The label for artists
the algorithm
can't understand.
“We are twelve people, four cities, one press. Everything you hear here was made by someone who couldn't sleep.”— S. Okafor, curator
Room 12 — Kreuzberg
Hover the artifact00:00 / 03:34
Amber Static — Kai Ozawa
Ambient · Drone/Cf—017
Confushan is a home for the artists the algorithm cannot figure out. We press vinyl by hand, host invitation-only nights across four continents, and build careers on the slow arc of a decade rather than the noise of a single afternoon.
Every release is bound by hand, numbered, and released without a billboard.
No exclusive contracts. No rights we do not return by dawn.
A single WAV and one paragraph. We reply only when the room is moved.
Small runs, slow craft. If the ink is still wet, it is not ready.
Invitations arrive on paper. Address on the day. No phones inside.
Sisay & Anouk, custodians of the label
Sealed by hand · Berlin · Anno MMXX
A treatise, written slowly, on how a stranger becomes a Confushan artist.
A door in a Kreuzberg courtyard. No sign. You bring the file that keeps you awake.
One WAV. One paragraph. No press kits, no manager intros. We do not want polish, we want signal.
Every Tuesday, three of us sit in the dark and press play. Nothing gets skipped. Nothing gets forgotten.
A phone call. Sometimes a plane ticket. We build a release you will be proud of a decade from now.
No exclusive contracts. Every artist keeps their masters. The label works for them — not the other way around.
Four bindings, four thresholds. Each pressing recorded by hand in the vault at Studio Ost — released without a billboard and heard by exactly the right people.
Kai Ozawa · LP · A/B
300 pressed
No ticketing platforms, no guest lists. The invitation arrives inside a black envelope, hand-delivered by a courier who does not wait for a reply.
Submissions for the spring season close when the last grain has crossed. There will not be a second call.