
The ancient farting judger of the dead. Few know that Bao is a time traveller and is the actual Anubis instead of the jackal that people tend to associate with him. The identity was lost in translation due to the Rosetta Stone missing a few glyphs related to farting. The fact that Anubus was also very popular with many queens is also rarely understood.

The 2026 sleeve, and the front door to all of this. A grinning thing in a star-spangled wizard hat throws a peace sign over a candlelit forest while the lettering melts into the clouds behind it. Point a phone at it and it never does the same thing twice - there is a whole pile of clips sitting behind this one cover and each reveal pulls a different expression out of it. Tap once and the video steps aside so the paint itself can start moving.

The same creature cropped in close enough to count the stars on the hat. Somewhere between a mascot and a warning, depending on how your night is going. It earns its own target because a smaller crop holds tracking better in a dark room, which is a deeply boring reason for something to exist, but it also simply looks better big.

Nineteen tracks over a purple cloudscape with the whole compilation's paperwork crowded into the margins. The AR here is deliberately gentle - cool caustics drifting across the clouds like light on the bottom of a pool, slow enough that the tracklist stays readable while it happens. All the profits went to trail building in Buena Vista, which is a remarkably grounded fact for a record that looks like this.

A mirrored congregation of red pig-demons, one enormous horned thing on bass, and a single very small cat, all of them locked into the same endless jam. This is the original - the cover the old gizzard app cut its teeth on - and it has kept the behavior it had back then. Every time you find it the next clip in the pool comes up, so the band never plays the same set twice.

A cutaway of some infernal bottling plant, biplanes parked on one floor and a crocodile skull yawning open on another, with a golden cobra coiled into a figure eight at the dead center of it. The whole panel churns like heat coming off asphalt, and the cobra does not stay still for long.

Blue field, white wordmark repeating until it warps around itself, and a hole punched through the middle where the record sits. The whole thing is pressed out of recycled water bottles, so the AR leans all the way into water - blue caustics moving across it the way light moves on a pool floor.

The castle in the air, washed out in purples and blues with the tracklist hidden inside its own architecture. This one does not throw anything at you. A shadow box stands up off the sleeve and you read its depth by moving - walls sliding into view as you look along it, frames nested inside frames breathing and winding open. It stays on the box instead of cycling away, because the box is the entire idea.

Cream paper and three little portholes looking onto a red desert, a construction site, and something reptilian standing in the trees. The lightest touch in the whole set - warm caustics so faint you could argue they are not there at all, which is exactly right for a side you are actually meant to read.

The melting cup, re-rendered at 4K and finally standing on its own instead of borrowing a corner of someone else's sleeve. A cup we use to hold liquid at music events, transmuting back into the thing it was brought along to enhance. No pool, no rotation, no variations - this one is the melt and nothing else, and every single reveal plays it.

A chrome skull surfacing out of a field of crushed and folded metal, a smaller skull set into its forehead like a crown, wires spilling out where a jaw should be. The only cover here with no sleeve behind it and no entry in the config to its name - it fell straight through to the defaults and came out looking like it had planned the whole thing.
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