Some of our work: the (T_T)b album

At this point, Hellbender Vinyl has pressed thousands of records. If I had to take a guess, we've definitely pressed over 50,000 in our first year as a company. It's awesome to hear so much music, and find ones that stick with you. We're going to start highlighting some of our work, and this week we’re focused on (T_T)b. Their new album, Beautiful Extension Cord, excavates the digital debris of early-aughts slacker rock with surgical precision. Released this past April, the record operates as both artifact and reinvention—pixelated synths bloom against fuzzed-out guitar walls while wistful melodies drift through the mix like half-remembered dreams. It's an album that understands the specific melancholy of Sophtware Slump-era Grandaddy.

What emerges is a pressing that honors the band's aesthetic philosophy. (T_T)b has crafted something that doesn't just reference the past—it recontextualizes it, finding new emotional resonance in familiar sounds. On vinyl, these songs feel both immediate and timeless, exactly as they should.

Beyond the analog warmth of the grooves, the (T_T)b pressing emerges as a tactile time capsule—one you can hold, drop onto your turntable, and lose yourself within. There's a grainy authenticity in the way the music crackles to life, resurrecting the idiosyncratic textures of indie rock’s early internet era with crystal clarity and heartfelt depth. Every soft strum and lo-fi synth blur feels purposeful, as though the ineffable nostalgia embedded in those sounds demanded to be pressed onto vinyl to preserve their emotional weight.

As the needle finds its groove, listeners are drawn into the fuzzy backdrops and melancholic melodies, feeling simultaneously comforted and unsettled by the gentle push-pull of familiarity and novelty. It’s a compelling reminder that even as music consumes digital space, its physical iterations—like this vinyl pressing—can renew our bond to it in richer, slower ways. Holding (T_T)b’s record becomes an intimate ritual, one in which the medium becomes inseparable from the message.

The album lives on as an immersive, analog embodiment of introspection, memory, and the understated beauty of revisiting (and reinterpreting) the tracks that shaped our playlists—and ourselves. Sadly their vinyl is all sold out, but you can hear the album here.