Tone Glow 227: OOIOO
An interview with YoshimiO of OOIOO about field recordings, her ventures in tapestry and fashion, and their new split LP with Lightning Bolt, 'THE HORIZON SPIRALS / THE HORIZON VIRAL' (2026)
OOIOO
OOIOO is a Japanese experimental rock band spearheaded by YoshimiO (b. 1968), who had already been in the bands UFO or Die and Boredoms by the time of its creation. While the group’s lineup has changed over the years, OOIOO has largely been the outgrowth of YoshimiO’s own friendships, with each album being a reflection of their own interests. The group has released numerous albums since the late 1990s, including ∞8∞ (1997), Feather Float (1999), Gold & Green (2000), TAIGA (2006), ARMONICO HEWA (2009), and nijimusi (2016). Their newest album is a split LP with Lightning Bolt titled THE HORIZON SPIRALS / THE HORIZON VIRAL (2026) and expands on the gamelan-focused compositions that appeared on Gamel (2013). Joshua Misnoo Kim talked with YoshimiO on February 25th, 2026 via Zoom to discuss field recordings, hardcore punk, and the ideas animating the new OOIOO album. Special thanks to Hashim Bharoocha for interpreting.
Joshua Minsoo Kim: You have this one album, Bor Cozmik (2009), where the whole thing is a 40-minute field recording. I wanted to ask you what your first memories are of listening really intently to the environment around you. This might be nature, this might just be at home or at school. Does anything come to mind?
YoshimiO: I live in Nara Prefecture right now and my house is surrounded by the forest. For the past 10 years, I haven’t actually been listening to that much music and I’ve only been listening to the forest around me, really. Going back to the Bor Cozmik record, that was based on my friend going to Borneo and actually making field recordings. He recorded the sounds of the headhunting tribe there. He also just placed a mic in the forest and used those sounds. Another record I did with field recordings was Flower With No Color (2003), it was on Mike Patton’s Ipecac label and I made it with Yuka Honda. We used a binaural microphone, and we got into a truck and just drove around. It was springtime and we heard a lot of birds chirping. When we arrived at the local temple, there were a bunch of birds chirping there, too, so we recorded that and then just had a bento box lunch at the temple.
Were you listening to nature in this way when you were a young girl? Was that something you did in your free time?
Going back to my childhood, I grew up in Okayama—I was born and raised there. My house was surrounded by fields and the frogs were really loud. They were actually so loud that they were louder than the cars driving by. There were a lot of cicadas in my garden as well, and they were really loud too. I remember just being in awe, listening to those sounds. I never hated those sounds, actually, so it kinda started there.
Were you going on adventures a lot, like going into these fields and playing with cicadas and frogs?
I really didn’t think of it as adventures, as it was just my natural environment. I grew up in a residential area, but it was surrounded by fields, and I just noticed that the range of natural sounds—like the sound of insect wings—was so vast. I did listen to music growing up, but I remember that these nature sounds were more appealing to me; rather than actual, standard songs, I felt like the frequencies of those nature sounds really matched my personality. I obviously didn’t know the word frequency back then, but looking back at those experiences now, that’s probably what it was.
There was a pond nearby where there were a bunch of crayfish—someone probably had them as pets and just let them go in the water. I would catch those. And there was a snack store nearby where they sold insect collection kits. These kits came with a needle, so I remember—and you know, children can be very cruel—I remember using the needle to kill the crayfish I found there. And I would have this badminton racket and put a frog on top of it and jump with the frog. Like, I would jump along with the frog as it was jumping on the racket (laughter). There were also these really pretty Japanese beetles that would hang on the windows—I was in awe of them. I used a paint marker and wrote a number on a beetle because I wanted to see if it was the same one that’d be stopping by later on. But the next day, I noticed the paint marker was really poisonous and killed it.
Oh no (laughter).
So playing with insects and crayfish came very naturally to me as a child.
I know you eventually studied textiles at university. How do we go from you being a child, curious about the world and playing with insects, to eventually weaving tapestries? What sort of things happened as a teenager that helped you recognize that you wanted to study this?
I’m not really conscious of how that happened. But I grew up in Okayama, and I thought that the only way I could leave my hometown was to go to an art school—I was able to go to a town where they had one, maybe I could live by myself. It wasn’t that I hated my parents or anything, but I wanted to experience life in a different place, and that was the best time to do it. So I applied for an art school in Kyoto and got in, but when I got there I discovered that it was even more rural than where I grew up! (laughter).
The reason that I chose textile was because it was easier to get into compared to the other departments. But when I got in, I found that using plant-based dyes and dying fabric and the act of weaving fabric really suited my personality. When you do tapestry, you have to first decide on what the warp is going to be and then you decide on the weft, and then you kind of improvise as you go. I really loved that process; it suited me.
What about it suited your personality? I know that your mother was a piano teacher and you didn’t really enjoy playing the piano, and that you first encountered the drum set in middle school but you were mostly just messing around. What clicked for you here?
I liked the process of creating a blueprint of the ideas I had in my mind. I would write that on paper and then set up the warp thread and the weft thread. When you work on the weft, that’s when you get to improvise with the colors. You have a blueprint in mind, but then you’re also playing off that and improvising at the same time. Looking back on it now, it’s very similar to how I make music—there’s always bit of space for that. And it’s not like you don’t know where you’re going; you have this comfort because there’s a general direction of where you’re going.
When I worked on the tapestry art, my process involved listening to really loud hardcore punk music, drinking sake, and then being totally immersed in the process of making this art. And I really loved doing that. The fun part was being able to materialize the ideas in my head, and I was doing more abstract tapestry art and some of it was very three-dimensional. You know, most people get to see their ideas visually in the form of dreams. I was happy with that too, but I found the process of being able to take those ideas in my mind, creating a blueprint, and actually making it into a material object to be very gratifying. And that’s the part that really fits my personality.
Were there specific artists who worked in textiles that you were inspired by when you were making these works?
The only textile artists I knew back then were my professors. It’s the same with music, too. I don’t really listen to other people or check out other artists that much; I just get totally immersed in the process that’s in front of me. That’s always been my process. I know more tapestry artists now, but back then, I didn’t know any names or anything like that.
You said you were listening to hardcore punk music, was this American hardcore or was it Japanese bands like Gauze, The Comes, The Stalin, and stuff like that?
Gauze!!!! (laughs). I love Gauze, and a lot of the hardcore bands I was into were Japanese. I do remember American bands like Germs, though I guess they’re more punk rock, but I love them. I also love Napalm Death. I’ve always likened the sound of Napalm Death to a vacuum cleaner, so I would have that on full blast and just work on tapestry art. I also loved Japanese punk bands like Lip Cream. There’s a bunch of Mexican hardcore bands I was into as well but I can’t remember their names.
Did you see these Japanese hardcore bands when you were a student at the time? I know they were mostly in Tokyo, but I’m curious if you ever saw them live.
There was a club in Okayama called Pepperland, it’s been around for like 50 years. It’s probably the first rock club that was built in Japan by a guy named Iseo Nose. He was also a music writer and he wrote for Rock Magazine and stuff like that. So I went to his club and bands like Lip Cream would play there. The club is still around, and OOIOO has actually performed there. He still runs it with his wife, and his sons are like the PA sound engineers—it’s a family business.
Do you remember the first really important or influential show that you saw there?
Probably Lip Cream! (laughs). I saw them twice. I also did a live show there in high school. I can’t really remember the details, but that’s where I met the early member of OOIOO, Kyoko. I remember it vividly because she was like 6 feet tall and had a band called Kokushoku Elegy. Kyoko was a little bit older than me, and I was still a teenager back then. After I went to Kyoto, we became really good friends. We talked about starting a new band, which became OOIOO, and she was the band’s first guitarist.
Was Kyoko the first woman you met that you felt a kinship with in terms of artistic and musical interests?
Kyoko was a really good friend but it wasn’t really about music—it was more that we got along as people. And the band that Kyoko had, Kokushoku Elegy, was a really old band in Okayama. I didn’t really know much about them, but I remember always having a good time being with her. And to this day, it’s still really important to work with people I can get along with outside of music. Kyoko was a little bit older than me, but we would talk about all types of things. Obviously we were both into music, so that was one thing we had in common, but we also just hung out a lot and went on vacation to Okinawa.
When I formed OOIOO, most of the members weren’t real musicians. Kyoko was a vocalist, and she wanted to try playing the guitar, so she joined as a guitarist. And myself, I was already a drummer in UFO or Die and the Boredoms, but I wanted to try playing guitar and singing, so that’s what I ended up doing in this band. The bassist back then was a friend from my high school. I asked her, “If you had a transparent bass, would you play it?” My friend took that seriously and actually bought a transparent bass, and she became the bassist of the band even though she had no experience. So it’s not just about the music, it’s about whether I can get along with my bandmates and if we can be good friends.
Yeah, and it seems like this camaraderie is about a willingness to try new things, right? Like, you want to be around people who are willing to take risks and will encourage each other to do that? That’s what it sounds like.
I wasn’t really conscious about the people I was hanging around with being risk-takers or stuff like that. I just found them interesting as people. Like, my bassist friend who joined the band back then, one day she was like, “I’m going to graduate from OOIOO and do something else.” She was always an interesting person—she was a really good dancer, and she was good at all types of things. And now she’s going to a pâtisserie school to become a pastry chef.
Is this Maki?
Yes, Maki. And Kyoko eventually left the band—she unfortunately passed away [in 2015]. The guitarist that joined the band after her, Kayano, was also just a friend who I hung out with. And if you think about it, she’s not like a real guitar player even today, and I find that interesting. So maybe we encourage each other in terms of like, we’re not that good at playing but we’re still in this band together. If the person I’m playing with has a really good idea, I might interpret that and use that in the music. And it’s not like we’re always trying to do new things in OOIOO. If you think too much about that, the sound becomes too intentional and forced. I always think that I can only be me, and the person I’m playing with can only be them. OOIOO is more about the friendship between the band members than trying new things.
You’re an interesting person as well. Do you feel like these other interests you have are important to your music? Like, do you feel that running your fashion brand, emeraldthirteen, shapes the way you approach making music at all?
emeraldthirteen really only started after meeting certain people, but I’ve always loved clothing. I have my other band SAICOBAB and we had a live show in the mountains. I was on a bus traveling up there to perform and I met a girl on the bus. She suddenly starts talking to me and says, “My name is Tamago [“egg”], would you be interested in making some clothes with me?” I was really surprised by this person coming up to me and saying that, and it was especially surprising because our family dog who had the same name, Tamago, had just died that day. So I had no interest in making clothes, but I was like, If a person named Tamago, the same name as my dog, was saying they want to make clothes with me, it has to be destiny. I decided then and there to make clothing with Tamago.
I love it (laughter).
I found out later that Tamago was a student at a fashion school, and she didn’t actually have the skills necessary for making clothes yet. She had a friend named Yurie, though, who had more experience. She was actually doing all of Tamago’s homework at this fashion school (laughter). So Tamago dropped out after she got sick, and then Yurie came in. I’m working with Yurie to this day on emeraldthirteen clothing. She actually does all the sewing and pattern making and I do the actual designs—we complement each other because we’re doing things that the other person can’t do. My concept has always been to take one piece of fabric and to think about how it can be made into clothing. We used to use a factory and make clothing there, but now it’s all hand-sewn by Yurie. It’s just the two of us—we make limited quantities.
In terms of how that influences my music, the only connection is that I try to make clothing that would be easy to play drums in. It has to be clothing you can really move in, and a lot of my musician friends have been buying the clothes because they want to wear it on stage, though regular people buy it too. It’s a lot more comfortable than it looks.
You mentioned earlier how you don’t want to think too hard about what your music sounds like, that it should be an overflow of who you and your bandmates are. I know that when you first started playing drums, you would just naturally start screaming and that this has been your inclination ever since. What’s your relationship with your voice like? Were you frequently singing as a child, and do you scream in general outside of musical contexts?
With my voice, it’s not like I was screaming or singing a lot as a child. It’s just that the voice is something immediate. With the guitar, I still don’t know how to change the strings and I don’t know what sound will come out if I press a certain fret. I’m kinda guessing as I go. But with my voice, I’m using my body, I’m making my body vibrate to create these sounds—it’s a more immediate way to create the sounds that are in my head. And with the screaming, it really started because in the Boredoms, Eye would say, “You should scream in this part of the song.” And then when I did, he was really happy and kept asking me to do that. So the screaming came because people were asking me to do it, and that’s been a recurring theme in my life. When I record with other bands, they’ll ask if I can scream. Or when I get a photo taken for a magazine, the photographer will say, “Can I take a picture of you screaming?” Though, I will say that it is partially natural—playing instruments, like the drums, does give me the impulse to want to scream.
In my day to day, I’m not thinking about the guitar or what I want to do with it. But it’s different with my voice or playing the flute, which I’ve been really into lately, or playing the trumpet. I feel like these are much more immediate for me. At my age, I’m always interested in what my voice will be doing on a particular day, or in this moment, or when I improvise—what sounds are going to come out? And going back to childhood, I didn’t really scream a lot. I was actually a pretty quiet child. I was introverted, and I had a lot going on in my mind. I would think about all the ideas I had in my head and smile, but I didn’t really share them with people.
Now that I’m talking about this, I remember an incident when I was in second grade. I was sitting on a flat flower bed and there was a wall. I tilted my head back and hit my head on a rock. I remember wearing a red turtleneck sweater, and even though I was all bloody, it was hard to see the blood because of my turtleneck. Before that, I was the sort of kid who couldn’t eat that much, I wasn’t very active, I was quiet. But after hitting my head, I would eat a lot, I became super active, and I ran for [student body president]. I wasn’t interested in swimming before, but I suddenly started swimming. I suddenly became this really active kid. Like, before all that, I couldn’t finish my lunch—I would just chew some food and bring it to the rabbits that were in the school, spitting it in front of them so they could eat it. So the rock probably hit me in a good place (laughter). The moral of the story is that the brain is a very interesting thing.
How old were you when you hit your head?
Probably 6 or 7—it was the second grade.
You talked about playing the trumpet, and I know you played it on Jim O’Rourke’s Bacharach album. You also play it in this earlier Canadian and Japanese band, Nimrod. I’m wondering what your relationship with the trumpet is because it’s not an instrument that you’re necessarily known for.
After hitting my head and becoming active, I joined a brass band at my school, like a marching band. The music teacher said, “We have a trumpet and can lend you it. Why don’t you try it out?” While the other kids were having a hard time making sounds with the mouthpiece, I was able to do it pretty naturally. And I liked using the mouthpiece just for fun, making frog-like sounds with it. It really helped me to build up this skill. This was a small town, so people had already heard about me playing the trumpet by the time I tried to join the brass band in middle school. The music teacher said, “I heard that you’re pretty good at the trumpet, why don’t you join the brass band? However, we only have a trombone that we can lend you.” So I decided to play the trombone and did that for three years.
I just remembered this—when I was in the seventh grade, there was someone older than me in the ninth grade who also played the trombone, but he was really good at playing guitar, too. His name is Norio Yamakawa—he’s actually a professional guitarist and pretty well known right now. He was really into Deep Purple and he let me listen to that music, and I remember playing the keyboard solos in those Deep Purple songs on the trombone. I was really into doing that. That’s what got me interested in rock music, like, this is what rock music is about. After middle school, I didn’t really play the trumpet or the trombone for many years.
After I joined the Boredoms, we were playing in this hall in Kyoto Univesity called the Seibu Kōdō [Editor’s Note: 西部講堂, lit. western hall, one of the few fully videotaped Les Rallizes Dénudés shows was there]. So I would walk in there all the time and they had a jazz club there. At the entrance of this hall, there was a trumpet in this case. I’d walk by it so many times and it was always there. I was like, maybe this person just forgot about the trumpet? So I “borrowed” it, and I’ve kept it for 30 years. That’s the one I’ve been using in all of these recordings, with Free Kitten and OOIOO and Boredoms.
Is there something you specifically like about playing the trumpet? What makes it unique to you?
Whether it’s the trumpet or using my voice, the act of using my vocal cords and using my breath opens up something inside me. In my music I also do things like chant mantras, and when I do that, I feel like my voice is coming out of the top of my head. I really like that sensation. Instead of crouching down and looking at an instrument and playing it, I like the act of using my breath. It’s like this with the drums, too. When I have a cold and play the drums really hard, I feel a lot better. It might have to do with the act of sweating a lot? But the physicality of it feels really good to me and opens up things inside of me. And it’s something you can do really impulsively. There’s also the route of becoming really good at your instrument and having these superhuman techniques when playing. But when I’m in the act of playing the trumpet or using my voice, I’m really immersed in that process and not really thinking about any of this. But yeah, I just like the act of using my vocal cords or my breath, and with the trumpet you have to use diaphragm breathing. If you do it a lot, it really hurts your stomach, but after you play it for a while, you feel a lot better. It’s also the same for me when playing the flute.
Is playing these instruments ever a challenge for you then? Like, do you enjoy it being a strenuous process at all, or is it generally just about pleasure?
In the end, it ultimately has to feel good for me to continue doing this, and to do anything, really. But there is an aspect of it being a challenge. For example, in the Boredoms, there would be ideas that other people have and they’ll ask me to do them. I’d have to look into the ideas that are in that person’s brain, interpret that, and then express it as sound. It’s like a director that’s giving you directions, and it feels good when you’re able to perform those sounds.
When I play my own music, when I’m improvising with other people, there’s maybe an unconscious element of challenge. But ultimately, it has to feel good. Otherwise, I don’t really see the point in doing it. In order to create music, it all has to come from everyday life. It starts with your relationships, it starts with what’s important for you, and that ends up being reflected in how I use my voice. And the vibrations you have in your voice, when you put them out into the world, you have to be conscious of how you’re using it. There are other people who are going to listen to it, and maybe they’re coming to a show to listen to me and feel refreshed. I don’t know what motive they might have in listening to this music, but if I’m going to use my voice to express myself, I want it to be in the best shape possible. Again, this is all really subconscious. I’m not thinking, “I want to make the world a better place” or something like that when I’m using my voice.
You talked about the way you draw from everyday life. I’m curious if you could talk about what that looked like with these new tracks on THE HORIZON SPIRALS / THE HORIZON VIRAL (2026). Who are you today, and how is that coming out in the music on these two tracks? And how does this compare with who you were as a teenager or in your early 20s in bands like UFO or Die and Boredoms?
In living very close to a forest, everyday life is just business as usual, you know? It just does what it does, every day. And that process is ongoing. For example, according to the lunar calendar, spring arrived on February 17th, and that’s also when the new moon arrived. When that day hit, I noticed that the warblers started chirping again. Nature follows this process all the time whether you notice it or not. The insects in the dirt just keep doing what they do, and then they decompose. When I go on walks, I see things like the dung beetles walking around and breaking down the soil, and I also see wild boars.
You know, people will hunt these boars and say, “They’re a menace, they’re destroying things around them.” But actually, humans create roads and cover up dirt so that it can’t breathe anymore. But these animals, these boars, they’ll dig up the dirt and try to create more soil that’s breathable. They’re helping nature. And also, in the forest around me, there’s a lot of stones. I see them as things that are cleansing the air. I see stones and the dirt as senpai, you know, elders. And they’re always doing what they do, every day. I see myself as part of that natural process. I feel that THE HORIZON SPIRALS record came out of that, of feeling like a part of nature. I feel a lot of gratitude to be able to create a record in that environment.
With this record, I feel like I’m not really doing anything new. But one new thing I did was have the sound of metal or steel—I had the players use steel gamelans. On a previous OOIOO record, Gamel (2013), they were using bronze gamelans. But these players had gotten hold of these steel gamelans, which a lot of younger gamelan players are currently using these days. Obviously, gamelan started out as music that was dedicated to the gods, and with the bronze gamelans, the frequencies were very hard to master in the mastering process. I feel like the steel gamelans have a very “new wave” sound to them. And going back to my days in the Boredoms, we would use all kinds of unique instruments. There was always this intent to surprise listeners. Obviously, the Boredoms changed a lot from the ’90s to the 2000s and I’m not part of the band anymore, but I feel like with this new record, a lot of these elements came together very naturally. The SAICOBAB record, NRTYA (2024), was based on ragas, but this record felt new to me in that it came out of a natural process.
When you said these gamelans sound like “new wave,” what do you mean by that?
I meant new wave just literally, like a “new wave of sound,” not “new wave” the genre. I feel like this record is a step up, or like it’s on a new dimension, from Gamel. It’s more of a sound that I can share with other people. With the older gamelans, it’s not just the sound that you hear coming from the instrument—there’s an ancestral aspect to it, an energy. And that can also be a sort of baggage that comes with the instrument. With this new record, it doesn’t have that, there’s more lightheartedness, and it was easier to create melodies with them. We didn’t have to tune all of these instruments to the gamelans because they just naturally matched. By using steel gamelans, even though the sounds of the instruments and the gamelans might not be a perfect fit, there’s still a lightness to the sound. And that was kind of like a “new wave” to me.
You mentioned that you’re able to share this music with more people. Is that an important thing for you? Do you want as many people as possible to hear your music?
The music I’m making isn’t standard pop music where you have hooks and people can understand what I’m singing. Obviously if it’s shared with many people that’s a good thing, but I don’t really think of sharing in that sense. A lot of people who come to my shows, whether it was for the Boredoms or OOIOO, say things like, “I want you to change me” or “I want you to show me something new.” I want to share my music, obviously, but I can only do what I can do. I find it very difficult to have lyrics and put meaning to them. My process has always been to create sounds that come from my body, and it should feel good to me. On this new record, I’m singing lyrics that are not part of any kind of language. I don’t know what listeners will get out of that, but I want them to feel a sensation from it and interpret those sounds in whatever way they want. I’ve come to a point in my life where I don’t really understand why I get in front of people to perform music anymore, it just kinda comes out naturally.
So the things you’re singing have no meaning at all?
With the words I use on this record, some of it is English but pronounced very badly, so I’m not sure if people in the English-speaking world would even understand those words. And there’s a lot of words that are just made-up, from my own language. On this new record, there’s this song “Gamel BE SURE TO SPIRAL,” which is based on a song on the Feather Float (1999) album called “Be Sure to Loop.” The idea for it came from how when you see the horizon, there’s the sky, and then the ocean under it is a straight line. But I imagined the horizon becoming spiral-shaped, and if the horizon became spiral-shaped, maybe all the separation and the division we see in the world would go away. This is also based on the human DNA being a spiral. And you know, the horizon is a phenomenon people see, and it looks straight, and maybe it makes people feel good that it’s straight, but I want it to become a spiral. It’s also based on some dreams I’ve had where the horizon becomes spiral-shaped, and there’s also the sun above and below it.
The meaning I got out of those dreams is that the reality you see with your own eyes isn’t the only reality that exists. And there’s a famous monk from hundreds of years ago, Kūkai [founder of the Shingon school of Buddhism], and his theory was that the ocean is the collective consciousness and the sky is the source of all creation, and that’s why his name is Kūkai, kū (空) means sky and kai (海) means ocean. So, that’s also part of it. Also, another concept behind the song is that what we think of as common sense, or what we think of the world as being, may not be the actual truth.
Those are the kind of ideas that are in “Gamel BE SURE TO SPIRAL”’s lyrics, and it was also created using the gamelan. We had the past record, Gamel, and the word gamel by itself means to hit. And on this album, the hitting aspect comes into play because in hitting these sounds, I’m hoping the horizon will turn into these spiral-shapes. The record is actually just one song, but due to the label wanting to release it digitally and on CD, it was divided into two. But on the vinyl, you’re able to hear it in its full form. And when OOIOO performs, we usually don’t even have any spaces between songs—it’s like a long DJ mix where all the songs are strung together.
Is there anything that we didn’t talk about today that you think is important to mention?
I also want to mention that the song “THE HORIZON” was inspired by a record from the ’70s by the Sun Ra Arkestra. The bassline is actually inspired from the Arkestra, and the melodies that we were playing and I’m singing are also based on them too. I’ve always had an interest in the Arkestra because they’re supposed to be from Jupiter. I was always really interested in how aliens from Jupiter might create their music. The album is also inspired by recent astronomical events. There’s a comet called the 3I/ATLAS. Ironically, NASA didn’t really put out information about it, but I heard of it from this amateur astronomer and photographer—this person has been posting a lot of information about it. It’s supposed to be like a comet, but it was also like a sun from a different galaxy. The sun that we know has nickel inside it which creates magma, but this comet is different and is spiraling into these different shapes. It apparently came really close, and with something that size, it must have affected the Earth somehow.
I end all my interviews with the same question and I wanted to ask it to you. Do you mind sharing one thing you love about yourself?
(laughs). My smile. (pauses). I’m having a hard time thinking about this, but it’s not because I hate or like myself—I’m just living with myself. So maybe it can be that I love to eat food, that might be it (laughter).
Do you have a favorite food you like to eat or cook?
I do love to cook, and I actually have a food business too, which is called O0 [the letter O and the number 0]. I have a friend that makes cold-pressed juice, and I thought that you could make something really good out of the pulp that comes out of it since my friend uses really good ingredients. I started using the pulp to make seafood curry, and also okonomiyaki [Japanese cabbage pancakes]. I’m also into making South Indian food—I make food for my friends.
OOIOO’s new album with Lightning Bolt, THE HORIZON SPIRALS / THE HORIZON VIRAL, is out now on the Thrill Jockey website and at Bandcamp.
Thank you for reading the 227th issue of Tone Glow. O_0
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