As usual with the artist known (for now) as irini, the music works neatly within its genre conventions, but, in its best moments, is imbued with a level of songcraft that’s rare in dance music. irini makes groovy club tracks DJs will want to get their hands on. He also, like the best traditional songwriters, knows how to lay down a melody or chord progression that resonates on a deep emotional frequency, as if conveying some ineffable aspect of the human experience that can’t be articulated any other way.
It’s this dual quality that long ago earned irini what could safely be called a cult following. “It’s like he’s on a permanent breakthrough DMT trip and operating at a totally different dimension or astral plane,” one fan said on Reddit. “Like heaven forgot to cut his spiritual umbilical cord and he’s bringing us the fire and light like he’s Prometheus or Lucifer or something.” His records, until now released only on vinyl, resell like rare sneakers. Twelve-inches can go for north of $150. Some fans balked at the $100 price tag of 8, an 8xLP box set, but nearly a decade later, there is only one mint-condition copy of it on Discogs, and it’s going for more than $1,700. This would make his music inaccessible if not for his habit of prolifically releasing free mixes on SoundCloud—usually a few per year, ranging in length from 30 minutes to three hours. Most of the music on them never gets released any other way, including fan favorites like Traumprinz’s remix of Olive’s “You’re Not Alone,” or any number of the countless downtempo gems on DJ Healer’s “planet lonely” mix from 2018.
Oddly, everything on lost in dreams first appeared on a mix of the same name in 2021. You might wonder why people would willingly part ways with their money to buy music they’ve already been given for free. This would underestimate the mystique that surrounds irini’s physical releases, which, resale value aside, are beautifully packaged and full of titillating Easter eggs for anyone who looks closely enough. Before the box set dropped, there was even the non-zero chance it might contain different music from the mix and the tracks on Bandcamp. After all, the music on 8 varied slightly from copy to copy, a mysterious flourish reflected in the title, which, when the record was held right side up, appeared not as an 8, but as an ouroboros—eight records, in other words, but infinite tracks. Maybe.
