01 June Okafor
Founder and press operator. Runs Bertha, the reject crate, and the kettle, in roughly that order of difficulty.
LUMORA is three people, one secondhand press and a kettle, in a unit off Ledger Lane. Since 2024 we have been turning the playlists in your phone into heavy two-colour records, one squeeze at a time.
Most pressing plants want 300 copies of the same thing. We wanted the opposite: one copy of the thing you actually listen to. So we bought one press, limited ourselves to two colours of wax, and decided that every record leaving the building would be the only one of its kind.
The limits are the style. Two colours swirl better than sixteen million, one machine keeps us honest, and a six-week turnaround means nobody here is ever in a hurry except Bertha, who is never in a hurry either.
Every record on this site came out of the same 1978 press. She has a name and moods.
Twenty-one named pairs, chosen by Priya, argued about weekly.
The swirl lands differently every squeeze. Yours is the only one like it.
Unit B is 82 square metres of concrete floor at the end of Ledger Lane. Bertha takes up a third of it, the swatch wall takes another third, and the rest is sleeves drying on string. The door is usually open, partly for the wax fumes, mostly for visitors.
Counted by Theo, who keeps a spreadsheet. The kettle is not on the spreadsheet.
One runs the press, one cuts the groove, one picks the colours. Nobody is in charge of the reject crate, which is why it has grown.
01 Founder and press operator. Runs Bertha, the reject crate, and the kettle, in roughly that order of difficulty.
02 Cutting engineer. Turns playlists into a groove, one lacquer at a time, and keeps a spreadsheet about it.
03 Sleeve designer and colour lead. Names the wax pairs, argues about mustard, and has never once been wrong about a spine.
Two years, four milestones, roughly 900 records that never made it past the trim station. We keep the good failures in a crate by the door and sell them on Saturdays for five pounds, honour system.
Within tolerance.
Round here, that's a love letter.
Theo Marsh, cutting engineer, reading a humidity log
A 1978 SMT-12 press, one previous owner, sold with a shrug and a shoebox of spare gaskets. She arrived on a flatbed and did not fit through the door.
Raspberry × Ultramarine, off-centre by 3 mm, a pop in the run-out. Framed anyway. It still hangs above the trim station.
Number 100 was a wedding playlist in Poolside. The couple sent a photo of it on their kitchen wall. There may have been tears.
Sorbet Grape joins the swatch wall. Priya says the list is now closed. Priya has said that before, at 14, 17 and 19.
Send us the playlist, pick two colours or let Priya pick, and in about six weeks a record that exists nowhere else arrives flat at your door. Or come round first and smell the wax.