Imaaad

Taxi 404

Cover Artwork

Solar punk on the verge of collapse! A gold sun bleeds onto emerald and orange figures – Part lovers, part scarecrows.

— PROJECT NAME

Taxi 404 Artwork Series


— ROLE

Art Direction

Graphic Design

Illustration


— DATE

2021—2025

Working with Taxi 404 is like translating a dream into glyphs! Their music, a blend of melancholic synths, existential French lyrics, and rhythms that mimic a heartbeat, demands visuals that are raw and deliberate. Each cover I’ve designed for them (from 2021 till present day) is a standalone artifact but also part of a larger world where love letters are written in broken code and cities dissolve into fog.


These artworks aren’t illustrations; they’re equivalents! The comma of ‘Virgule’ is a pregnant pause… a sonic semicolon. ‘Paradis’ is a corrupted Eden; its pink coconut trees are a cheeky middle finger to purity. ‘Amoureux’ drowns in Bordeaux-red intimacy, while ‘Je Cours’ bleeds the adrenaline of a hand reaching into the void. These aren’t covers; they’re spells cast in Pantone.

Paradis (2025)

An apple rotting backwards and gold strokes cage a pink oasis. Five coconut trees mock Eden’s order. Taxi 404’s Paradis is synthetic nostalgia; its sweetness is measured in battery bars. The handwritten title is like a note whispering: “Heaven is a glitch in the system.”

Virgule EP (2023)

A comma that refuses to end the sentence. The CD fragment is a skipped heartbeat, and the punctuation "," hovers between pause and surrender. The French definition “to separate for clarity” is the cruel joke. Here, the silence is the track.

Amoureux (2022)

Drowning in Bordeaux, a couple floats in a black sea, their limbs tangled in wine-dark intimacy. The moon light chest is full, and a stray foot reaches the surface. This is love as a controlled drown, the fish in his chest either a parasite or a prayer.

Je Cours (2021)

Abstract panic in primary colors! A hand reaches, and a figure leaps. Red eyes blink from the static… The handwritten title “I Run” smears like sweat, while the abstract blobs scream what the lyrics won’t.