--Steven James Pratt. 4th December, 2011


  • 1. SILHOUETTE 1.55
  • 2. STOP THE CUTS* 2.06
  • 3. LOVEBOX 4.14
  • 6. BLUEZERO* 2.28
  • 7. OCCUPY YOUR MIND 5.29
  • 8. SPIRIT OF COW 4.12
  • 9. LET’S GO GET EM’ * 2.08
  • 10. MONKEY BLOOD 6.57
* = Overdubs


Vicenete Pino: Guitars, Bass, Associate producer

Steven Pratt: Drums, turntables, Associate producer

Rachel Tauwnaar: Vocals

Kasper Frankle: Live Recording mixer and engineer.

Tim Eggmond: Mix down engineer.

Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle coagulated in Amsterdam (2008) when guitarist/composer/chef Vicente Pino and Drummer/writer/DJ--Steve Fly Agaric 23--first played music together and equally dug the improvisational vibe, this musical mind melt has morphed into an album that captures some of our experiments.

The following fresh compositions were distilled from a two day live studio session held in the North of Amsterdam (Ghost Town Studios) engineered and recorded by Kasper Frankly and featuring stunning vocals by Rachel Tauwnaar. These tracks feature a broad array of forces, call it psychedelic blues, breakbeat funk, drum and boost: loud, delicate, furious and saturated at the same time, with improvisations these cuts present different angles to the Marshmallow Cubicle.

Playing over 40 ‘live’ shows in and around Amsterdam over the past four years, the DMC have established a basis for their experiments, recording numerous live audio and video recordings (and swiftly uploading many to Youtube and Soundcloud) plus some studio recordings and other collaborative projects.

‘Let’s Go Get Em’ features American poet provocateur John Sinclair (Vince and Steve are proud to be personnel of ‘John Sinclair’s Amsterdam Blues Scholars) and can be seen and heard with John during the Cannabis Cup in November 2009/10/11 and on John’s album: ‘Let’s Go get Em’

Vicenete played Guitar from an early age and played in numerous bands and at hundreds of jams in Venezuela before relocating to Amsterdam where he studied at the prestigious Music Conservatory (Utrecht), cofounded the band Supercity and teaches guitar throughout the Netherlands. Steve Fly spent five years DJ’ing with Jam band ‘Garaj Mahal’ 00-05, and currently plays weekly ‘Jazz Blues Funk’ DJ sets around Amsterdam. Self-taught on the drums, Fly has collaborated with artists from across the UK in various settings: Hip Hop, Indian Classical music, drum and bass and punk rock.

This album was made with the intention of bringing you the best listening experience Therefore, in return we recommend this album be played upon optimal stereo equipment, allowing freedom for volume and dynamics. We wish you to enjoy and digest the group of songs shared..

Thanks, in no particular order: Rachel Tauwnaar, Yvo Sprey, Jam rehearsal spaces, John Sinclair, Tim @ Ei-Complex studio’s, Chu, Pick Up Club, Café’ Belgique, Pacific Parc West, Café 420, Radiofreeamsterdam, Café’ Zen, Supercity Band, Neiuwe Anita, Diego, Dave and Café’ Batavia, 301 Overtome, Eddie the Eagle Museum, Saskia Smit, William Sutton, Marisolanda Sanchez, Cieto Noordhorn, Leah Blits, Leslie Lopez, Liam and Mateo, Lucy Crystal, Zoe D’Amaro, Larry Hayden



(note: 2,3,4,5,6 Taken from my novel SIXTY, with some modifications)


Hieroglyph depicting the ‘Marshmallow Cubicle’ where a Marshmallow is passed from a cat headed bird figure to a dog headed bird figure. Above them a ‘Marshmallow’ in the triangle motif radiates light beams onto the scene and we see them fly out chambers in the cubicle and map out constellations of stars with their light. We see the Dog star and its Sirius star system, and M87: the Black ‘Cat’ Hole.


A Marshmallow shaped Universe full of galaxies, and gases is expanding from a smaller Marshmallow.


Tiny Marshmallow spores cling to an asteroid hurling past Saturn’s moons.


Asteroid hurtles towards earth past moon.


Asteroid strikes earth and the spores explode into the atmosphere.


Marshmallow spores drifting on the wind, landing on rocks, into lakes, soils and vegetation.


Marshmallow’s sprout up next to trees, on grasslands and river banks.


A chimp with two sticks in hand comes swinging through the canopy and spots the pink Marshmallow below.


The chimp reaches for the Marshmallow, sniffs it and then eats it with one bite.


[CLOSE-UP of Chimps face], Marshmallow shaped pupils are pink and white and spiraling in a raspberry ripple. A huge smile appears on the chimps face, he looks to the sky.


A second chimp eats a Marshmallow, eyes spinning, while the first chimp taps on a tree stump with his two sticks, gesturing communication with the forest.


Both chimps look at each other and then look upwards to the stars [IN THOUGHT CLOUDS WE SEE A PYRAMID STRUCTURE]


Thousands of chimps with big smiles and pink eyes start chipping rocks and rolling them on tree logs to a large clearing in the woods.


A tribe of drumming chimps coordinating the others with beats as they construct the pyramid.


A large Marshmallow shaped cubicle built into the center of the stone pyramid.


The first two chimps enter the cubicle, the first with a wooden log and two sticks. The second with another log that had been hollowed out at one end and strung with various animal ligaments.


A wooden bowl of Marshmallow sits in the center of the room.


Black clouds roll in across mountains and valleys to cover the pyramid.


The two chimps begin playing their instruments with a frenzy of rhythm and strumming.


Lightning strikes the top of the pyramid and shoots down a chamber.


The lightning bursts into the cubicle and strikes the Marshmallows in the bowl. Light beams shoot and bounce around the cubicle.


The wooden guitar catches fire and becomes amplified by the lightning, the pyramid becomes a giant speaker cabinet/cubicle.


The sound waves shoot out from the pyramid and ripple out in a Marshmallow shaped cloud in all directions.


Spores across the planet become illuminated and glow when the sound wave ripples through them. In effect harmonizing and resonating to produce light.


The two chimps are transformed (through Marshmallow RNA/DNA transforms) into bird like figures, one with a cat head and the other a dog head. [They look like the classic Egyptian like gods] passing Marshmallow’s to each other with big smiles and pink and white twirling eyes. The one figure says [IN SPEECH BUBBLE] “Doctor, STOP the cuts!”



Fly and Vince pulled into the parking space at BLUEZERO Labs and entered the laboratory complex while talking about their old 'design' teacher from secondary school: Mr. Sprey.

"Take me to your printer" said Vince, as he walked through the glass doorway leading to Fly's work bench and the 'cubical' object glowing with a rose tint due to the L.E.D lights.

"I call this baby the Marshmallow Cubicle" Fly said with a large smile, "I have been composing music with this thing over the last month, if you would like to hear a piece?" Fly said, flicking the huge ACME styled switch to the 'ON' position.

"Yeah, let’s hear it" Vince said.

In a few short seconds the 'cubicle' innards hissed and rattled, scraped and beeped in a unique chorus, reminiscent of a fax machine played by Sun Ra, or Cecil Taylor. The tiny motors and pulleys spun and pushed the moving parts and amplified them using some carefully positioned internal microphones, and even a tiny camera that gave a fascinating visual signal of the heart of the 'cubicle' orchestra.

The tune was an original composition by Fly and reminded Vince of some early Autechre compositions and in fact, a whole lot of material from the WARP records camp that emerged in the 1990's. But, by way of the added functionality of the 'cubicle' sibling of Flys earlier 3D printer model that he called ‘FUNKUP’, he had created a perfect demonstration of machine music and had even developed his own sense of pattern recognition that enabled him to hear what kind of object was being printed.

"I hope to make these machines voice activated by next month, and include a kind of 'tech-shaman's 'Icaro' that kinda’ sings objects into being, vwallop!" Fly said.

"A language that executes itself?" Vince said, tapping his leather soul on the tiled floor.

The answer to the question of philosophy and A.I, Fly thought to himself as he rolled two twelve sided dice in his hand, recently printed on his machine and made to include twist-off tops to reveal a stash area inside. Wicked.

"A language of music and vibration that can attenuate the construction of 3 dimensional 'objects' is what I wish to create, and Vince, I hope you can still sing the blues like I remember?" Fly said.

"So the objects are kind of communicating through the invisible realm of the imagination and mind, like half-forgotten melodies and songs that are, objects, man…and calling up their source-code from the Marshmallow Cubicle, wow" Vince said, still tapping his foot in wonder.

"Are you O.K Fly" Vince said watching Fly’s expression turn concerned, Vince thought about the psychedelic purple peace bombs sitting under his bedroom floorboards, and achieved a similar concerned look.

"No" Fly said, I think that we are about to encounter some kind of weather storm, my heart is heavy with something. I feel light headed. I need a drink of water. I feel the coming of the COFFEESHOPALYPSE.


Fly adjusted pulley system so that the 'Marshmallow Cubicle' 3D printer was suspended in mid-air inside a perfectly square room constructed with layers of wood, and metal together in step with Wilhelm Reich's specifications for his Orgone accumulator; it seemed to make sense to Fly's point of view: Mind-body-energy charge.

The two engineers put their stereoscopic goggles over their eyes and both entered the cubicle, the printer played 'Straight No Chaser' by Thelonious Monk, that to Vince’s ears resembled several different kinds of industrial sounds, complex hammerings and grinding, scraping and humming but with a strange unity, yet, the lilting rhythm mimicking Monk's masterpiece with tiny wheels and pistons.

"I can't see anything" Vince said, adjusting his Goggles.

"You can't see anything?" Fly said, flicking the tap on.

"Oh, I see now, right there I can see a maelstrom" Vince said, recognizing the sensation of liquid on his feet as his minds-eye sensed an ocean of spiral patterns, slowly finding edges and recognizable shape from the blurred layers upon layers of lights.
The printer was now encased in a waterproof container suspended in a specially made water-tight cube. Vince stood on the cross marked on the floor of the cube, and the crystal box containing the printer was lowered down onto his head.

The water filled the cube and Vince felt himself rise into the crystal box, the dome of his head fitting into the head brace constructed inside the box, just below the plate of the printer, and a mouthpiece provided oxygen to Vince.

Vince's goggles were a two way interface with Fly, who was sitting outside the cube in the control room, watching a series of screens with various camera angles, feedback data: vital signs, temperature readings, and a stereo-audio rendered view taken from small cameras inside Vince’s goggle, inside the printer inside the cube inside the BLUEZERO lab at the center of the cyclone.
"I can see clearly now" Vince said.

"Yeah, I have a good view from in here, now try to relax, let it flow" Fly said into his microphone, as Vince felt his weightless and free body rise and fall a little with each inhalation and exhalation of oxygen.

At once Vince remembered several of his past dreams from many years ago where he was submerged in water yet mentally in other places at the same time, the feeling of weightlessness when under water, inducing the sense of flying, but at a limited speed as if stuck in a viscous medium. The 3D printer, with its lights and mini cogs and moving pieces jogged Vince’s memory back to vision’s and dreams he remembered, imagining a future where anything is possible and imagination hails supreme as unguarded master of the realm of the lovebox.


Vince felt his ears pop and winced a little, feeling his index finger and thumb together making an 'O' sign. At this moment Vince felt a sharp change in direction of his thoughts, a sudden clarity and sense of memory, he owned his own faculties and knew where he was, and where he hoped to be going, in an instant Vince felt complete and at the top of his game, inside the printer, at the cutting edge of the creative industries, his head literally inside and outside the box, and engineering technology in place to make his dreams and visions a reality.

The Marshmallow Cubicle Printer was running properly now, for the first time in weeks, Fly said it might and now Vince could see the dymaxion skeleton emerging and he could see the 'synergetic' grid guiding his line of sight, as he turned himself inside the cube 360 degrees, the belts of imagery began turning and the objects bounced into the foreground. Post augmented reality.
"Show me the 150 Silhouette objects" Vince said, as he remembered something from the letters that the mysterious Dr. Plush had been posting to Vince over the last three weeks, in what he called an Open source experiment in history, and that had been playing on Vince's mind since receiving the first few documents: a mixture of dialogue, bibliographies, timelines, maps, scripts and operating manuals.

"What 150 Silhouette Objects?" Fly said, scratching his chin.

"Go to, and send me the page titled 150 Totems, just do it, LET’S GO GET EM’" Vince said.

Fly found the page and placed it in a window on his desktop that in turn appeared on a small screen inside Vince's goggles.
"What's this all about Vince" Fly said, wondering what the 150 totems were, and who this Dr. Plush character was who Vince had mentioned to Fly a few times, but seemed familiar from some footnotes Fly once read, but not in any great detail. Fly thought that Vince looked like Christopher Walking in the movie brainstorm, with that incredibly strange looking printer placed atop his head like that. Fly turned to his cell phone that was ringing to the tune of "Mirror in the Bathroom' by English Beat.


The tungsten infused hum had been building for eight or nine minutes from Vince's wall of amplifiers, like a tide approaching a whale lying on a beach moaning, the sound now creeping up like a group of Octopi with band saw’s crawling onto a pirate ship. The buzzing of electricity like a power station shorting out in a snow storm, the ambient fuzz and clicking sound of circuits pushing capacitors and valves into overdrive, feedback whirling along the cords, into the chords, along the strings yet to be muted, the slithering sound leaving more than enough room for musical melody to travel in.

Fly made a gesture to the ceiling like a praying mantis and then lent into a fuzzy buzz roll, wrists and elbows counter balancing off the trim of the snare, the ‘buzz’ like another electrical device, like a series of brushings and hushed grooves, like insects rubbing their wings together, increasing in tempo and switching accents to give the illusion of multiple beats running in unison, the left foot starts tapping the hi-hat. Crickets chirp outside in the distance.

Vince shifts the octave down and the speaker doubles its impact, dropping into a metallic tungsten like zone, where the echo sounds metallic and warped, like bending metal, saturation through valves, the liquid blanket of muffled damping, the warmth of the total sound-wave dispersed, the drivers pushing back through the wood into each string.

Suddenly Vince picks up the guitar and mutes all but one string, the top E, and looks across at Fly, still moaning into various rolling accents, building edges and defined shapes upon his circular snare drum.

His foot flips to a toe tapping technique and makes three hits where only one previously sat, and moved the rolling of sticks and press roll to the toms, alternating between the floor tom and back to the snare with incredible speed, twisting his hips like an Olympic discus thrower, still mixing accents and tempo's yet chasing the electric snake laid out in cables leading to Vince's guitar interface to his mind, deep back behind his shades.

Vince taps his foot on the way, turning down the volume and producing blinding saturation, rays of light bouncing off the neck of his guitar, as a break in the wintery weather releases a ray of sunshine, speeding here from millions of miles away, Fly see's it and strikes the crash cymbal and rolls from the floor tom right to left up to the snare-drum, his eyes fixed on Vince's left hand, playing rhythm, feeling his whole body and drum kit united as one whole system, interacting with another just feet away, electrified, spilling out in all directions like a water fountain, electric confetti, electric waves, the sound was of an undefined genre so far, a flurry of beats and ambience steered into a glorious melodic mosaic by Vince, Fly then filling out the landscapes with musical weather patterns.

T.K sat inside the control room watching the 20 tracks running into the desk, touching and feathering the faders, some sweat dripping from his brow, "Vince was right, he really has a hold of this soundscape right here" T.K thought.

Fly whipped his drum sticks under his arm and grabbed a pair of brushes, launching into a frantic polyrhymic workout jumping out side of every strum Vince made, fitting inside the lilted vamping like a delaying echo, each time a different nuance or area of the drum kit under investigation, splinters struck and sent off in multiple directions, caught by Vince and injected into the neck of his guitar, contemplating modes and pathways into and out of the melodic Universe, into and out of Harmolodic worlds, his minds-eye travelling around a giant spiral building, running and jumping along a pathway with a slight increase of incline, jumping spikes and rocks in the roads, grooves and ditches, slowly winding his way up to the pointed crown point.

Fly had a similar vision but in his minds-eye he was descending from a steeple top, inside the same kind of spiral construction, but going down into a darker and wider area, each cycle a larger circumference and distance, his path also obscured by ditches and great cuts in the pathway, as if some kind of blade or cutting implement had sliced out a half-moon shaped piece of the path.

Vince started plucking some handsome chords from the air, staggered and discordant, spraying the delicate soundscape already built up with harmonies and clashing 'bent' notes, as Fly stepped up three gears, pounding the kick drum in spurts of three, against an 8th note ride pattern peppered, as I say, sprayed with snare accents here there and everywhere, the cymbals and drums clanging together, the wood and metal union building on the electric waves of blues grime and saturation oozing from Vince's rig.

Fly smashed the hi-hats and switched to a rapid snare to hi-hat groove with a punk-jazz fury of snares and titters, the hats blazing in the brash spaces temporarily opened between them, like two sides of a Mollusk, laughing, snapping, in time with Vince's foot, snapping and clapping down on various switches, the wah-wah pedal and just tapping in the studio carpet.

T.K’s foot tapped to the rhythm coming from the duo just 12 minutes into the session, both players already showing flashes of e.s.p. like communication and unconscious building, they were making their own page and settling onto it, like peanut butter and jelly smudged onto the corners, the duo mixed their ideas on the spot, feeling the triumph and the loss of real music, in the moment, anything could happen, and anything did. A searing noise came beeping out of nowhere, and from the look of Vince's face it was not a sound he was intending to produce, then seconds later Vince's phone rang, Fly looked up at Vince and dropped a stick, making his rapid hi-hat pattern turn into an 8th note stomp, the bass drum suddenly bare like an M.P caught in Whitehall openly sucking off David Cameron wearing the mask of Wild Bill Clinton.

Vince looked at Fly who gestured Vince to answer the call and moved back to a series of press rolls and slamming crashes and punchy staccato hits on the bass drum, groups of three's four's and seven's, disabling the groove ad turning it around into a limping iron horse, with a thrash-steel overtone, smashing the bell of the cymbal with force, masking the rapid snare shots with a light touch. Vince answers his phone and hears a voice say...

"Vince, we're on our way, better make it inviting, see you in 12 minutes".

Fly started a slick jazz-funk beat and looked at Vince smiling, no way he was going to stop now, the labyrinth was set and the maps painted on their sleeves, only way is to go on from here, no stopping Vince today.

"They're coming, they're coming, motherfucker!" Said Vince, hoping Fly could lip read.


Inside a temporary Laboratory erected in Cairo, Egypt--Vince's eyelashes brushed up and down on the surface of the writing tablet, his saw a mosaic of colours and shapes flash by. Vince’s shin bone’s were pushing on a padded bar that linked to the water pump that was filling up the 3D printer ‘head-chamber’ with special tea, all inside the cube.

Fly smoothly drifts on roller-skates into the laboratory studio like a snake watching Vince conduct his experiment.
“Marshmallows” said Vince, sipping a little tea.

“Marshmallows?” Fly replied, fingering his silver ring and touching it to his breast-plate. Fly thought that Vince’s eyes looked like two large apples as seen through the transparent ‘head chamber’.

“Marshmallows” Vince said, shaking his head a little due to the cold tea now seeping into his ear-holes..
“This is the Doctor Marshmallow Cubicle print chamber dude” Vince went on, still pumping the chamber up with tea. Some seeds fell from the apple T.K was eating in the room next door, and he was prompted to get up from his desk and walk into the laboratory to hand the large half eaten apple to Vince--who’s head had stopped shaking now, and sat inside the cube with his hand neatly folded together patiently.

Fly detected the aroma of Marijuana and could see the pot bag shaped like a long bud in T.K’s trouser pocket. “I’ll be rolling with you in a tick T.K” said Fly. Fly and T.K add the Marshmallows to the waterpump, and the MONKEY BLOOD begins to heat up into a thicker kind of goo, ready for extruding.

Fly could now see the blood working on Vince. “MONKEY BLOOD tea works on the other sides of time, the other side of the wall” said Vince pinching his lips and squinting his eyes. Vince scoops some Marshmallows from the tea with his tongue as Fly watches his hand shake with deep concentration.

Vince then lifts his legs right up and out from under the bar, and brings them near his mouth so that his shin bones are near his tongue that lulls out in a relaxed way; his expression was like that of Popeye after eating raw spinach.

The printer starting to extrude the Marshmallow goo onto a platform beneath where Vince sat inside the cube, the goo quickly formed into the specified ‘150 Silhouette Object’ design that he had just dreamt up and passed onto his team inside the control room. The Monkey Blood tea, it seemed, was working.




Iceman be your hero,
Slide you all the way,
Deep down below Zero
Where the Marshmallows play

I write with my arrow
nil Nadda diddly-squat
I was born, that s all
Bluezero labs is my cot

Down here its freezing thought
Cold like heat setting’s on naught
We can’t play here any longer honey
I’ll be stuck like stone by Monday

Back from the Antarctic
To no food on my shelf
Bankers stole the last fire brick
Keep warm with word of mouth


(Local Exchange Trade System)

Cheques Go get em’
Flex go get Em
Legs go sweat em’
Jets go wet em’

Lets grow album
Lets go bunkum
Lets flow jetsom
lets go fathom

Lets Go debt em’
Debts go jet em’
Pets go fed Em
Sweats brow drippin’

Torretts go get em’
Thoughts go net em’
Lets grow Wisdom
Lets go dodge em’

Frets don’t threaten
Sets go sun em’
Pete’s toe venom
Lets wear denim

Lets sew knit em’
Lets go net em’
Lets go bet em’
Eggs go get ham


Occupy Your Mind, the skies the stars.
Occupy hearts, parks, forests and stores
Occupy The Streets, Tweets, and Occupy toilets
Occupy Beats, sing to highlight deceit to foil it

Occupy War Street, your Walk, Banksterdam,
Occupy the Vatican of worms if you can.
Occupy Loan Don, Switchaland, Franchise,
Occupy Organize Codify Ampliflies .

Occupy Pounds, Occupy Cents
Occupy Bill’s, Occupy Beverly Hills, Occupy Pence
Occupy jails, Occupy rents Girls penned in by pigs
behind a fence, Poisoned like snails

Occupy Bonds, Dollars The Euro,
Occupy The Bureau with Neuro Scholar Judo.
Occupy Occidental Sock your thigh your legs
Occupy your pants my dear
Occupy a wig
All through October we’ll Occupy a jig.

Let’s Occupy November, December through june
Arab Spring and all, then we’ll Occupy the moon
And the Seasons revolve,
Occupy the planet earth Coagulate, Solve


if you want to fight,
You better organize.
The chains of law have been broken guys
Stop the cuts,
bring the loot home.

Stop the cuts x 4

If you use your sight
You learn to realize
The words of love have been spoken wise
Stop the cuts,
Sing the soul home.

Stop the cuts x 8

I went down to the bank yesterday
I said….where’s the doctor, where’s your doctor
The teller said…”let me tell you
I’m a surgeon, a credit surgeon”
I said “your joking, your jiving”
So he cut me with his knife and started carving

Stop the cuts x 4


Where do they go (right now)
Where do they flow (right now)
When you think of them, think of them?

Doctor Doctor where do they go now, where do they go right now?
Doctor Doctor where do they go now, when you think of them?


With the mark and the name and number 666. I see the coming of the coffeeshopalypse.
put down your beer my friend and leave your chips.
Read my lips dear: coffeeshopolypse COFFEESHOPALYPSE.

In Christer's country, learn to anoint lips. Take the scripture on experimental trips.
lead the ritual on summersaults and flips.
with these words my friend, we gotta' get to grips. COFFEESHOPALYPSE.

The fire in the mouth, the tongue and head. The beginning and the end, underneath your bed.
Who remembers what that politician said?
Better speak up yourself or else your dead. COFFEESHOPALYPSE.

The escalation of eschatology. The leak-king oil from bank Theology.
The snoops who take a sample of my pee.
If all the byrds could sing to Beatles Let it Bee. COFFEESHOPALYPSE

Governments and nationalities, Genetic drift and strange identity
All I wants' a Joint and cupa' tea,
Why the mayor try to mess with me? COFFEESHOPALYPSE

Please beware the man of only one book But don’t get me wrong--you better take a look.
Read for gods and men, interpret for the crook
Crows are falling down you better run and duck. COFFEESHOPALYPSE

I hope to Goddess the book is wrong and we're free I pray to Government with Magick Philosophy. How can you demonize the useful THC, poet coffee culture baby don't you see? COFFEESHOPALYPSE