MUSIC

The original cassette, which was limited to 100 copies, has been bootlegged many times, and the occasional original sold on the marketplace for no less than 100,000 yen (and once sold for over 1,000,000 yen). It is an extraordinary album that has made the dizzying world of vaporwave, the birth of a new concept, known to the world at large. This piece is a different kind of viewing experience, as if you are wandering in a different space where several time frames intersect. Ambient, new age, beat music, industrial, funk, experimental, and other unidentifiable sounds are all interspersed throughout the album. From the unique slow-motion voice that is screwed up to the raging sampling collage and the heavy beats that burst one after another, this is the ultimate in burrowing sensation!

A cloud based rehabilitation center for internet runaways and the socially inept. A dial-up haven for the troubled and angsty. Being the character. Modify the template to suit your style*. You can make your own puzzles. Your* space. Shoot for the moon. Shoot the moons.

//"How long has that been there?"// //"What importance has it lost? Gained? When? Why?"// //"What has occurred here?"// //"..And before that?"//

Motion Ward’s ambient incubator drop shimmering shoegaze dream-pop and smudged downbeats for lovers of HTRK, A.R. Kane, Perila - issued in a limited CD edition. Pairing Kiwi musician Ike Zwanikken with vocalist Brooklyn Mellar, Hysterical Love Project subtly muddle the foggy memory banks of late ‘80s/early ‘90s shoegaze/dream-pop with prompts from Balearic downbeats and canny compression techniques that lend it a patina of micro-dosed psychedelic sensuality. Perfectly strung out on a late night tip, it flows from the bed-ways lullaby pop and back-combed partials of ‘Miracle-Mouthed’ to the beautifully out-of-reach gauze of ‘Cement’ via delectable highlights of ‘90s trip-pop in the slow-motion acidic lather and forlorn vox of ‘Ionian Sea’, and dreamily headlong wind-tunnel motion of ‘Boyracer’, while ‘Come 2 Me, My Baby’ and ’Sever/Strike’ are unmistakably redolent of HTRK, and likewise the weightless strums of ‘Lavender’ that show they can transfix attention without the beats. Definitely one to watch.

ヴェイパーウェイヴ史上に残る伝説的名作が待望の再来！当初ジャンルの標榜したアイロニカルなコンセプトが自分たちのジャンルの氾濫に溺れ、2012年に一度ジャンルの死を宣言されたVaporwave。それ以降の流れの中で現れた世代の作家として最大の特異点的人物であり、今も熱狂的なファンを増やし続けるオハイオ発のレジェンド、ドリームパンクのパイオニア、t e l e p a t h テレパシー能力者が、〈Dream Catalogue〉全盛期の2015年に発表した金字塔『星間性交』が奇跡の3LP化再発！テレパシー能力者関連の作品としても『現実を超えて』や『アンタラ通信』『ロストエデンへのパス』などといったこのジャンルの古典的名作と並んで断トツに評価の高いマスターピースが遂にアナログ・リリース。テレパシー能力者の慈愛と祈り、安らぎの全てが詰め込まれた作品と言っても過言ではない作品といえるこのアルバムには、10分越えの大曲も数多く収録。メランコリックでシュルレアリスム的でありつつも温かなアンビエンスと気品、ほろ苦さ、メロウネスを備えた、独特の瞑想的でロマンチックな雰囲気。遥か遠くの最愛の夢想、明日への視線、憂い、幻想、希望、感傷。人が生き、恋焦がれる事、人を愛する事、その普遍的な美しさを、惑星間の性交という宇宙的なスケールで描き切った、独り深夜に浴びたいスラッシュウェイヴ／ドリームパンクの名盤。テレパシー能力者という、ヴェイパーウェイヴ界屈指のロマンチストによる最高傑作です。未体験の方はこの機会にアナログで是非！

ヴェイパーウェイヴ史上に残る伝説的名作が待望の再来！当初ジャンルの標榜したアイロニカルなコンセプトが自分たちのジャンルの氾濫に溺れ、2012年に一度ジャンルの死を宣言されたVaporwave。それ以降の流れの中で現れた世代の作家として最大の特異点的人物であり、今も熱狂的なファンを増やし続けるオハイオ発のレジェンド、ドリームパンクのパイオニア、t e l e p a t h テレパシー能力者が、〈Dream Catalogue〉や〈Orange Milk Records〉〈AMDISCS〉などから作品を発表してきた実験的作家Nmeshと共に全盛期の〈Dream Catalogue〉から2015年に発表したスプリット・アルバムにして、同ジャンルのクラシック『ロストエデンへのパス』が待望の3LP化再発！テレパシー能力者関連の作品としても『現実を超えて』や『アンタラ通信』『星間性交』などといったこのジャンルの古典的名作と並んで断トツに評価の高いマスターピースが遂にアナログ・リリース。「ロ​ス​ト​エ​デ​ン​」と表題に冠されている通り、その後のHKEとの2814『新しい日の誕生』が頭をよぎる、東洋的異都憧憬の入り混じったサイバーパンク的な混沌とした世界観、シュルレアリスム、亜熱帯的な湿度と民族的な繰り返しのリズムが織り合い、孤独で鎮静的な孤高の雰囲気を作り上げています。

A more conceptual Mallsoft work that combines a unique mellowness with a psychedelic, surreal atmosphere, digital psychedelia, and nostalgic sentimentality to create a bittersweet, mysterious worldview.

Great 2017 album by New York legends, 식료품groceries, who have supported the development of vaporwave while traversing subgenres such as Mallsoft and Utopian Virtual.

This album is a collaboration between two slushwave legends.

Praxis “Can you hear it now?” she asked, her eyes reflecting the undulating ocean waves. I cupped my hands behind my ears to aid their search for her elusive sound. “I hear nothing. I’m trying my best, I swear.” We sat cross-legged on the highest rock we could find overlooking the tireless sea. This was the third time the mysterious woman had invited me to this place. Together we’d spent countless hours absorbing the whispers of the tides, searching for meaning in the mists as water leapt into proud standing stones along the shore. I’d never even asked her name. Somehow, that all seemed unimportant to what we had together, not that I could describe it in words. We just both knew without need for explanation. I think that’s why I continued to return. The woman smiled as she often did, yet managed to look anything but happy. She tucked locks of hair behind her ears, the color of dust and faint shadows. Her vibrant dress fluttered in the salty air. Tucking my legs under me, I rocked back and forth. To be truthful, I hadn’t any idea what drew me to her in the first place. Something about the way she’d offered her slender hand, inviting but not obligatory. The way her hips swayed with the ocean undercurrent as she walked. Her hazel eyes, always searching. The woman’s smile grew. “You’ll hear it one day,” she said. “I know you will. I can’t be the only one. Maybe if I described the sound to you.” “You’ve tried,” I told her. “I only hear the wind and the waves. I hear the gulls calling above. I hear the cars passing by, the crickets and toads. I hear all that there is to hear.” She sighed, and then remained silent for a long moment. “Do you trust me?” she asked. I opened my mouth to answer but held myself back. We’d hardly spoken a word between us, her and I. I didn’t even know her name. But I was about to tell her with confidence that yes, I trusted her. Again, she smirked without joy. “I want you to follow me.” Before I could reply, she stood and offered her wanting hand. I clasped her fingers in mind and joined her on a stroll through stone and sand. We traversed the landscape along the beach, further from town than I’d ever been. The sun faded further into the pastel sky. Like a dream, time ceased to exist. By final breath of sunset, we’d reached a cavern of rock cut into the cliff side. The woman’s dress reflected the oranges and pinks of the sun peeking over the horizon. Her form glowed within the vastness of the dark cave. I stopped. “Where are you taking me?” Her eyes flickered with a purposeful blink. “Do you trust me?” she asked me again. I thought hard about it this time. The answer had seemed so clear, watching the beauty of the sea from above. Yet here in the mouth of darkness, my mind raced for reasons to answer no. Holding out her hand, she smiled like an overcast sky. I took a deep breath and looked into her eyes, now more green than hazel. They were filled with a sense of longing and a hint of sadness. I realized that I did trust her, despite not knowing anything about her. Without further hesitation, I took her hand and followed her into the cave. As we walked deeper, the darkness enveloped us. I couldn't see much beyond the faint light coming from the entrance. I could hear the echo of our footsteps and water dripping from the cave ceiling. The air grew colder and damper. I could feel a chill running down my spine. We walked for what felt like hours. I was about to ask her where we were going again and why, but she suddenly stopped. She let go of my hand and walked a few steps forward. I could see a faint light coming from further inside. I followed her, and as we approached, the light grew brighter and brighter. We finally reached the end of the cave. It opened up into a large chamber, and the light was coming from a small pond in the center. The water was crystal clear and the walls of the chamber were adorned with intricate carvings and paintings. I couldn't believe my eyes. The woman turned to me and smiled. "This is where you'll hear the sound," she said. "It's the sound of the ocean. The real sound of the ocean. The water in this pond is connected to the sea and it brings the sound with it." I listened carefully and sure enough, I could hear the new sound of the ocean. It was faint, but it was there. I was amazed. The longer I listened, the more I realized that it resembled music, more than nature. It fell into perfect rhythm with the beating of my heart. "How did you know about this place?" I asked her. She looked at me like falling rain. "This place has been a part of my life for a long time. I come here to listen to the sound of the ocean and find peace. But now it's time for me to move on." I didn't understand what she meant. "What do you mean, move on?" She watched me carefully. "I have to leave this place. I can't stay here forever. Nobody can. But I wanted to share this place with you before I go. I wanted to show you that there's more to life than what we

The musical partnership of Joseph Shabason and Nicholas Krgovich orbits around a shared center of earnestness, slice-of-life poeticism, and the subtle everyday banality that becomes beautiful, even absurd, under their slight redirection. Where 2020’s Philadelphia placed domestic interiors under a microscope, documenting the indoor minutiae society was forced to examine mid-pandemic, At Scaramouche steps out into the sunlight squinting groggily and happily at the new day ahead-- and particularly the night that follows. One evening after a recording session and some aimless ambling that included a visit to the house where the 1974 movie “Black Christmas” was filmed, Krgovich and fellow vocalist Chris A. Cummings found themselves misplaced at the Toronto restaurant from which At Scaramouche takes its name, gawking with amusement at its concocted air of luxury. “The layout hinted at its MCM glory, and there was a panoramic view of the city,” Krgovich illustrates, “but it was full mid 2000s, dated Sex In The City re-run decor, ‘opulence’ for rich people with bad taste. I loved it! Chris loved it!”. On At Scaramouche, Krgovich and Shabason demonstrate a mutually uncanny ability to transmute this kind of cultural wariness into amused majesty, poking fun and bowing in reverence all at once. Their spotless smooth-jazz tonality, lyrical literalism, and even cover artist Jake Longstreth’s humorously sober depiction of an actual old Taco Bell building all point to the duo’s low-key-gonzo subversion of Adult Contemporary tropes into something unexpectedly transcendent. The first glassy keyboard hits of “Soli” indicate this sentiment before Krgovich even steps forward as the album’s host, and when he does, he immediately gets to work setting the scene of a weary parking lot stroll on a cool, street-lit evening after work-- just one of so many unremarkable moments that become utopic under Krgovich’s poetic care. “Clocking out at five PM, don’t give it another thought, feel the evening coming in,” he sings. “When it’s dark before supper, and the rain on the house… happy for no reason.” Glimmering pianos and brushy percussion calmly converse with fretless bass as a diffuse light spreads across this little world that’s being created. But where the duo’s previous effort Philadelphia would’ve camped permanently in the stillness, At Scaramouche lunges into the upbeat stroller “In the Middle of the Day”. Though no less exemplary of the album’s quiet everyday magic, it sets a brisker pace with its head-nodding drum break and coolly interjecting bassline. Other moments on the album reiterate the spryness, like the nearly-erratic “Soli II”, and the lively pop centerpiece “I Am So Happy With My Little Dog”. On the latter, Krgovich leads a tight-knit ensemble that comes as close to krautrock here as they ever might, where a driving drumbeat politely urges the elements forward; trumpet harmonies, chanting vocals, and bubbling synths, all crowned by a chorus-laden, perfectly askew solo from guitarist Thom Gill . “This record was very much a band effort. Me and Nick were at the helm but we called on the amazing crew of musicians that I play with here in Toronto to really help flesh things out,” Shabason emphasizes. “The last record was a real exercise in minimalism and quietness, and to me this record feels much more robust, and occasionally bombastic by comparison.” Joseph Shabason grew up in small-town Ontario, throwing punk and emo shows in garages and church basements as an alternative to “playing hockey or doing drugs,” as he states it. At the same time Nicholas Krgovich was 4,000 kilometers away in Vancouver, BC living the kind of suburban life that can, by necessity, imbue someone with romanticism toward the things downtown-dwellers might not bat an eye at, like the fluorescent glow of commercial lighting after-hours, or the overlooked poignancy of a rundown strip mall, and all the many thousands of tiny commonplace miracles that At Scaramouche is made of. “Childhood McDonald’s gone, there used to be some woods there,” Krgovich hums prosaically over a bed of soft drum machine and Dorothea Paas’s soft supporting vocals. “The cemetery was small,” he elaborates while noticing just how farz and how fast the past has receded, “now the high rises around the mall that aren’t done yet…” Where much nostalgia can slip down the slopes into something melancholy that puts the past on an impossible pedestal, album-ender “Drinks at Scaramouche” proves that Krgovich is just as in love with the present, allowing history and future to bring out the sacred in one another. “Finding all the little blips, in-betweens, now with deepening meaning,” he sings, “what little light goes slow, heartening to know that nothing really goes away.” Like so much that Shabason & Krgovich put their fingerprints on, At Scaramouche presents a familiar palette with just enough inflected weirdness to prompt double takes, turning folk art into outsider art with an almost imperceptible sleight of hand.

The musical partnership of Joseph Shabason and Nicholas Krgovich orbits around a shared center of earnestness, slice-of-life poeticism, and the subtle everyday banality that becomes beautiful, even absurd, under their slight redirection. Where 2020’s Philadelphia placed domestic interiors under a microscope, documenting the indoor minutiae society was forced to examine mid-pandemic, At Scaramouche steps out into the sunlight squinting groggily and happily at the new day ahead-- and particularly the night that follows. One evening after a recording session and some aimless ambling that included a visit to the house where the 1974 movie “Black Christmas” was filmed, Krgovich and fellow vocalist Chris A. Cummings found themselves misplaced at the Toronto restaurant from which At Scaramouche takes its name, gawking with amusement at its concocted air of luxury. “The layout hinted at its MCM glory, and there was a panoramic view of the city,” Krgovich illustrates, “but it was full mid 2000s, dated Sex In The City re-run decor, ‘opulence’ for rich people with bad taste. I loved it! Chris loved it!”. On At Scaramouche, Krgovich and Shabason demonstrate a mutually uncanny ability to transmute this kind of cultural wariness into amused majesty, poking fun and bowing in reverence all at once. Their spotless smooth-jazz tonality, lyrical literalism, and even cover artist Jake Longstreth’s humorously sober depiction of an actual old Taco Bell building all point to the duo’s low-key-gonzo subversion of Adult Contemporary tropes into something unexpectedly transcendent. The first glassy keyboard hits of “Soli” indicate this sentiment before Krgovich even steps forward as the album’s host, and when he does, he immediately gets to work setting the scene of a weary parking lot stroll on a cool, street-lit evening after work-- just one of so many unremarkable moments that become utopic under Krgovich’s poetic care. “Clocking out at five PM, don’t give it another thought, feel the evening coming in,” he sings. “When it’s dark before supper, and the rain on the house… happy for no reason.” Glimmering pianos and brushy percussion calmly converse with fretless bass as a diffuse light spreads across this little world that’s being created. But where the duo’s previous effort Philadelphia would’ve camped permanently in the stillness, At Scaramouche lunges into the upbeat stroller “In the Middle of the Day”. Though no less exemplary of the album’s quiet everyday magic, it sets a brisker pace with its head-nodding drum break and coolly interjecting bassline. Other moments on the album reiterate the spryness, like the nearly-erratic “Soli II”, and the lively pop centerpiece “I Am So Happy With My Little Dog”. On the latter, Krgovich leads a tight-knit ensemble that comes as close to krautrock here as they ever might, where a driving drumbeat politely urges the elements forward; trumpet harmonies, chanting vocals, and bubbling synths, all crowned by a chorus-laden, perfectly askew solo from guitarist Thom Gill . “This record was very much a band effort. Me and Nick were at the helm but we called on the amazing crew of musicians that I play with here in Toronto to really help flesh things out,” Shabason emphasizes. “The last record was a real exercise in minimalism and quietness, and to me this record feels much more robust, and occasionally bombastic by comparison.” Joseph Shabason grew up in small-town Ontario, throwing punk and emo shows in garages and church basements as an alternative to “playing hockey or doing drugs,” as he states it. At the same time Nicholas Krgovich was 4,000 kilometers away in Vancouver, BC living the kind of suburban life that can, by necessity, imbue someone with romanticism toward the things downtown-dwellers might not bat an eye at, like the fluorescent glow of commercial lighting after-hours, or the overlooked poignancy of a rundown strip mall, and all the many thousands of tiny commonplace miracles that At Scaramouche is made of. “Childhood McDonald’s gone, there used to be some woods there,” Krgovich hums prosaically over a bed of soft drum machine and Dorothea Paas’s soft supporting vocals. “The cemetery was small,” he elaborates while noticing just how farz and how fast the past has receded, “now the high rises around the mall that aren’t done yet…” Where much nostalgia can slip down the slopes into something melancholy that puts the past on an impossible pedestal, album-ender “Drinks at Scaramouche” proves that Krgovich is just as in love with the present, allowing history and future to bring out the sacred in one another. “Finding all the little blips, in-betweens, now with deepening meaning,” he sings, “what little light goes slow, heartening to know that nothing really goes away.” Like so much that Shabason & Krgovich put their fingerprints on, At Scaramouche presents a familiar palette with just enough inflected weirdness to prompt double takes, turning folk art into outsider art with an almost imperceptible sleight of hand.

Paige Emery is an ecological artist interweaving music, painting, and plants through healing rituals to explore ways of remembering the Earth. She catalyzes ritual to illuminate the way our practices co-write our cosmologies and to find cyclical resonances that bring us back home. Works such as sound pieces to guide ecological journeys, paintings alchemized with herbal concoctions, ecopoetic tea ceremonies, plant remedies, and starting mutual aid guerrilla gardens with her community are among the ways this practice manifests itself. Intercommunications follows a cyclical journey of healing with plants. The album was seeded from her ritual of singing to her plants every morning after she meditated with them. As an inquiry into communicating with the nonhuman, the songs grew through deconstruction of language layered with sounds of the environment, a communication shaped by honest forms of harmony and chaos, death and rebirth. Each song represents a different state of connecting with plants, while the album as a whole serves as an arc through a healing journey with their medicine - opening, sensing, letting, washing, waking, dancing, calling, following, swelling, enduring, decomposing, which in the end leads to another opening. These states of being sing along with the cycles of nature that we can continue to learn from.

The long-awaited reissue of the popular "Summer Touch" by Neoncity's signature producer Macross 82-99! Included are "Together," a tribute to "Summer Madness," "For You," featuring a coquettish female vocalist, and eight other tracks. Color vinyl.

Long-awaited reissue of Neoncity's signature producer Macross 82-99 (Macroxx 82-99)'s popular Shibuya Meltdown, featuring Toriena, Puniden and more! Japanese culture-inspired electro-pop album featuring Toriena, Puniden, and others! Color vinyl.

Romance's debut album proper 'Fade Into You' is a mesmerising journey through the emotions of love and heartbreak, with a masterful blend of symphonic textures and collaged samples into ethereal studies in sound. Loosely inspired by Rainer Werner Fassbinder’s acidic 1975 melodrama ’The Bitter Tears Of Petra Von Kant’ an unforgiving dissection of the toxic relationship between a haughty fashion designer and a beautiful but icy ingenue, it’s a story where elegant surfaces hide tooth-and-claw instincts. 'Fade Into You' is a deeply textured and beguiling album that transports the listener to that world of faded glamour, desperate longing and narcissistic fantasy. The swelling orchestral arrangements, cathartic cadences and bejewelled sound collages create a sense of nostalgia cut with glazed neurosis, providing a lush and cinematic backdrop that soundtracks the wrenching intimacy and mysteries of love. Following on the promise of 2022's iconic Celine Dion sampling 'Once Upon A Time’ and a brace of thrilling collabs with Lynch protege Dean Hurley and the mythological Old Testament ambient 'Eyes Of fade' collab album with Not Waving, 'Fade Into You’ provides a definitive and essential statement on the Romance sound.

A 2022 masterpiece by GODSPEED Sound, an up-and-coming artist of "Barber Beats", a subgenre of vaporwave represented by Haircuts for Men and Macroblank, and under the influence of trip-hop, downtempo, and instrumental hip-hop. The EP "ضوء القمر" is a must-see work by the up-and-coming artist who has been working under this name since 2022 and has sent out countless works since!