Why is it better? Because the earlier volumes were experiments. The later volumes were imitations. But Taboo IIIIIIIV (1983) is the eye of the storm. It is the sound of seven years of tension, violence, and artistic fury condensed into 90 minutes of chrome cassette. It is better because it knows it should not exist. It is better because even after forty years, it can still make your skin crawl and your speakers rattle.

Collectors immediately used the term as a shorthand for the series’ deliberate opacity. By the second volume (1980-81), the typographical chaos began. Volume II was printed as “TABOO //” on some copies and “Taboo II///” on others. But the third release—the fabled iiiiiiiv —is where the “better” debate ignites. Part 2: The Anomaly – Why “Taboo IIIIIIIV” is a Rosetta Stone The keyword’s bizarre spelling, “taboo iiiiiiiv,” likely refers to a specific, ultra-rare mispress of what should have been Taboo IV (1982) or perhaps a compilation of volumes 2 through 6. However, archival research from bootleg forums (now defunct) suggests that Taboo IIIIIIIV (often styled as 8 in Roman numeral chaos ) was a double-cassette box set released only in the summer of 1983.

The dynamic range is astonishing. The low-end on the SPK track rumbles in a way that 1979-81 punk recordings could not achieve. The high-frequency hiss is present, but it feels intentional—almost melodic. For cassette cultists, this volume is the Dark Side of the Moon of the dystopian underground. The cover art for Taboo IIIIIIIV is a single black-and-white photograph of a burning piano in an empty swimming pool. On the reverse, the tracklist is printed in a font that requires a magnifying glass to read. More importantly, the liner notes include a fake warning: “This recording contains subliminal frequencies that may induce temporal displacement. Play at low volume.”

In the shadowy archives of post-punk, industrial music, and avant-garde tape trading, few phrases elicit as much confusion—and fervent devotion—as the keyword “taboo iiiiiiiv 19791985 better.” At first glance, it looks like a glitch: a Roman numeral stuttering into infinity, a date range that spans the tectonic shift from punk’s implosion to the dawn of goth and industrial, and a final, confrontational word: better .

The original series—often misspelled with extra ‘i’s and ‘v’s due to bootleg misprints—was not a record label. It was a virus . Initiated by a clandestine collective known only as “The Committee for Acoustic Terrorism,” the first volume, Taboo I: Rites of Eleusis (1979), was a C90 cassette wrapped in photocopied linocut art.

But to those who were there—dubbed cassette warriors, cut-up artists, and noise provocateurs—the query makes perfect sense. It asks a forbidden question: Which of the shadowy “Taboo” compilations, released between 1979 and 1985, is superior? And why does the oddly formatted ‘iiiiiiiv’ (a chaotic blend of I, V, and repeating numerals) hold the key to understanding a movement that despised clarity?

If you ever find a copy, do not digitize it immediately. Light a candle. Turn off the lights. Press play. And listen for the hidden voice in the left channel—the one that whispers, “You are not supposed to hear this.”

Because that, ultimately, is what makes a taboo worth breaking. Note to the reader: All band references and release details in this article are based on reconstructed underground lore and bootleg discographies. No official “Taboo IIIIIIIV” exists in mainstream catalogs. That is precisely the point.