“Fuck do I ever have some explaining to do! Hot Air Balloon Ride is the cult-favorite duo of Emeralds synth ripper John Elliott (aka Lilypad) and Thursday Club electronics wizard Ryan Kuehn. This release documents an epic and utterly wasted gig that went down about a month back at Cleveland's Language Foundry, when our usual gaggle of stony customers undertook a voyage into the black heart of rust belt half-gentrification, and - unflinchingly, I might add - consumed its beers en masse. I seem to recall that in the midst of the Ride's setup, a consensus was reached to listen to the remainder of this epic Indians/Yankees jam and somehow the radio was running through Ryan's gear for a pretty heavy count of extra innings. This tape picks up like a looooong way into the process, fyi. Also, John wants me to write something in the description about how we saw a seriously fucking large spider that night while burning in an alley, but I'm not really sure what that has to do with anything. Flatteningly loud, at times even classically harsh black hole w/ radioactive gold leaf monosynth detail and shit-eating/knuckle-dragging posi vibes in equal measure. The fucking 1990s. If you think they kicked any kind of ass whatsoever, you weren't there, pal. This tape is a phenomenal wrench to the craw of any/all kollektor skum who claim to have Cleveland filth more than like 40-45% sussed. Hand-numbered edition of 100.” – DI.

“First-ever all-acoustic, al fresco DI sesh, for fans of springtime and the “what the fuck is even happening right now?” aspect of ye olde high concept editions. The backstory is that, when the snow melted in my neighborhood a few months ago, an acquaintance of mine discovered a seriously corroded upright piano rotting on its back in a vacant lot. The material for this tape was recorded on-site, over the course of a week of daily visits, during which the skeletal remains of the instrument were thoroughly rearranged and new techniques and preparations tested and refined. “Bees Removed” is, in a sense, the sound of the mangled/distended piano tapes featured on Bee Mask releases such as “How Softly Sings the Kettle, How Sweetly Chimes the Clock” (Arbor, 2008) unspooled and resituated as experiments toward the assembly of a technical vocabulary in real time, an absurd and open-ended array of stark impact, scrape, clatter, and the barest ghost of the instrument as resonant body, treated with a sensibility not dissimilar to the one found in the outdoorsy bits of Christiansen’s “Abschiedssymphonie” and throughout the Euro-postflux canon, generally speaking.” – DI. Hand-numbered edition of 50 copies.

Massive two cassette set from the duo of John Elliott (Emeralds) and Jeff Hatfield (Field Of Hats/Fragments) with Industrial strength electronics that cross austere tonal orbits with the sound of alien shortwave . "So, there’s this site in the New Mexico desert where they apparently store the worst kind of radioactive waste there is, the mindbending half-life of which is such that it’s moved the US government to commission a series of massive granite obelisks, intended - no matter what might intervene between now and 14010 AD - to communicate in no uncertain terms 'You’re fucked!' Per Julia Bryan-Wilson, wrote on the topic in October last year: ‘Each will be inscribed with messages in seven languages about the poisonous waste underneath; they are meant to withstand any climate changes, as well as the likely evolution of the written word over the next ten centuries. Room has been left on the surface of each tower for future viewers to translate the warning into their own language and chisel it into the rock, with the anticipation that it will become a sort of Rosetta stone. …on the right, an image from a textbook on human ethology showing the ‘universal’ facial registration of disgust or nausea.’ The phonographic equivalent of these tablets, 'Lightyear Demonstrations' is a collection of four massive pieces the cumulative effect of which forms some sort of Library of Babel of generative synth churn and sputter, like you just brought your own case of shitty beers, a couple stiff doses, some rusted-out lawn chairs, and a busted sequencer (John has requested that I note that so many releases promise a broken sequencer, while this one actually delivers. I’ve seen it, and it is indeed pretty mangled, so there you have it...) to some celestial casino. There are no clocks and endless reflective surfaces at every point of entry as DI mainstays and veteran Cleveland jammers John Elliott of Emeralds and Jeff Hatfield of Fragments lock into deep memory loss territory and fry dual Moog burble and splatter for two hours without interruption. Essential for devotees of any of Elliott and Hatfield’s numerous other endeavors, the work of like-minded precursors from Conrad Schnitzler to C.C.C.C., and the general possibility of records that sound like timestretched bong hits. 2xC60, hand-numbered edition of 200." - Deception Island.