, tracing pain until it softens at the edges. Even in its heaviest moments, the record never wallows. It dances, falters, stands up again. It doesn’t want your pity—it wants your ears.
With And i know i can feel bad when i get in a bad mood, Minais B hasn’t just stepped outside his comfort zone—he’s transformed it into a glowing, genre-blurring confession booth. Vulnerable, wry, and weird in all the best ways, this is Klint’s most human—and perhaps most beautiful—work to date.