While even the creator can’t fully explain it, Music Place conjures a certain mystical energy. To qualify for a repost, a song must be obscure. “If something has between 0 and 5 reposts and it fits the vibe of Music Place, then I repost it instantly,” the owner tells me. It also needs to have distinct visual art. The song covers bolt between banal and nightmarish, from zoomed-in, weirdly stretched images of cartoons and the Uno video game to gory combat zones of amputated limbs and cursed monsters. Even if the music is good, they won’t share it if it has a “boring, business-like presentation” that doesn’t fit the Music Place aesthetic. “An example of a very good resposter who reposts lots of this music that I consider has boring artwork is [blogger and Pitchfork contributor] billdifferen,” they say. “Very very good reposter… but it’s not right for what I do. We operate different.”

So, yeah—this is a highly abrasive, often baffling Place populated by musical chickenscratch, sure to draw the ire of critics who’ll call everything shite, insular, pretentious. Some of it is certainly unlistenable, but the gems outweigh the drivel.

The owner describes the channel’s credo as something like “the universe experiencing itself,” a kind of autonomous self-capturing system for the endless musical output on the web. “I’ve had creators say on uploads ‘I forgot I even made this,’” they recall. With over 6,900 videos on the YouTube channel, almost more uploads than subscribers, this is more like a hoarding situation worthy of a TLC show. Even the creator forgets about things they’ve posted. “I am there to experience this music and make it last so others can,” they muse. This is part of why they want to keep their ID unknown, so nobody projects any biases onto the channel. “I don’t want to be bound by any like, ‘Oh they’re this.’ Like Chief Keef said, I’m 300.” The creator is most proud of archiving music that the artists eventually deleted, so the Music Place upload remains maybe the only copy in the world. At one point, they shoot a link to something they call “peak Music Place.” It’s a 66-second dustbowl of kicks, called “££êå﴾r̤̈﴿ᘻ¢ᖇ¥ R﴾r̤̈﴿µ§ñêᖇ﴾k̤̈﴿ 𝟿99̲̅6” by the artist Ꞥҽ̤ʍ̤Ⱥ̤ժ̤ل̤ꖦᲯ̤է̤Ⱥ̤𝔏ʍ̤ą̤ժ̤ҽ̤Ꝉ̤Ⱥ. Neither the song nor the artist exists online anymore.