Cult Cosmos

Oh, okay, fun times. Let’s have it. Getcha cocktail and spill it on the dance floor. You dance to this? So does my pants’ crotch. Hit it up. Ain’t got no number because it’s old-school like dat. Wanna sip? Gotta suck it off my feet. Or I can just snag another. Cran-apple and gin? Scotch and orange juice? The bartender don’t understand good English. Give him a good tip, and maybe he’s got a shot glass. “No, put it in my hands. Yeah, thanks.” I rolled my eyes, did you? Okay, thanks for the backup. No, I didn’t tip his ass. Oh, shit, you see her out there? I can’t handle that. What you got in the move, daddy? You papi me to that grind? Okay-okay, I feel that slow motion. Candy bars are better in king-size, amirite? Don’t melt, please. I don’t need no stains. Hollly, shit. How questionable is THAT? Drunk? Or she doing the Octopus?

The last Cult Cosmos meeting I attended happened in a — ahhh, a k-hole two years ago. No. It was at the planetarium across from the Colosseum. —Err, was it the winter tennis court? Just, gurrl, that pants bump getting starchy. Let’s get around that and wear gym shorts next time. Mix the outcum with the drinks on the ground. And who cleans this mess up afterward? Oh, no, he’ll be asleep there — cellphone in hand — into the next morning. That boii cleaning nothing. Yeah, he was talking at my face like he knew it and called me Tina. Clearly I’m a Jackie, yo. Feel that lip? Fight the urge. Take them wobbly synth vibes as your queue to noodle a new dance, and impress what you will without feeling the need to fight your way out of this situation. It’s all chill.

Fall through this Earth with Cult Cosmos’ new joint Octopus on the free-skrill via Bandcamp pleasantries.

• Cult Cosmos:

Toshimaru Nakamura

no input mixing board #8

Ahh, good ol’ high frequencies. If there’s one musical element that can clearly be divided into a distinctive love or hate category, it’s definitely this one. Part of this is clearly related to how these extreme frequencies can actually cause the human body to feel viscerally ill (extreme low frequencies can do the same). For this reason, I often meet fellow experimental music enthusiasts who can handle hours of blaring white noise but cringe when a high frequency sine tone goes on for more than 30 seconds. Neither of those sounds are going to top most people’s easy listening list any time soon, but it’s interesting how our basic physiology determines the way we experience these extremes. We can grow accustomed to both pure tones and noise, but most human beings have a threshold for such sounds after an extended amount of time. But give yourself over to some extreme sonority for a little while, and the experience can be cleansing, even meditative from a sheer sonic level.

Toshimaru Nakamura has in many ways perfected the art of making beautifully introspective music out of these extreme textures. Nakamura’s ubiquitous no-input mixing board can produce everything from guttural rhythmic low-end to beautifully harsh high-frequency drones, and the composer frequently creates gestural works out of the intensity of these sounds. On this preview of his upcoming album no input mixing board #8 , Nakamura produces a marvelously complex drone held together by two beating high tones that sustain into oblivion, while the white noise and different tones beneath subtly shift around. At only two minutes, it’s the perfect introduction to the hypnotic world of extreme timbres.

Listen to the track below courtesy of p*dis, and stay tuned for more information on no input mixing board #8.

• Toshimaru Nakamura:

Brad Paisley (feat. LL Cool J)

“Accidental Racist”

Okay. I give up. I’m going back to bed.

• Brad Paisley: …
• LL Cool J: …

Freddy Ruppert


As a head space, words implicate thoughts on to paper and through sound. Sound creates meaning to verb and/or noun, as does the word to interpretation, and hearing is to actually believe in verbal reality. Collage in thought comes as frequent as your clock ticking to the next and the next and the next minute after, and you think it’s real. Nope, not real. Yet whole. But that moment before completely losing thought, when your brain moves blood to one side in order to think on the other, that moment… wounded in stifled thought… “Stanch.” Taping and drawing upon feelings and deeply forgotten memories and shutting them off. Flowing your natural thought and direction to another sensory overload. Is it a bucket or an actual drum? A masterpiece? Or is it tryna turn off your tape recorder on the other side of the most cluttered basement?

Freddy Ruppert has hidden his answers within the confines of his new NNA Tapes album, Hangs a Shadow. The entire release is of the original sort, but it plays out as though you’ve heard half of this release before but are unsure from where. It’s like, “Yo, that’s the clicking a crosswalk makes on Hyatt and Broadway in Tipp City, Ohio at the 3:41 mark of track 6, I swear.” And the memories will make you feel all sorts of emotions. It’s very enlightening and refreshing in a creepy, theoretical way, but it works, and words will be beyond the thoughts that’ve been shut off to you since that sound and the other sound and all them sounds.

Freddy Ruppert’s Hangs a Shadow is out tomorrow, April 9, on NNA Tapes.

• Freddy Ruppert:
• NNA Tapes:



The Korg Electribe ESX-1SD Music Production Sampler is a standalone drum machine and sequencer that has nine programmable drum parts, two synth parts, basic filtering and modulation capabilities, and a built-in tube amplification system. The producer/DJ known as Slava — born in Russia, transplanted to Chicago, living in New York — wants us to know that this is the only instrument he uses to make his music. If you’re thinking “I don’t care about how the dude makes it, as long as it sounds good and I can dance to it,” I assure you that Slava makes complex, danceable music — but I don’t share your philosophy. In the context of 2013’s digital omni-accessibility and profuse onstage laptop-ery, I fully dig witnessing Slava handle the Electribe in a live setting — programming loops on the fly, cycling through sequences, turning little gray knobs, and editing waveform parameters in real time. He operates remarkably within his gear’s limitations, cramming his tracks with enough house, footwork, acid techno, and 2-step signifiers to satisfy listeners from all of the cultures he’s dipped into since he set out from his homeland.

Slava’s debut album Raw Solutions drops on April 23 via occasional Electribe user/all-the-time synth sorcerer Dan Lopatin’s own Software label. In the video for first single “Werk,” we get a nice introductory look into Slava’s world: vodka, trippy virtual-reality backdrops, Adidas, silver-haired cyborg dance troupes, and plenty of closeups of both the man and his little red machine.

• Slava:
• Software:

Dirty Beaches

“Landscapes In The Mist”

OK, okay-okay. Yeah, I’ll bet you write something real creative, right? Something dark, maybe? Transporting my face to C Monster’s face to the face of each face in a field of faces. Oh, clever, yeah. Yes. Nahh. Bring about all the change to one face of my face and the movie Face/Off. I’d be Travolta —err, I’d be Cage as Travolta, but really Cage. Or John Woo. No, neither, that’s fucking racist. Let’s get an image in there; “there” being mind to fingers to word. And it’s an unkempt cowboy staring into a mirror, and his hair gives the impression he is frowning. This is fucking sad, because I love cowboys and this one doesn’t know French from English. Just thick-accented lingo only his mirror and the bottle understands. Oh, shit, and he breaks that bottle for an edge. The sharpest edge. He tests each shard on his open palm. Aww, cowboy, no it’s not worth all this nonsense. With the shard, he begins shaving, using the blood as it loosens his facial hair. His hat lies next to his boots by the toilet. His bare feet bathe in the booze smashed out from the bottle. He licks the blood off his lips.

Cowboy, you’re so important to me, yes? I adore your tragedy. Gain sugar that won’t dissolve. A hound that tries, but can’t, speak English. American flags fly with or without the scars on your face that are being torn back open to the world of wounds. Don’t. Hair and blood mixes with brownish water and spirals into the drain. This was so much funnier without you cowboy — not really. “Y’all lookin’ round funny?” he asks me. And I wonder what it could be at this point. He kneels down in the glass and starts scooping up the last of his booze mixing with blood from his knees and fingers and hands. His face drips and is patchy. Tears sting his torn face and taste like licking a rusted GTO. “Not enough,” he shouts and slams his fists into the puddle (mostly blood now) and glass (more blood now-now). But the booze drowns his system, and he sits with a half cut and crooked smile, puts on them boots, and covers his face with his hat. Maybe I’d be Travolta as Cage as Travolta.

Zoo Music releases Drifters/Love is the Devil double LP May 21.

• Dirty Beaches:
• Zoo Music:


CHOCOLATE GRINDER is our audio/visual section, with an emphasis on the lesser heard and lesser known. We aim to dig deep, but we'll post any song or video we find interesting, big or small.