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.
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?
This article is a deep dive into the murky waters of pre-internet underground music. We will dissect the mythos, the tracklists, the sound quality, and the cultural context to answer the question that haunts collectors: What makes the Taboo IIIIIIIV (1979-1985) better?
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.
Why is it considered better than the others?
If we force the Roman numerals:
IIIIIII = 7
IV = 4
But written as IIIIIIIV, it can be read as 7+4 = 11 (transgression of order).
Or as 7 before 5 → 2 (the hidden number).
Or simply: 7 ways to say “I” (self) before reaching V (five senses / five letters of TABOO).
The years 1979–1985 bracket:
Thus, Taboo IIIIIIIV is a deliberately broken calendar — a secret handshake for those who know that the real taboo isn’t an act, but counting correctly.
To understand the peculiar keyword, one must first understand the world of 1979. Punk had been declawed by commercialism. Mainstream radio offered disco and yacht rock. But in the bedrooms, warehouses, and art schools of London, Berlin, New York, and Sydney, something festered.
The original Taboo 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.
The sound? Unforgiving. Side A featured Throbbing Gristle’s live recording of “Discipline” (Berlin, 1979) next to a Merzbow-esque precursor by a then-unknown Masami Akita, tracked with a 14-minute field recording of a slaughterhouse in Hamburg. Side B was pure dissonance: a Cabaret Voltaire demo, a spoken word piece by Lydia Lunch about urban decay, and a hidden loop of reversed church bells.
Collectors immediately used the term “taboo iiiiiiiv” 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.
In 2026, original Taboo cassettes are unobtanium. A sealed copy of Taboo I sold on Discogs for $4,200 in 2022. But Taboo IIIIIIIV? Only three confirmed copies exist in known collections. Why? taboo iiiiiiiv 19791985 better
Because it is the better version. Not just musically, but historically.
To say it is “better” is to acknowledge that the Taboo series was not a linear progression. It exploded, collapsed, and reformed in one volume.
Social and Health Issues:
Technological:
Cultural and Artistic Expression:
No work exists with the exact title Taboo IIIIIIIV (1979–1985).
Your best real match is the Taboo adult film series (1980–1985: Taboo I–IV). If that’s not what you meant, please provide more context (format: film/book/music, country, plot, artist name). I can then give a precise guide. 1979: First home video porn
The Golden Age of Forbidden Cinema: Why the Original Taboo Surpasses Its Sequels
In the landscape of adult cinema, few titles command as much recognition—or controversy—as the 1980 film Taboo. Directed by Kirdy Stevens and starring the legendary Kay Parker, the film became a cultural phenomenon, defining the "golden age" of pornographic chic. While the film spawned a sprawling franchise that included Taboo II (1982), Taboo III (1984), and further entries throughout the 1980s, a critical analysis reveals that the original remains the definitive and superior work. The first Taboo stands apart from its sequels due to its grounded narrative, the magnetic performance of its lead, and a serious tone that treated its subject matter with a rare gravity.
The primary distinction that elevates the original Taboo above its successors is its narrative coherence and emotional weight. The film tells the story of Barbara Scott, a woman grappling with loneliness and sexual frustration after her husband leaves her. Her eventual transgression—engaging in a sexual relationship with her son, Paul—is framed not as a trivial fantasy, but as a complex psychological descent. The film treats Barbara with empathy; she is a victim of circumstance and desire, wracked with guilt and confusion. In contrast, the sequels, particularly Taboo II and Taboo III, abandoned this psychological depth in favor of soap-opera theatrics and a more casual approach to the taboo subject matter. By the time the franchise reached its later entries, the premise had devolved into a series of vignettes where the "taboo" was used merely as a marketing gimmick rather than a central conflict.
Furthermore, the performance of Kay Parker in the original film remains unmatched by the casts of the sequels. Parker brought a dignity and dramatic weight to the role of Barbara that was unprecedented for the genre. Her ability to convey internal turmoil made the film feel like a genuine drama that happened to feature explicit content. The sequels, while featuring popular performers like Honey Wilder and Kay Parker herself returning in Taboo III, lacked the singular focus of her character arc in the first film. In the sequels, the storytelling became more ensemble-driven, diluting the intimate, character-study quality that made the original so powerful.
Finally, the production quality and tone of the 1980 original represent a specific moment in adult film history that the sequels failed to recapture. The cinematography, the soundtrack, and the pacing of Taboo mirrored mainstream cinema of the era. It was a film that crossover audiences could watch not just for arousal, but for narrative interest. As the industry shifted in the mid-80s toward the "video age," the sequels adapted by adopting the faster-paced, plot-light style that dominated the home video market. They became products of consumption, whereas the original was an exercise in cinematic storytelling.
In conclusion, while the Taboo series became a staple of 1980s adult entertainment, the original 1980 film remains the superior artistic achievement. It succeeded because it dared to take its controversial subject matter seriously, anchored by a performance that humanized the characters involved. The sequels may have offered more content, but they offered less substance. The first Taboo endures not just because it broke a rule, but because it told a compelling, human story in the process. Thus, Taboo IIIIIIIV is a deliberately broken calendar