Bort

Bort makes glitch and industrial absurdism, sixteen tracks of broken machinery and deadpan nonsense. The titles tell you most of it, the Flesh//error.* run and the one that is just the word Bort repeated six times in a flat little voice over a beat that keeps tripping over itself. The label has an artist file on Bort. It is a single laminated card, sent in the original signing envelope, and it reads, in full, BORT. There is no address, no contact, no photograph, just the name and a smiley face drawn in the corner that the laminator melted slightly. Every track Bort sends arrives in an identically named folder, all sixteen of them, BORT, and the computer has stopped warning us about the duplicates. It just files them. So do we.