We now offer local delivery to Chicago residents in zip codes 60601, 60602, 60603, 60604, 60605, 60606, 60608, 60610, 60611, 60612, 60613, 60614, 60618, 60622, 60624, 60647, 60654, 60657, 60661


Due to current situations in Chicago, it may takes us more time than usual to fullfil orders. Thanks for your patience.

Prolaps - Pure Mud Volume 7 - New Cassette 2020 Hausu Mountain USA Red Tape - Experimental Electronic

Prolaps - Pure Mud Volume 7 - New Cassette 2020 Hausu Mountain USA Red Tape - Experimental Electronic

Regular price $8.99 $0.00

Curbside Pickup Info

We are offering pickup Every day 12-7
Please wait 24 hours from the time of payment to pick up you order. Call (773) 278-4085 when you arrive and have your ID ready.

Important Shipping Information

We currently recommend customers use Priority Mail. Because of COVID-19, Media Mail is taking over three weeks to arrive. Priority Mail is taking 7-10 days. Thanks for your patience, friends.

Local Delivery Information

We now offer local delivery to Chicago residents in zip codes 60601, 60602, 60603, 60604, 60605, 60606, 60608, 60610, 60611, 60612, 60613, 60614, 60618, 60622, 60624, 60647, 60654, 60657, 60661.

Deliveries are sent out in the evening (Mon-Fri). Please wait 24 hours from the time of purchase for your order to go out for delivery.

Orders that select Local Delivery outside our range will be contact to either set up shipping or in-store pickup.


Prolaps is the Brooklyn-based duo of Bordella Biledriver and Metatron Starsore. The first thing they want you to know is that they are NOT a cult. They are sound therapists. Maybe their therapeutic methods fall well outside of convention, but they want to bring you peace of mind. They also want to make it clear that while their bodies might appear similar to those of Kill Alters vocalist / producer Bonnie Baxter and Machine Girl mastermind Matt Stephenson, it definitely isn’t them. The duo’s debut album Pure Mud Volume 7 screeches out of the Hausu Mountain volcano as an unholy hybrid of vocal meltdowns and chopped-and-stitched bursts of noise texture, all planted over bonkers beats that twist their way through untold permutations of electronic dancefloor production. Their music feels like an overstuffed collage of extreme gestures and fragmentary ideas frankensteined together from the worlds of nü metal, jock jams, jungle, acid house, rock rap, and harsh noise. Lead vocal lines in the form of screams, singsong taunts, and martial proclamations clash with the cyborg hooks of finely diced voice fragments. The unrelenting pace makes distinctions between each “song” less important than the pure confusion conveyed by the constant juxtaposition of far-flung genres and queasy moods that manifest with the fierce brevity of grindcore and the scrolling eclecticism of a mixtape recording.