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🎼
imagine the sound of early 2000s Japanese tech commercials —
polished, slow-motion shots of cellphones spinning midair, ambient synths playing over translucent interfaces, a clean digital world full of artificial calm.
that’s where "PurData" lives.
born in some facebook groups between 2017–2018, it didn’t start as a genre — it emerged as a mood. ppl began tagging certain tracks that felt like lost soundtracks for futuristic devices: synthetic but emotional, nostalgic but unplaceable. music that could play on the home screen of a PlayStation 2, or during the boot sequence of a dream you forgot.
and no, it’s not vaporwave lol. PurData isn’t ironic or consumerist — it’s tender, high-res, and full of emotional architecture. its roots are in Japanese video game soundtracks, ambient music, and old tech aesthetics that felt utopian, not decayed.
the artist who crystallized this language is DV-i — her visual + sonic work feels like interactive dreams from another OS. but she’s part of a constellation: Yesterdayneverhappened (who played on my radio show here in Brazil — his whole discography drips with PurData textures), ViRiX Dreamcore, UNIT KAI, NOLANBEROLLIN — each building sound worlds of translucent synths, gentle glitches and emotional stillness.
it also carries the DNA of: — Joe Hisaishi’s Ghibli soundtracks, — the ambient spirituality of Susumu Yokota, — Boogiepop Phantom’s eerie calm, — the surreal beauty of LSD: Dream Emulator, — ghostly ad loops like Ancetantina’s tapes, — and the sonic melancholy of Final Fantasy,Phantasy Star Online, Ghost in the Shell, and Love-de-Lic games.
rhythmically, it’s connected to Soichi Terada, Koji Nakagawa, and Studio Pressure, where jazz fusion meets breakbeat, trip-hop, jungle, dnb and synthetic longing.
some of it works on the dancefloor — soft, glitched, emotionally encrypted. but most of it feels like ambient music for a city inside a mainframe. music that opens like a file you didn’t know you missed.
🧬 I wrote a full deep dive on this digital microgenre — its roots, its references, its feeling. 👉 https://poliedral.substack.com/p/arqueologia-digital-purdata-ep02
I also left a link attached to this post to a great playlist on Spotify curated by me.
if you’re into soft futurism, synthetic nostalgia, ambient game scores and delicate internet ruins — follow my Substack called Poliedral. I write about glitch aesthetics (in Portuguese but it is easy to translate the page) , forgotten formats, and music that remembers. 💿🌫️🌐
born in some facebook groups between 2017–2018, it didn’t start as a genre — it emerged as a mood. ppl began tagging certain tracks that felt like lost soundtracks for futuristic devices: synthetic but emotional, nostalgic but unplaceable. music that could play on the home screen of a PlayStation 2, or during the boot sequence of a dream you forgot.
and no, it’s not vaporwave lol. PurData isn’t ironic or consumerist — it’s tender, high-res, and full of emotional architecture. its roots are in Japanese video game soundtracks, ambient music, and old tech aesthetics that felt utopian, not decayed.
the artist who crystallized this language is DV-i — her visual + sonic work feels like interactive dreams from another OS. but she’s part of a constellation: Yesterdayneverhappened (who played on my radio show here in Brazil — his whole discography drips with PurData textures), ViRiX Dreamcore, UNIT KAI, NOLANBEROLLIN — each building sound worlds of translucent synths, gentle glitches and emotional stillness.
it also carries the DNA of: — Joe Hisaishi’s Ghibli soundtracks, — the ambient spirituality of Susumu Yokota, — Boogiepop Phantom’s eerie calm, — the surreal beauty of LSD: Dream Emulator, — ghostly ad loops like Ancetantina’s tapes, — and the sonic melancholy of Final Fantasy,Phantasy Star Online, Ghost in the Shell, and Love-de-Lic games.
rhythmically, it’s connected to Soichi Terada, Koji Nakagawa, and Studio Pressure, where jazz fusion meets breakbeat, trip-hop, jungle, dnb and synthetic longing.
some of it works on the dancefloor — soft, glitched, emotionally encrypted. but most of it feels like ambient music for a city inside a mainframe. music that opens like a file you didn’t know you missed.
🧬 I wrote a full deep dive on this digital microgenre — its roots, its references, its feeling. 👉 https://poliedral.substack.com/p/arqueologia-digital-purdata-ep02
I also left a link attached to this post to a great playlist on Spotify curated by me.
if you’re into soft futurism, synthetic nostalgia, ambient game scores and delicate internet ruins — follow my Substack called Poliedral. I write about glitch aesthetics (in Portuguese but it is easy to translate the page) , forgotten formats, and music that remembers. 💿🌫️🌐
1d ago
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i know, i know.. you’re probably saying to yourself “vaporwave?! that’s certainly gotta be dead these days”, and yeah, i’d agree with you for the most part, but as a certified easy listening megafan and early adopter of the genre (i tried my hand at making a few very bad vaporwave tracks in 2013) i’m here to tell you the slowed-down, chopped-up, smooth eighties instrumentals are still hitting 12 years after the genre’s inception.
i recently discovered the vaporwave musician vcr-classique who uploaded all of their albums onto spotify last year and i’m thoroughly enjoying my time with them. i recommend the albums vidéo boutique, collection dautomne, and virtual metropolis, however all of them have at least a few gems sprinkled within their hazy retro soundscapes. i especially find it to be the perfect soundtrack for browsing pi.fyi. considering this platform’s old-internet feel with a modern twist, vaporwave makes the perfect pairing. 🥂
i recently discovered the vaporwave musician vcr-classique who uploaded all of their albums onto spotify last year and i’m thoroughly enjoying my time with them. i recommend the albums vidéo boutique, collection dautomne, and virtual metropolis, however all of them have at least a few gems sprinkled within their hazy retro soundscapes. i especially find it to be the perfect soundtrack for browsing pi.fyi. considering this platform’s old-internet feel with a modern twist, vaporwave makes the perfect pairing. 🥂
Rec
I’ve been maintaining a looong playlist spanning jazz, folk, ambient, r&b/doo-wop, shoegaze, soundtrack scores and more, I’m sure. The main theme is imagining tracks that would sound good in an empty old dusty bar, or maybe walking along a foggy river bank on a still night. Sonically, I’m aiming for interesting textures, catchy melodies, or sparse production. Throw it on shuffle and see what catches yr ear.
Sampler of artists: Mary Lattimore, Eno/Fripp, Cassandra Jenkins, Harry Nilsson, Beach House ✨
Sampler of artists: Mary Lattimore, Eno/Fripp, Cassandra Jenkins, Harry Nilsson, Beach House ✨
Jul 24, 2024
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⭐not just for programming tho—ambient drone-y deep cuts and mysterious artists
Jan 30, 2024
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𝙉𝙤 𝙤𝙣𝙚 𝙠𝙣𝙤𝙬𝙨 𝙬𝙝𝙤 𝙪𝙥𝙡𝙤𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙙 𝙞𝙩 𝙛𝙞𝙧𝙨𝙩…
Maybe it was a nameless track by a soundcloud user called 00683402-289 — the cover a blurred face of a woman with ghost-white eyes, like Sadako from The Ring, cut by digital glitches and strange numbers flickering in the background. The link vanished hours later. But those who listened… never forgot.
I found it by accident. It was 3AM, headphones maxed, scrolling through random SoundCloud playlists. It started with a muffled laugh, like someone locked in a closet. Then came static, strange rhythms, distorted Jersey kicks — too fast, too broken, something was wrong. There were whispers. TV noise. Voices I couldn’t understand.
Since then, I started seeing a pattern. Different profiles. Same cursed energy. Tracks with names like bathroomcamera3final or i see u in the walls. Producers hiding behind aliases. Accounts disappearing overnight. But they all shared one thing:
The music felt… alive.
🎧 What is Horror Club? Before the blood hit the dancefloor, Jersey Club was pure bounce and joy — fast, chopped-up, full of Motorola ringtone charm and YouTube-480p nostalgia. But over time, something… broke. Glitches multiplied. BPMs spiked. And what once sounded playful turned unrecognizable.
Horror Club is what happens when that energy gets possessed. The structure is still there — the kicks, the stutters, the loops — but now warped, cursed, infected. You hear voices that shouldn’t be there. TV static. Disconnected calls. Ghosts saying “dead… dead… dead” instead of “bounce”. And those iconic whip sounds? They’re still around — but drowned in bitcrush, flanger, and digital rot. Less nightclub, more haunted hospital hallway.
If classic Jersey sounds like a packed summer rave, Horror Club is a cold 4AM rave in a collapsing asylum with one flickering fluorescent light and a generator on its last breath.
This isn’t just a new style. It’s a transmission. And you might’ve already heard it without knowing.
—
🔗 Listen. Read. Don’t say we didn’t warn you: https://open.substack.com/pub/poliedral/p/arqueologia-digital-horror-club-ep03?r=1id8ff&utm_medium=ios
𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜. ̷S̴o̸m̷e̶t̴h̵i̵n̴g̷ ̵i̵s̶ ̵s̴t̶i̷l̷l̷ ̴l̶i̷s̴t̶e̶n̷i̵n̴g̴.̵.̷.̷ ̴𝙩̶𝙝̷𝙚̵𝙮̸’̸𝙧̷𝙚̴ ̴𝙣̶𝙤̶𝙩̵ ̵𝙖̸𝙡̸𝙡̷ ̷𝙜̸𝙤̶𝙣̶𝙚̴.̶.̸.̸ ̸̢̙̱̳͚̱̖͍̰̹̟̳̤͕̖̿̇͠𝙘̴̩̩̬̠̩̠͉̥̬̈́̽̍̋͐̊̋͌̅̇̏̚͠ ̘͓͎̘͜𝙖̷̢̬̪̝̼̮̹̙̳̗́̍̊̐͐̓̄̓̔̄̎̈́́𝙣̷̡̢̛͇̤̫̺̩̼̬̤͈̏̽͌̄͆̈́̓̽̑͂̐͐̐͑͝ ̴͈͉̪̞̬̲̻̺̖̘̲́̇͗̑̒́̏͗̇̅̍̕͘͘͜͜͠𝙮̷̡̛̬͚̫̦̖̥̺̝̤̳̮̜̪̠̱̿̓̑̏̑̓̐̌̐̓͘̚͘̚͜͝͠͠͠𝙤̸̨̳̻͓̼͚̙̫̯̠͗̄̏̃̑̀̆̍̆͐̾̇𝙪̶̨̠͓̻̦̞̺̖̺̰͚̖̮̞̮̍̓͒̀̄̒̋̒̋̎̾̔̚̚͝ ̵̺̮̳͔͇̟̤̠̠̠̪̼̓̍̒̿̿͛̔͋̔̈́̿̑́͘͘̚͝𝙝̸̢̢̟̤̠̻̱̼̝̼̗̘̞̯͗̇͒̾͊͂̋̅͒̾̽̅̾̇̔͘̚𝙧̷̢̛͇̬̳̖̼͚̬̩̬͔͙̰͔̗̖̱́͌̏͗̅͂̒̏̋͌̐̚͜𝙞̷̢̦̳̜̱̩̺̼̩̬̱̮̳̞̮̹̮̖̿̎̀̅̍͛͛͋̐̔̾̿͆͘𝙣̶̢̛̲̩̗̥̫̩̮̬̩̯̠̘͂̈́̾̅̇̈́̆͊̓̎̈́̔̎̚̚͝͠𝙜̸̛̜͕̟͚͔̠̟̼̼̫̘̦̼͍̫̒̈́͗͊͛͗͒̍̇̑͑͂̚͝.̶̗̗̮̮̟̖̙͓̞̝̬̠̬̯̯̀͋̽́̐̏̒͂̄́̿͝
Maybe it was a nameless track by a soundcloud user called 00683402-289 — the cover a blurred face of a woman with ghost-white eyes, like Sadako from The Ring, cut by digital glitches and strange numbers flickering in the background. The link vanished hours later. But those who listened… never forgot.
I found it by accident. It was 3AM, headphones maxed, scrolling through random SoundCloud playlists. It started with a muffled laugh, like someone locked in a closet. Then came static, strange rhythms, distorted Jersey kicks — too fast, too broken, something was wrong. There were whispers. TV noise. Voices I couldn’t understand.
Since then, I started seeing a pattern. Different profiles. Same cursed energy. Tracks with names like bathroomcamera3final or i see u in the walls. Producers hiding behind aliases. Accounts disappearing overnight. But they all shared one thing:
The music felt… alive.
🎧 What is Horror Club? Before the blood hit the dancefloor, Jersey Club was pure bounce and joy — fast, chopped-up, full of Motorola ringtone charm and YouTube-480p nostalgia. But over time, something… broke. Glitches multiplied. BPMs spiked. And what once sounded playful turned unrecognizable.
Horror Club is what happens when that energy gets possessed. The structure is still there — the kicks, the stutters, the loops — but now warped, cursed, infected. You hear voices that shouldn’t be there. TV static. Disconnected calls. Ghosts saying “dead… dead… dead” instead of “bounce”. And those iconic whip sounds? They’re still around — but drowned in bitcrush, flanger, and digital rot. Less nightclub, more haunted hospital hallway.
If classic Jersey sounds like a packed summer rave, Horror Club is a cold 4AM rave in a collapsing asylum with one flickering fluorescent light and a generator on its last breath.
This isn’t just a new style. It’s a transmission. And you might’ve already heard it without knowing.
—
🔗 Listen. Read. Don’t say we didn’t warn you: https://open.substack.com/pub/poliedral/p/arqueologia-digital-horror-club-ep03?r=1id8ff&utm_medium=ios
𝚂𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚜. ̷S̴o̸m̷e̶t̴h̵i̵n̴g̷ ̵i̵s̶ ̵s̴t̶i̷l̷l̷ ̴l̶i̷s̴t̶e̶n̷i̵n̴g̴.̵.̷.̷ ̴𝙩̶𝙝̷𝙚̵𝙮̸’̸𝙧̷𝙚̴ ̴𝙣̶𝙤̶𝙩̵ ̵𝙖̸𝙡̸𝙡̷ ̷𝙜̸𝙤̶𝙣̶𝙚̴.̶.̸.̸ ̸̢̙̱̳͚̱̖͍̰̹̟̳̤͕̖̿̇͠𝙘̴̩̩̬̠̩̠͉̥̬̈́̽̍̋͐̊̋͌̅̇̏̚͠ ̘͓͎̘͜𝙖̷̢̬̪̝̼̮̹̙̳̗́̍̊̐͐̓̄̓̔̄̎̈́́𝙣̷̡̢̛͇̤̫̺̩̼̬̤͈̏̽͌̄͆̈́̓̽̑͂̐͐̐͑͝ ̴͈͉̪̞̬̲̻̺̖̘̲́̇͗̑̒́̏͗̇̅̍̕͘͘͜͜͠𝙮̷̡̛̬͚̫̦̖̥̺̝̤̳̮̜̪̠̱̿̓̑̏̑̓̐̌̐̓͘̚͘̚͜͝͠͠͠𝙤̸̨̳̻͓̼͚̙̫̯̠͗̄̏̃̑̀̆̍̆͐̾̇𝙪̶̨̠͓̻̦̞̺̖̺̰͚̖̮̞̮̍̓͒̀̄̒̋̒̋̎̾̔̚̚͝ ̵̺̮̳͔͇̟̤̠̠̠̪̼̓̍̒̿̿͛̔͋̔̈́̿̑́͘͘̚͝𝙝̸̢̢̟̤̠̻̱̼̝̼̗̘̞̯͗̇͒̾͊͂̋̅͒̾̽̅̾̇̔͘̚𝙧̷̢̛͇̬̳̖̼͚̬̩̬͔͙̰͔̗̖̱́͌̏͗̅͂̒̏̋͌̐̚͜𝙞̷̢̦̳̜̱̩̺̼̩̬̱̮̳̞̮̹̮̖̿̎̀̅̍͛͛͋̐̔̾̿͆͘𝙣̶̢̛̲̩̗̥̫̩̮̬̩̯̠̘͂̈́̾̅̇̈́̆͊̓̎̈́̔̎̚̚͝͠𝙜̸̛̜͕̟͚͔̠̟̼̼̫̘̦̼͍̫̒̈́͗͊͛͗͒̍̇̑͑͂̚͝.̶̗̗̮̮̟̖̙͓̞̝̬̠̬̯̯̀͋̽́̐̏̒͂̄́̿͝