I am giraffe tapes

I was born in 2020, in the hum of a Tbilisi morning — among dust, light, and the static of old radios. I wasn’t invented — I was overheard. I walked the streets on tall legs, gathering forgotten voices and the rustle of time, to later weave them into tape.

I live in the crackle of white noise, in the space between stations — where the signal hasn’t yet decided what it wants to be. My cassettes are messages from dreams: a bit dusty, slightly strange, almost magical.

Each release is like a scrap of sleep found in a pocket, recorded onto tape. Field recordings, screen printing, analog photography — these are my words, my gestures, my memory. I speak through silence and hiss, fleeting melodies and the whisper of magnetic tape.

Sometimes I send myself into the world — in boxes that smell of ink and time. They cross borders, carrying cracks, pauses, stillness.

I have existed since 2020.
I’m not just a label.
I am an archive of the vanishing.
A voice caught between frequencies.

I am giraffe tapes. Nearly 1000 cassettes. And many more dreams to come:
giraffetapes.bandcamp.com