One artist. Four releases, each engineered as an object — a single product of the factory, finished in a different alloy of feeling.
The label's debut pressing. A bright, lacquered piece of Japanese pop — tea-room melodies layered over modern percussion, delicate as enamel on a hand-finished plate.
A polished, after-hours R&B — the kind of late-night gloss that catches neon in brushed steel. Composed for empty studios and slow drives home.
A defiant punk anthem — fury of the working floor, distilled into three minutes of feedback and steel. The irony, of course, is that it was written by the company president himself.
An operatic duet built around stillness. Two voices, one sustained breath — a meditation on the sound of the factory after the machines have stopped.