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It's possible that we've entered an era where the most radical act a record label could commit is to simply disappear from the spaces designed to make disappearance impossible - to extract ourselves from the attention marketplace where even resistance becomes content, where even saying "I'm leaving Twitter" becomes just another way of saying "look at me" before the algorithm sweeps you away anyway. We've done this not because we particularly enjoy making things difficult (well, maybe a little), but because we've grown increasingly suspicious of the bargain where every artist must maintain a constant digital presence, feeding personal moments into platforms that transform everything into flattened affect and engagement bait.
The relationship between label and listener has, for years now, been repackaged into something increasingly frantic and unrecognisable - a weird performance where we pretend we're just casually posting while actually sweating over caption wording and strategic timing, where cultural products are teased into exhaustion like stretched taffy, where the space between announcement and release has become so compressed that nothing has time to mean anything before it's replaced. We've opted for this quieter harbour not because we think we're above the fray (nobody's above the fray, that's the whole problem), but because we've come to believe that meaning requires certain conditions to flourish, and constant visibility might not be one of them.
Our artists continue making music that seems, in certain ways, to push against the inexorable logic of the timeline - songs that won't reveal themselves immediately, albums that resist being atomised into playlist fodder, records that function as complete emotional worlds rather than momentary distractions. It's not that we're against convenience or immediacy on principle- we're as addicted to our phones as anyone - it's just that we've found ourselves increasingly drawn to experiences that feel like they weren't engineered specifically to bypass our frontal lobes. The only difference now is that we'll meet you here, in this deliberately unfashionable space, rather than haunting your feeds with reminders of our existence.
Visit occasionally, maybe bookmark us like it's 2003. Subscribe to our newsletter if email still feels like something you can bear to open. Trust that when something appears here, it arrived because an actual human thought it mattered, not because a content calendar had a slot to fill. In a digital economy where constant presence is mandatory, perhaps selective absence might be the last luxury nobody's figured out how to monetise.
Love and all that, Matt x