Who are you? Why are you calling yourself the Cosmogram?
When I was a teenager, there was this cartoon called The Fairly OddParents—or something like that. Suddenly, this nickname “Cosmo” came to me. It was very random, so I took it in a funny way.
Back then, around 2004 or 2005, there was a lot of news about how the internet was dangerous. Parents were told to warn their kids: Don’t give your real information online. Don’t use your real name. So we all started creating nicknames. Some of my strongest friendships—15 years old now—are with people whose real names I don’t even know. We know each other only by nicknames.
There’s no need to expose your real name unless you’re in a very private circle. If you’re going to parties and making music, you don’t need to show your documents. This is your persona. I accept you the way you are. In my case, it was “Cosmo.” I wanted all my art to be under the same name, something that represented me. So I made it stronger: I mixed Cosmo with Heartagram, and that’s how Cosmogram was born. Suddenly, I felt connected, because I’ve always loved the universe and everything related to it.
There is no need to expose your real name unless you are a part of a very private circle. If you hang out in parties and do music, there’s no need to show your documentation. This is your persona.
When you were living in Santiago, you tried to get your music heard. How was that experience?
I was showing my physical material—an EP—to record companies. I went to Sony Music, Warner Music, radio, TV, to some important people. They all took my record. We talked a bit. But the reply was always the same: This is not bad material, but it’s not commercial. Good luck.
That went on for a year, always the same answer: It’s not bad, but we can’t sell it. It’s not popular.
One time I was at a music exhibition called Pulsar in Chile. It was full of little stands where musicians and producers showed their work and talked with people. I remember wearing a Heartagram necklace. I was about to tell my story to one guy, but as soon as he saw the necklace, he said: “HIM? No, we don’t have space for that.” Right away. I was so pissed off.
It was right before Christmas. I was with my girlfriend of many years at the time. We looked at each other and said: “Fuck this, let’s go back to the South.”
That whole year we had been pushing with our own resources. She was working and studying while I was making music. But going back was disappointing. I fell into a very deep depression for a year. I disappeared from social media, turned off my phone. I got into a lot of trouble because of that, but I needed the break. I was so disappointed—I didn’t want to do music anymore. I didn’t want to do anything.
Were you producing your own music then? Why not let someone else do it?
I think nobody else had the vision for it. Maybe I was stubborn, but I wanted to learn how to do it myself. I think I reached a certain level. I wrote about 25–27 original songs that were never released. They exist in gothic, acoustic, electronic, and even Spanish versions.
Which project was this?
It’s called Siopela. The band has been silent for many years. It was stuck in what you call “development hell.” My music partner was going through a lot, and so was I. But now feels like the right time. All the pieces are finally on the table.
So when is your next concert?
We need to fix a few things first. Now we’re starting to compose again. We want to form a Lithuanian band. We don’t know yet if it will be post-punk or something else. My voice always sounds very “Depeche Mode”-like—that’s my natural style. I love that. It’s my original thing.
At the same time, I’m working on four projects. The HIM tribute band (Loverinth) is very dear to me, because I grew up listening to HIM. Honestly, I don’t think there’s a HIM song that doesn’t say something true. If someone brought me a song with stupid lyrics I didn’t believe in, I couldn’t perform it. But with HIM, I feel comfortable with everything. I actually believe those lyrics. They reflect the way I see love and life, and they inspire me to write my own.
You’ve even met “HIM” in person, right?
Yes. When the band came to Chile, I wanted to give them my demo, so I waited outside their hotel. Luckily, they were very nice. I told them: “You guys inspired this demo.” They looked at it. Burton asked me why there were so many flags on the cover. I explained that all those people had contributed to the work. Then they started talking with Mige and Gas Lipstick. Linde came along too. I talked with them separately while people tried to take pictures. I felt amazing.
The next year I saw them again and went straight to Burton. I told him I’d met them last year. He said: “Oh yeah, you had the demo. We put it on after a rehearsal and we liked it. Keep it up.” It was like a kid who loved basketball suddenly hearing Michael Jordan say: “Dude, you’re doing great. Keep it up.” It meant the world to me.
I thought maybe Burton was just being nice. But then I saw Mige and said: “Last year…” and he interrupted me: “Oh, the demo!” How the fuck could they remember that? They meet thousands of people. But they actually remembered—and they had listened to it! Funny thing is, that demo was only in Spanish. Pure goth rock. Now we’re going to re-release it in English, in fantastic quality. I love those songs even more now.
Burton and Mige were so kind with their words. That’s why I have the Heartagram tattooed on one hand and my band logo on the other. If I ever lose the horizon again, it’s my mental note to keep going. It may not be perfect, but it’s where I am. That’s the Cosmogram: a mix of Argentinian rock, UK rock, and Finnish guitars. Finland has such great music. Every Eurovision I just say: “Give the award to Finland already.”
When I hear or read “HIM” lyrics, I feel comfortable with everything. I actually believe them. I see love and life this way, and it inspires me to do my own thing.
Some Swedes might disagree with you.
I know people get pissed off—and honestly, I love that. I like provoking reactions. Even in my family. They know I’m vegetarian most of the year, but during Holy Week I’ll eat meat just to annoy my very religious aunt.
South America is super Christian. My first encounter with music was actually through my grandmother. She wrote songs for church. My mom was working all the time to support us, so I didn’t see her much except on weekends.
I spent a lot of time with my grandma in this small town called Lota. She was so Christian that she’d visit sick people who couldn’t make it to church, and pray with them. We walked all over town singing together. At church, she sang and wrote songs about Jesus and faith. I even became an acolyte—one of those kids helping during mass.
I also had a cousin, Mario. Good grades, polite, basically a saint. I was the opposite—sketching in my notebooks, listening to Queen. I was in my own world. I hated being interrupted. My grades were bad, and everyone was upset with me. At one point I promised to be a good kid, so I tried being an acolyte like Mario. But it failed. I didn’t like the fakeness. They put on a show of being pure and kind, but behind the scenes they smoked, drank, got angry. That pissed me off.
I’m curious about your adolescence. Growing up in Chile, how did you discover music? Did you trade bootleg CDs?
My parents lived under a dictatorship for 15 years. I was born when democracy returned. Later we found out that the CIA was behind the coup, putting a military guy in power because the U.S. didn’t like our democratically elected president. I’m not political—it’s just history. But for my parents, it was real. During those years, music against the regime was forbidden. People marched in the streets singing protest songs, and many were killed.
Víctor Jara was one of them. He was kidnapped, taken to the national stadium, tortured, and murdered for singing against the dictatorship. After democracy returned, music became more accessible, though commercialized—imported the American way.
The military broke his hands and made him sing with a gun pointed to his head. They pulled off his nails and they tortured him in many ways.
When I was growing up, we had MTV, radio stations, and even Blockbuster. Music was everywhere. You could buy originals, or cheaper bootlegs if you had no money. We also shared cassettes and CDs. My mom loved music—Duran Duran, Queen, The Police. Argentina was especially advanced musically.
In my city, 90% of people listened to rock and metal, only 10% to electronic music. DJs weren’t considered musicians—you’re just pressing play on a USB stick. Unless you show real skills with the knobs, I can’t respect that.
Here in Lithuania, it feels reversed—90% electronic, 10% rock and metal. But every Lithuanian rock or metal band I’ve heard has amazing quality. I’m still trying to figure out what the “Lithuanian sound” is. British guitars have their sharp Placebo tone. Finnish guitars have that darker depth. Lithuanian rock deserves its own name—maybe “lit-rock,” like lighting a fire.
How did you discover the music then? Did you hear it on MTV?
Yes. I feel very blessed of what we had. We had access, at least I did. That’s why I compare it to my dad, because we have very different experiences with music. For him, music was a rebellious thing to do. For me, it was something very accessible. You could buy everything original, but you also could have everything half of the price bootlegged, which of course is bad. However, when you don’t have much money, you just grab whatever you can. People give you the cassettes or the original CDs. We did have a blockbuster, though. We had MTV, we had all radio stations playing music from around the world. I think the UK was very important in South America. Bands like “Duran Duran”, “Queen” and “Police”. I grew up listening to that because of my mom. You know, my mom was listening to great music. Musically speaking, Argentina in South America is very advanced. It’s like Finland. It surprised me, because I was telling you that in my city, we have, like 90% of rock and metal and 10% of electronic music, because we don’t see DJs as musicians. It might sound rude, but dude, you are playing a pendrive. You just play and play. Unless you’re showing me skills with the knobs, then I can respect that.
Here in Lithuania it’s 90% electronic music and 10% of metal and rock to my eyes. Nonetheless, I’m impressed every time that I hear a metal or a rock band, because the quality is so good. How can it be so good not having much? I can see the passion in here for metal and rock. I have been doing this exercise for a couple of years now, trying to find out what is the Lithuanian rock sound like. When I hear a British guitar, it’s very recognizable to me, like the sharp guitars in “Placebo”. It’s very, very unique, very British. When I hear a guitar from Finland, I can tell right away that’s a different, darker sound. That is from Finland. It’s like a tasting different wines. And here I’m in the search for what is the Lithuanian sound, which should be called “lit-rock”. When you lit a fire.
I have thought about it a lot, because it must be shown to the world. It has to be shown to my musicians in Chile. When they see things that happen here in Vilnius, when I show them, they are very impressed, and I’m pretty sure that they will love to come here to show their art. Also, I would love to send musicians from here to my house in Chile: to spend with my family, see the city , enjoy the music, do something nice. I would love help every young artist. When they talk to me, I say: let me contribute to your thing. Whatever you need: drums, keyboards – whatever. Give me something and I will give it back. The idea is to keep this going. This is art. I don’t care about the credit much. When you are famous, just pat me in the back. That’s it.
Fame is something addictive. People crave for that. They want to be famous. That’s a bit childish. For me, it’s more important to be successful than famous. There are a lot of good artists although nobody knows their faces. They’re very good and famous musicians, and they get money and they live through the music and art, but they are unknown, and they’re happy being unknown.
Yeah, but they still want to be recognized in some kind of way. They want to be appreciated. Otherwise, why would you even do that? If you don’t need to be appreciated, then keep it to yourself. I think that you’re contradicting yourself a little bit here.
For me, it’s more important to be successful than famous. There are a lot of good artists although nobody knows their faces.
It’s a good point. Billy Corgan is fantastic. I didn’t listen to the “Smashing Pumpkins” as a teenager. However, I listen to the “Smashing Pumpkins” now. Especially Billy Corgan and the way that he connects with music and different artists. He’s very certain in what he does. I think he doesn’t care about fame, he just cares about doing something good. This is what I was trying to say right now. I want to do something good, but I don’t need the fame. I find it strange, but I’m not an egocentric person.
What I enjoy the most in music is writing the lyrics. That’s my favorite part. I take two weeks per song. When I’m doing a new song, I actually dedicate a lot of time. I let it rest for some time. I go back to it and I fix a couple of things. I want for people get to connected to every lyric in three different moods. If they feel lost, they can find company through the lyric. Second, if they’re in love or lusty, they can find comfort in the same lyrics. Lastly, if they are wondering about life, if it’s worth it or not. I want those three moods to be represented in every lyrics that I create. So I dedicate time for that. And that brings me joy.
How did how did you discover “HIM”
A very dear fried of mine was very into “The Rasmus”. He was listening to them all the time. And suddenly there was this song. “Bittersweet” with Apocalyptica and Ville Valo. So we were exchanging music with this guy: those good old times when you hang out in the room, talking shit, music is playing in the background, and that’s the way that I discovered “HIM”. And I started going to the rabbit hole and I never got out of there. I loved everything that happened with “Apocalyptica”. In general, there are tons of good Finnish bands. I don’t see why Lithuania cannot do that as well. So let’s do that!
Such kind of music is not that popular in Lithuania, unfortunately.
Yes, but the new generations are bringing new metal and gothic rock in to the mainstream, like “Type O Negative”. With the social media reels, they’re using a lot of songs and they’re bringing it back to life, little by little. I think this is the perfect time for all the pieces go together.
What are your favourite “HIM” songs?
I definitely heard “Bittersweet” first. “Wicked Game” also caught my attention the most. I feel so connected to it. I realized that it was a cover, but that was the first song that I learned, and I started doing different projects with. I remember having one very short project because it didn’t last much. We were at school at the time. I was a cello player and tjere was electroacoustic guitar. I was playing a little bit of violin at the time and also singing.
So how many instruments do you play?
I will say none, including voice. I’m just experimenting.
Can you experiment with a violin? You need to know at least the basics.
I spent 3 or 4 months with a violin teacher. I was going there, because I really wanted to learn to play the instrument fully. After those months, I learned only the basics. I was performing a couple of songs with this band that I was telling you before, and suddenly I stopped. I don’t remember what happened to me, but was I more into singing. I think something happened with the violin and I never fixed it.
There is a band down here called “Keturios stygos“. They have been inspiring me by their own talent to go back to play the violin. Violin would be my hobby. Little by little I’m going back to the basics. What I mean by experimenting is that I like the sound of a heavy guitar, but bass is more comfortable to my fingers. So I grab a bass. I bought like a special kind of preamp. I put full distortion and it sounds like a guitar and for my hands is more comfortable. I don’t think that I play an instrument, but I experiment with instruments. I use them for my own demos. They sound like the real thing, but I’m playing it just for a sketch.
Mental health is still a taboo in Lithuania. People don’t understand that it’s equally important as your physical health. Even more important.
Yes. When my cousins died, I remember being at the funeral. It was a beautiful funeral, actually. And I remember being there thinking: “I’m so fucked up, but I know that I need to be next week on the therapy. I need to talk about this the whole situation. I need to talk with a professional”. My family has good intentions, but they don’t have the tools as a professional does.
I thought that I was doing a good job. My drummer who decided to join the “HIM” tribute project was super young, extremely talented, and I said to him that he had all my support. He sent me a text one day telling me: “I’m really not good. I need to take a week off. I need to clear my mind. My my best friend killed himself and my girlfriend left me”. I don’t know what happened first, but he was facing that, and he was only 17 years old. Beautiful, talented young man. I was very excited to show his talent to the world. Not only with that “HIM” concert, but with everything that we were about to do. So I told him: “Dude, take as much time as you need”. I talked to the organizers to the event. I said: “We are not going to be able to play on that day. We are going to move the date”. Organizers were not understanding why I was prioritizing the health of my bandmate instead of just switching him for someone else. And I said:” “No, we are with him in this situation. He isn’t feeling good right now and we are going to wait for him to recover”. It was a very big argument actually. It took a long time to settle a new date. We finally did that, but he decided to kill himself back in November. I can’t even process that he’s not here anymore. Kazimieras Labutis…
That’s heavy, man. He was obviously very depressed. He needed help. He needed to go to the hospital.
And he was doing all that. One time we spent 2 or 3 hours talking after a rehearsal and I said “I’m here for you. If you want to have a pizza, if you don’t want to talk about it, if you want to play video games, dude, I’m here for you”. I thought I was doing a good job, because he said “yes, I will totally do that in a couple of days”. Four or five days later he went missing. I was out looking for him and I was with my keyboard player communicating about different places in Vilnius. I ended up going to the Bernardinai cemetery. And I remember asking my keyboard player if the cemetery is a good place to hide from family and friends. Maybe he’s inside there.
It was very dark. I asked whether it was dangerous, because sometimes drunk people can be there. They keyboard player recommended me not to go there at night. And I remember taking a picture and sending it to him. “Well, I’m here. I don’t know what to do.”
Next morning they find him in the Neris river. We were in shock seeing the pictures, because that was our little brother, as we spent many months rehearsing. I think that the word “drunk” is used only for alcohol. But you can be drunk on power. You can be drunk on love. You can be drunk on depression. It blinds you. You’re not thinking properly, because it’s a chemical imbalance occurring in your brain. That’s why mental health is so important to me.
Every time that I see a young Lithuanian kid, I get pissed off. I see my friend in the facial expressions of the Lithuanian ethnicity. In a way, he was super Lithuanian looking. So whenever I see a young kid, I think he should have been the one going there on the bike. He should be the one walking with a girlfriend. I’m even planning a private album with people that knew him. We want to do it in his honour, as a gift to his family. He reached us in this level and a lot of musicians liked the idea. So we are little by little adding songs to it. It’s a very private thing without the intention to show it to the world – just to the family.
I wanted to talk to them, but I don’t know what to say. I just want them to know that he actually touched our souls in a very good way. Brilliant little dude.
We were waiting for his parents to pick him up after rehearsal. That was the dynamic that we had. The parents loved him. We rehearse, they pick him up later. And that reminds me as a young musician in Chile. My dad, my mom did the same thing after rehearsals.
Deviant Generation 