Pulp Culture

Pulp Culture

 Detroit, Michigan, USA

Pulp Culture is a four-piece, progressive rock band from southeast Michigan, devoted to DIY ethics and sharing music with the community.
The band hosts reputably charitable energetic live events and incorporates a wide array of influences into performances and art, transcending the creative process and connecting people through music and awareness.


Pulp Culture is a dominant progressive rock band from Detroit with serious convictions to the advancement of Michigan's DIY movement. The band has shared the stage with groups among the likes of TesseracT, the Misfits, Intronaut, Indian Handcrafts, and Cult of Luna. Pulp Culture is known for its charitable contributions to The Greening of Detroit,Help for Our Disabled Troops, American Foundation for Suicide Prevention, and Pesticide Action Network.  Their first, full-length release, "What Do You Want?"  was published on January 30th, 2014, and has been called "awesome eclectic stuff; it's a fantastic mix of 70s prog in the vein of King Crimson, modern psychedelic rock, math rock and jazz-funk [...] (a) crystal-line masterpiece" (http://bit.ly/RTAQmz) The album, recorded at Metro 37 Studios in the Fall of 2013, is a science fiction rock opera with personal depth and a transcendental message.
Songs exude a close balance of raw energy and un-repressed passion to enhance the band’s ambiance, presenting complex emotions within esoteric sci-fi lyrics and moving melodies. The band engages audiences with multi-instrumentalism (including saxophones and cello), live improvisations, performance art like featured poets and demonic severed pig heads, and a 4-tier, stainless steel light tower that spits bubbles, fog, and lasers out of facets that the band created entirely from scratch.

"We make music like we do to completely transport people," elaborates frontman, Alex, "I love when a stage performance becomes a dramatic, gripping, psychedelic phenomena. I think we really want to impart that sort of inspiration to anyone willing to listen."


Black Hole Information Paradox

Written By: Alex Brown

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

[VS 1:]
Blow out the burning stars that light the sky
To shadow these holograms of space and time.
I know illusions run deeper than the mind can see.
You are the only one who can teach you how to breath

Main sequence can’t last, collapsing afterlives,
Burning out,
Gasping for light.
Dragging mass,
Framing it past elapsed gravities’ time delay.

[VS 2:]
Staring through a mirror in the back of my head,
Repeating all the things that you thought I would have said.
Quantum diffusion can’t take this urge away from me;
All things I’d ever feel in one singularity.


Fast falling through this event horizon,
Echoes of time and space are creasing,
Oh, heartless sun,
Please tell them why
There’s no light that’s left to shine.
Dark falls…

Useless info, parallels of past rotations
Growing pinholes.
Endless chasms, voiding all of life’s creation,
Why must I do this?
All I thought was sacred told me
That I’ll be made to collide with my summation,
Take on new shades.
Limitations of dimensional causation
Keep us all bound
To our own hunger that consumes us.
Swallowing fractured light,
Don’t have the end in sight.
It can’t become a fixed position.

[VS 3:]
Keep all the ashes and smoke inside this aperture,
Detaching meaning, so it can only seem obscured.
Pierce through the constructs that strip form from reality.
Slow down and dissipate, red-shifting cosmic debris.



Play, Pretend, Rewind

Written By: Alex Brown

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

Broken pieces of my memories turn
All of the past in parodies,

[VS 1:]
Burning out.
Ageless culminations, useless now.
Goodbye, little boy;
That’s the way it should be,
With your selfdom smothered and numb

And though you claim an innocence,
It’s not present tense.
All those incidental breaths
You’ll dream in afterdeath.
Not sure how to spell my name.
Am I still called the same?
Dreams of planes that name me Xane
Are shifting frames that move me through
Fourths that fall are moving me forth.

[VS 2:]
Of my youth
Hold love in my fingers,
Slipping through.
Unwind all that’s true.
Leave me nothing but fate
So that I can laugh in her face


Turning the hands of this cage,
Rewinding seconds of life,
Bodies and mem’ries decay,
Waiting for them to repeat again…


[BRIDGE into VS. 3:]
Words in the journals that will get disposed of as evidence are
Telling the stories that mold me to be the judge penitent of
Where doth I lie;
How did I fall?

[VS. 3:]
Lucid now…
Faith in every moment,
Wearing down.
Before this I’ve found
Piles of books you won’t read,
Art he made you can’t even see.


Broken pieces of my memories turn
All of the past in parodies

Of This.

Through the Vortex

Written By: Alex Brown

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

[VS 1:]
Calling forth
Strings between
Light unseen
To form in
Endless being.
Tear this shape,
Let it ride
Eyes shut wide.
Spirals cast
Concentric portals,
Piercing the heart
Of the blackest hole.

All you desecrate is sacred to something.
Day breaking night is sacred or something.
Are we all doomed just to repeat ourselves?
Shift parallels?
Further we fell.
In the belly of this hell you’re still twisting
Death starts persisting,
Life keeps resisting.
Why can’t you ever just accept yourself?
Hatred you felt?
I couldn’t tell;
I’ll never tell.
O h w e ll w a s h i t al l away..

[VS 2:]
Broken mirror
Form sections,
Signet ring
Time cycles
On their hands,
Shifting sands,
Thought command.

Death to get down cold
All of the pain
That’s within my soul.


Burn it clean!
And with all choice
The world rejoice.
They ever try
To find out why,
Unraveling this string again.

Embers of Remembered Dismemberment

Written By: Alex Brown,Jake Van Loon

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

[VS 1:]
1985, shift to drive.
Suicidal business man intakes
15 Vicodin, dope sets in.
Crashing flames surround my skin.

Hold the line please;
Disconnect me.
Straying from dreamed
Blame it on you,
But tell you the truth.
All life’s misconstrued
By the space we conceive,
Holding onto these trite memories
Incites paramnesia.
Behind the lines of spectral divides
Are folded, divergent
You’ve seen it too…

[VS 2:]
I’m made not to keep track of sleep
In between the hours that hold my pain.
In this prison camp we’re enslaved.
‘Turning soil to dig my grave.

All the children sing, “Show us love.”
Still grows older and fades away
Echoes ringing in worlds above;
Harsh reactions, deeper graves.
Sounds all change in different spots.
Makes cold bullets and turns ‘em hot.
Skulls of presidents that I shot.
Think it’s about time I stopped.

Hyperbolic Timelines

Written By: Alex Brown,Jake Van Loon

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

[VS. 1]
Tiptoe through a pearly gate,
Feeling numb; I’m feeling fine.
Nothing hurts, and I could stay
Just to pass the time
Build regrets into statues,
Hollow on the inside.
All my life I’ve tried to see through
This emptiness.

Oooh, Ah,
This is not what I’ve become:
Holographic simulacrum.
As above in heaven is hell below.

Consumed by the flames
That scorch all planes and spectral contortions.
Every name is
Stuck to the pain of ritual suff’ring.
Nirvana a dream
Of all Samsara’s tangent distortions.
‘Way it seems to
Fracture us into infinite pieces of a whole.

Oooh, Ah,
Without this, what do you want?
(Feeding) Eating all those feelings you haunt,
Make you as a martyr, so you might know


Consumed by the flames
That scorch all planes and spectral contortions.
Every name is
Stuck to the pain of ritual suff’ring.
Nirvana a dream
Of all Samsara’s tangent distortions.
‘Way it seems to
Keep us transfixed with lives the world leases,
Ever it goes, and always it ceases,
Fractures us into infinite pieces of a whole.

Cognitive Dissonance

Written By: Alex Brown

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

[VS. 1]
The weight of volition, surmounting,
Hangs in balance with perfect contrition,
Recompensing tare,
All systems left impaired.
In between these worlds of lies
Is the crown of thoughts comprised.

Proselytes, being played.
Oh, my gods, which ones to blame?
Faulty, or fitting, dereliction pervades.
The truth will reveal itself just the same
Resolve to ruling fiction
Though it won't call you by name,
So they keep sending us in circles.

[VS. 2]
All basic reductive emotions
Retract into inductions they motion.
Never is a drill,
So hold your pieces still.
Fox, his own claimed thirst, refutes
Reaching for that futile fruit


The Wait

Written By: Alex Brown

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

Instant regret, what name to use?
‘Reasons enough to live in the shadows that creep across the room.

Empty desire only lingers
In visceral pleasures
Hide the parallels of art and life.
Moving pictures after nightfall
Are past incarnations,
Vivid stories of my deaths.
Memories matter less,
This weariness is happiness.
I can feel that time moves without me
Just enough to see through reality.
I’m a great deal less complex
Than distant days, which I possessed.
My enemy, he knows I’m here;
If he’s alive remains unclear.
Condemned to the farthest circle,
Repeating the chapters you know.
Then I’ll leave me,
Waiting at the moment of truth.
I wake up without exception,
Hearing shots in endless nightmares,
Rubbed out by fire in endless false awakenings,
Casting the spell that keeps us waiting.
In the same place he comes for me
My life is dreams negating,
Casting the spell that keeps us waiting…

In the Shape of a Painting

Written By: Alex Brown

Pulp Culture, Alex Brown

Color, bright’ning.
Forms, contrast to the shadows,
Tear through my canvas heart.
Oh, ev’ry stroke is hallowed;
Bleeding lines between
Moving lights,
I keep drawing out evocatively.
Senses keep me still
Drawn to the most graceful fading.
Take all of these needles;
Show me where the argument started.
It’s insipid, this
Protean infinite decline.
I create nothing
I can touch even though I am
I write
I’m right.
[SOLO 1]
[SOLO 2]


Coextending mirror symmetry,
Dual worlds,

Past recollects the present
Earth, may she come to falter.
There is no thought left to sacrifice;
Here your art shall be the altar.
In losing sight, I know.
In wanting what’s wasted,
We ever grow.
Doomed to forget, we’ll see.
If we ever meet again
You will agree.

Pyres of continual being have
Moved through the axis of this
That death is spectrums of life,
Visions of light,
Verses of songs plucked On strings with hyperverse plectrums.
In this space, reflected,
I face this manifold,
Bringing me back to
Displaced, Akashic inceptions
Compelled by nature to see
Aesthetic lies,
Beauty behind transient time,
I am just sculptures, decaying.

Make me a mayfly
To find why I paint
Eternal return.


March 10, 2013- Self-titled (Demo)
April 6, 2013- Low Fidelity Comprovisations (lo-fi)
June 13, 2013- Porp 2 (Demo)
January 15, 2014- Wildlife Toy (lo-fi)
January 30, 2014- What Do You Want?