During a period of reflection and uncertainty, the first rough sketches for the record emerged from bedroom jam sessions in Kaishandao’s adopted hometown of Chengdu. With no way in or out of China, she uprooted from a long-term apartment to a small vacant room at Steam Hostel, where she lived out of a suitcase for six months — inviting detuned chords, nomadic drum sequences and foraged vocal samples to occupy her memory banks. 
In the spring of 2020, when the country’s network of clubs and label nights entered into a post-lockdown renaissance, the tracks were reworked and refined over weekends of live hardware sets performed alongside local DJs and musicians, evolving across dancefloors before eventually falling into place through scattered late nights of tinkering and recording. 
Fusing elements of lo-fi electronica, minimal, techno, RnB, house and garage, Homeland serves a dislocated narrative of percussive micro-aggressions, distorted audio residue and wistful guitar overdubs, distilled with fragmented memories — high school era chart toppers meet filtered breaks, a Wellington Hospital therapy cassette speaks through a drum machine, overlapping timelines converge around a slow-burning fire.