I’m not exaggerating when I say that there’s something transcendental about seeing a figure as digital as Ninajirachi perform in real life. Between the atmospherically high BPM that connects most of her songs together, the bewilderingly melodic combination of metallic computer noises that somehow keep you moving, and her exceptionally deep-fried backing visuals as hypnotic as they are overwhelming, a live performance from the Australian breakout star of the meta-modern dancefloor feels more like an encounter with a divine spirit herself than a mortal concert from a touring artist. 

Kicking off her I Love My Computer tour, Ninajirachi’s pair of shows in Vancouver last week were as exhilarating as they were surreal; the type of show that leaves you catching your breath, soaked in sweat, and shocked to realize you simply couldn’t rip yourself away from the dancefloor for the entirety of her set (no matter how much you needed to). 

The reigning queen of self-defined “girl EDM,” a cyber-hyper-pop sort of music that blends the intensity of hard techno with an almost fetishistic undertone of digitization, plays a sort of music that feels like stepping into the mechanics of a buffering computer: it’s loud, fragmented yet synchronized, unpredictable, and feels weirdly personal. Like classic club smashing EDM, it’s also intoxicating, ecstatic, and just plain fucking catchy. 

Playing two parallel DJ decks and blending hits from her 2025, critically acclaimed debut LP I Love My Computer, she bounced around the stage with the playfulness of a video game character, commanding the crowd like an electronic pied piper: when she tells you to jump, you can’t help but jump. When she tells you to clap, it’s almost involuntary that you clap. 

The live show itself scratched that itch of wondering what it would be like to not just enter a computer, but perhaps become one. Ending the show with confetti canons, a venue-wide mosh pit, and an extended rendition of fan-favourite “Fuck My Computer,” the tongue-in-cheek anthem about loving and loathing how much we both love and loath our digital companions, the show ended on a euphoric high, one I haven’t felt since I saw Ninajirachi for the first time last June at her now-iconic Primavera Sound set. 

In plain terms, Ninajirachi will make you a believer. Not so much a believer in the traditional sense, but perhaps more so in the infinite possibilities that exist between the physical world and the digital one. She will reform even your most unwavering of luddite beliefs. She will make you believe in the salvation of the machine. If that sounds somewhat scary, then good. Transcendence has long been considered a transfer of sorts. In Ninajirachi’s 2026, it also feels something like a download.