by huge cosmic

supported by
Mike Papaloni
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Mike Papaloni Remarkably tight compositions, powerful words, hometown heroes. Favorite track: czurn/ebb.
Al Quinn Alquinto
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Al Quinn Alquinto A versatile record that just keeps your attention throughout and when it finishes, you just want more! Huge Cosmic shows off their versatility by taking different grooves, instrumentations and feels from other genres and still maintaining a cohesive sound. Not to mention, well crafted lyrics! They really thought outside the box for this one!

Probably one of my favorite releases of the year. Favorite track: uncoola.
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    Packaged in a clear jewel box w/ 4pg booklet & burgundy discface, comes shrinkwrapped. Ft. photography by: Lawrence Nicoll & Alex Lysakowski. Additional design work by: Jacob Hrajnik. Printed by:

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recorded, mixed, mastered by: adam cichocki,
recorded @ timber studios in bayonne, new jersey (september 2015)
assisted by: augusto sanchez

all music & lyrics by: jacob hrajnik & dean snowball
bass performance by: adam cichocki

cover photo by: lawrence nicoll
profile photo by: alex lysakowski

huge cosmic is:

dean snowball - vox, drums
jacob hrajnik - vox, guitars
adrian mysliwiec - bass

this record is dedicated in memory of walter hrajnik


released October 21, 2016

human resources - hr007



all rights reserved


huge cosmic Mississauga, Ontario

post-hardcore band from mississauga, on, ca.

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Track Name: sngl sprks strt spctrl frs
flint hit the ground running,
and friction gave us our greatest worries,
now shadows by dim candlelight.

hey, try to knock it over,
the way that wax gives to wane.
will it stay forever?
would hate to see it go so soon.

there's a fire in this glasshouse I built,
you're the outside looking in again.
and it's spreading up the walls, across the floor,
i'm the inside burning down again,

and all it took was a single spark,

from a tangled mess of electric wire,
that was cut to shreds, and did respire.
such perfect dark on trying nights,
these single sparks start spectral sights.
Track Name: onyrwayout
it began with the death of a day.
my sun, where are you now?
since i went up for sale,
i’ve yet to hear if you did anything at all
to earn and spend a dollar on a lightbulb.

i doubt it’s worth investing in.
i get that you want none of it.
a quarter twist of rusting wrist,
to a dusty place collecting heat.
you maintain that you want none of it.

it began with the death of a day.
my sun, where are you when
all the other ghosts in the building sing ooh?

so please lock the door on your way out.
Track Name: i'm calcifiid
am i turning into bone?
or am i turning into precious stone?
you say that i’m calcified.
i don’t know if i even tried.

if gold worth is worth your struggle,
you may be worth your weight in gold.
but should that weight bring you to buckle,
you can have a career in coal.

so rich in soot and rubble,
panning for the value of soul.
but if you retire that shovel,
coal might still await you at home.

if diamonds leave you restless,
levy that the pressure is held
like gravity against your mattress,
in lieu of the insurance you sell.

gifted in gems and spasms,
deadpan in the deepest of sleep.
but if you climb out of that chasm,
return back to the bank.

we have reached this juncture in our lives
where we ask ourselves the questions that underline
who we are, and where we will be in 5 years time.
will we be calcified?

ill with regret over lack of effort and failed attempts at friendships and family ties that have been severed, through impulsive pursuit of a goal obscured by the pennant glory of an impossible and distant legacy.
Track Name: uncoola
i’m brain dead.
well that’s cool.
the sharks fed
on rivers too.

and brian’s dad,
well he pushed him in.
he couldn’t swim,
couldn’t sink,
couldn’t choose.
now he’s stuck in the sandbox.
in 1966 the piano stopped.
got pet sounds, no more soda pop.
no more shouting coca-cola from the mountaintops.

i think i’ll find the surf rock in the jazz,
‘cause all my friends are getting big in japan.
finna end a comma, then i’ll make some.

i think i’ll find the surf rock in the jazz,
once i’m no longer mad.
finna end a comma, then i’ll break.

uncoola, where is your head?
in a bottle, shipped-wreck again.
je suis désolée, you’ve been misinformed,
francis black was in a different band than thurston moore.

so you paddle out,
soak up the lemon-light.
the tides have turned
and the pavement here is getting dry.
carbon date/lament,
by the bayonne waterslide.
wet in the reverb,
drown in the reverb.

and i want it, and i want it bad, i want it so bad.
Track Name: czurn/ebb
we get buried by airports
when we spend most of our days going nowhere.
oh, the irony is much too great.

i heard a 747 above,
interrupt your eulogy,
your death acceptance speech.

and i’m taking it in, churning over again.

i think i saw you on the eve which they wed,
and i know you wish things were different.


i’ll be boarding a plane tonight,
to see you on the other side.
though i’m always fearing for my life,
i want to see you on the other side.

the earth will chew me up,
and spit me out like tobacco at the bottom of the 5th.
since now that i am vulcanized,
stuck on your sole we know that
pressures did not make a diamond out of me.
i’m thrown in throes through the window.
i fell asleep. i awoke from a coma to a newish kind of beat.

so ebbs and errs the flow of time.