Chrome Daydream
Chrome stars, jelly hearts and holographic colour. A nod to the glossy, optimistic graphics of the early web.
The notebook changes its cover every month. Each one takes its cues from a different corner of music, paper and internet culture. Explore the collection below.
Haunted Notebook is here through November 1. Coffee Shop Confessional takes over November 2.
Chrome stars, jelly hearts and holographic colour. A nod to the glossy, optimistic graphics of the early web.
Cassette ribbons, red-pen hearts and pink paper. For anyone who ever put too much thought into a mixtape.
Vines wind around the speakers and flowers take over the margins. Spring gets the volume knob.
Pixel ghosts, cherries and electric blue meet the notebook doodles. A little arcade cabinet in the margins.
The pink splashes, coffee ring and black doodles that started it, with the volume turned up. The notebook's home colours.
Peel-and-stick chaos: skulls, butterflies, hearts and neon lightning. Think of the back of your favourite battered laptop.
Torn tickets, halftone fragments and bright scraps. A cover that borrows the rough edges of a wall full of gig flyers.
Black ink, torn paper and acid-yellow sparks. A love letter to photocopied zines and the flyers you kept after the show.
Stars, speakers, tape and every loud colour at once. Back-to-school stationery with absolutely no restraint.
Moths, little ghosts and crimson ink creep through the black flourishes. The notebook has a late-night alter ego.
Coffee rings, headphones and warm paper. A cover for the long walk home and the track you play again when you get there.
Moons, moths and constellations spill across midnight-blue ink. The margins drift into space; the music keeps going.
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He showed up early to avoid the line. There was no line. One booth, one lever, bold text: MORE OF THE SAME. The man in the baseball cap and navy fleece is standing at it like someone who takes this seriously, which somehow makes it worse. The lever is a heavy industrial switch, the kind that implies something consequential happens when you pull it. Nothing consequential happens when you pull it. Democracy as a carnival game where every ring lands on the same bottle. He’ll pull it anyway. Everyone always does.
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The President of the United States stood in Bullhead City, Arizona, on Wednesday and told a rally that people who leak information to the press should be shot. His exact words: “In my opinion, leakers should be shot.” The crowd cheered. He called them “the scum of the earth” for good measure. This was a campaign rally. On camera. Into a microphone. The man running a midterm blitz to protect his Congressional majority said the appropriate punishment for talking to a reporter is death, and said it out loud to applause. This is the same week his Defense Secretary floated...
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Somewhere in there a saxophone is trying. Three musicians in suits playing sax, upright bass, and drums in a candlelit club. Right in front of them, occupying the entire foreground like a noise complaint given human form, a man in a green sweater is yelling with his whole chest. One hand cupped, other hand up. In front of him sits the most loaded plate of nachos ever committed to oil paint, sour cream peak and all. He is louder than the band and he has always been louder than the band. The drummer’s face says everything you already knew. Every...
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