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Cinematica | Small Town Artist Highlight


Hello, my cheeky little music lovers! Mooney here.

Welcome to another article with the very best, Rock Oracle. Whether you’re here to discover new music, revisit old favourites, or simply share in the magic that only music can bring, you’ve come to the right place.

So grab a pint, turn the volume up a notch, and let’s dive into today’s topic.

I’m back, but this time Rock Oracle is going somewhere a little closer to home.

For my first Small Town Artist Highlight, we’re trading big cities and packed venues for desert roads, endless skies, and the place where my own story started: San Juan County, New Mexico.

It’s a place where the desert seems to stretch forever, sandstone mesas cut across the horizon, and even the ugliest patch of dirt somehow looks pretty damn good beneath a New Mexico sunset. It made me, so it only feels right that this series starts here.

And tucked into that little corner of the desert is Cinematica, a four-piece instrumental band creating music that feels every bit as expansive and strange as the landscape surrounding them.

No vocalist. No lyrics telling you what you’re supposed to feel. Just four musicians letting their instruments do all the talking, which, as someone who spends an unreasonable amount of time dissecting lyrics, is slightly inconvenient for me.

But maybe that’s the point.


Cinematica creates stories without ever giving you the words. Their music can feel cinematic one moment and hypnotic the next, leaving you to decide what the hell it all means for yourself. And that is exactly why I wanted to start these highlights.

Small towns have artists worth hearing. They have scenes worth paying attention to. Sometimes, somewhere between the desert and the middle of fucking nowhere, you find people making enough noise that the rest of us really ought to listen.

So, for the first one, Mooney is going home.

It Started With a Text

Like most great modern ideas, Cinematica began with a text message.

Eddie and Bean had been playing together in different projects since 2007 when, in 2014, Eddie sent over a name he’d been kicking around: Cinematica.

“I think this is bigger than a song title,” he told Bean.

Bean replied with two words: “Cherry Nova.”

And somehow, within that tiny exchange, the future started taking shape. Cinematica had its name, while Cherry Nova would eventually become the title of their first EP.

The band itself started simply enough: Eddie and Bean, guitar and drums, two guys making instrumental music together. Six months later, bassist Oj joined, and the connection was immediate. The trio eventually christened themselves the “Cosmic Triangle”, which is exactly the sort of wonderfully dramatic name I expect from a psychedelic instrumental band wandering around the New Mexico desert.

And for nearly nine years, the triangle held.

Then came 2023.


With two albums behind them and another on the way, apparently making a third record wasn’t difficult enough. Bean suggested switching instruments. Eddie moved from drums to guitar, Bean went behind the kit, and then came another change.

Enter Khali.

Khali joined on synths and keyboards, turning the Cosmic Triangle into the four-piece Cinematica we know today.

That’s something I love about their story. Cinematica wasn’t assembled in one perfect moment. It grew. Each member arrived through friendship, musical history, trust, and a feeling that somehow this person belonged there.

They didn’t find the whole band at once.

They just kept finding the missing pieces.

Growing Up Without Growing Apart

And those pieces have now been together for twelve years.

Cinematica has gone from navigating their mid-twenties to their late thirties and early forties together. There have been successes, lows, plenty of changes and even periods of turmoil that nearly brought the whole thing crashing down.

Twelve years with the same people will do that to you. But somewhere between the good shit and the bad, they became brothers.

They’ve learned when to talk, when to back off and, most importantly, how to let four very different people remain four very different people. That difference is baked into Cinematica’s sound. Nobody tells another member how something should be written, played or felt. Instead, they throw their individual influences into the room and see what happens when everything collides.

Eddie calls the result “pure chaotic magick.”

Honestly, I’m beginning to think chaos might just be Cinematica’s preferred working environment.

Eddie himself grew up loving Michael Jackson before eventually finding heavier acts like Korn, Deftones, Glassjaw, Circa Survive and Dredg. But more than two decades into making music, his inspiration comes less from other bands and more from simply being alive. The highs. The lows. The beautiful bits. The absolute shitshows.

It all finds its way into the music.

Maybe that’s why Cinematica can say so much without ever needing to say a word.


Letting the Music Lead

So how exactly do four people with no vocalist decide where a song goes?

Democracy, apparently.

Well, democracy and a group chat.

Song titles and ideas get thrown into the thread before eventually following the band into rehearsal. There isn’t some sacred Cinematica formula buried beneath the New Mexico sand. A song might begin with guitar, bass, drums or Khali messing around on the synth until someone suddenly stops and says, “Wait…what the hell was that? Play it again.”

And they’re off.

Some songs arrive in a single rehearsal. Others need weeks of poking, pulling and probably questioning their sanity before everything finally clicks.

But they don’t force it.

And because there are no vocals dictating where a song needs to go, nothing is ever completely untouchable. Cinematica still changes and adds to songs they’ve been playing for years. The music gets to wander wherever it damn well pleases.

As Eddie says, “It is the music that takes us to the far-reaching places inside the heart and mind of us all.”

They don’t tell the music where to go.

Hell, sometimes I don’t think they know where it’s going either.

They just follow it.

Photo by Daniel Diswood

Staying Local Without Staying Small

And following the music has taken Cinematica well beyond Farmington.

They’ve traveled, played countless shows outside New Mexico and even found themselves facing something plenty of small-town bands dream about: a record deal with an indie label in Los Angeles.

They turned it down.

After negotiations, Cinematica decided it wasn’t the right fit. Instead of reshaping themselves to fit someone else’s version of success, they remained independent and stayed rooted in Farmington.

And I think that matters.

When these guys began playing music around 2000, there wasn’t much of a scene waiting for them. So Cinematica and the musicians around them helped build one.

They played the shows. Supported other artists. Created events. Kept making original music when nobody from a major city was watching.

That’s the thing about small-town music scenes people don’t always understand: they don’t just magically appear.

Someone has to stubbornly keep showing up.

For twelve years, Cinematica has.

Even with careers, families and adulthood rudely demanding their attention, the four keep finding their way back.

Eddie describes that pull as something almost spiritual:

“We don’t play it, it plays us.”

Maybe that’s why Farmington is still home.

They could have spent twelve years believing success was waiting for them somewhere else.

Instead, they helped create something worth staying for.

And as someone who also comes from this little patch of New Mexico dirt, I think that’s pretty damn cool.

Photo by Daniel Diswood

The Miles Between

Of course, staying rooted doesn’t mean staying put.

Twelve years of Cinematica has meant a hell of a lot of road, clubs, studios and probably far too many hours trapped in vehicles together.

Yet one of Eddie’s favorite memories happens right back at home.

Their annual Devil’s Night Halloween show in Farmington continues a tradition the members have collectively been part of for more than 26 years. Every year, their hometown turns up and apparently shows out.

But the road has taken them much farther.

They’ve recorded three full-length albums with producer Kenny Riley at Rio Grande Studios in Albuquerque, collaborated with artist Drew Roulette on their album artwork, and traveled all the way to Hollywood to play the legendary Whisky A Go Go alongside Orgy and Powerman 5000.

Not too shabby for four guys from Farmington.

Then again, some of the things holding this band together are considerably less rock-and-roll.

They golf.

They watch WWE pay-per-views.

And major Cinematica business is apparently discussed over pizza, which might actually be one of the more sensible management strategies I’ve encountered in music.

Their families spend time together. Their lives have grown around one another. Somewhere between all those rehearsals, records and miles, bandmates became family.

Eddie put it simply:

“I love my guys. Eternally.”

Three albums and countless shows are impressive.

Finding people you’d still willingly share pizza with after twelve years might be even more so.

What’s Next?

And apparently Cinematica isn’t finished making questionable decisions involving long drives and loud instruments just yet.

After two years supporting their third full-length album, The Architect, the band is heading into fall 2026 with more shows ahead and new music already brewing.

But here’s where things get particularly interesting.

Cinematica has begun writing their fourth EP, and in April 2027, the boys from Farmington will head to San Diego to enter the studio with Joey Bradford, guitarist of The Used, to work on their next release.

Yeah.

You read that right.

The opportunity came together following talks with Stateside Management, and I get the pleasure of helping them officially spill the beans.

It comes after a summer run that ended with Cinematica’s third annual Sonic Boom Music Festival, another piece of the local scene they’ve created themselves and plan to bring back in July 2027.

So, Farmington to San Diego it is.

From a text message to twelve years, three albums, countless shows and another record waiting to be made.

Not bad for four guys making weird, beautiful noises in the desert.

From the Desert, With Love

When I decided to start highlighting small-town artists, I knew the first one had to take me home. What I didn’t know was how perfectly Cinematica would explain why I wanted to do this in the first place.

Because this isn’t really a story about four guys waiting around to be discovered.

It’s about four guys who kept showing up.

They built a band. They helped build a scene. They survived each other for twelve years, which deserves some sort of award on its own, and they kept choosing the music, their friendship and the place that made them.

Growing up somewhere small, it’s easy to believe the exciting stuff must be happening somewhere else. Bigger cities. Bigger stages. Somewhere beyond those roads you’ve driven a thousand fucking times.

Cinematica is a nice reminder that sometimes it isn’t.

Sometimes interesting shit is happening right under your nose.

Sometimes it’s four guys in Farmington plugging in their instruments and creating what they call “pure chaotic magick.”

And now that same magick is carrying them from the New Mexico desert to a studio in San Diego.

Funny how far you can go without forgetting where you came from.

For a band without a vocalist, Cinematica has managed to say quite a fucking lot.

And for my first Small Town Artist Highlight, I couldn’t think of a better story to bring me back home.

Turns out, home was making plenty of noise without me.

Until the next one,

Stay loud, stay weird, and never underestimate what can crawl out of the desert.

That’s all from me for now, my cheeky little music lovers.

Keep chasing great tunes and supporting great artists.

Slán go fóill,

Mooney


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Mooney

Mooney is a music journalist for Rock Oracle, chasing great tunes, untold stories, and the occasional bit of mischief. Armed with a love of rock 'n' roll and the gift of the gab, she digs beneath the noise to uncover what makes artists tick.

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