Turnbull Green is a breath of fresh air for me. His music is absurdly underproduced (in a good way), full of audible imperfections and devoid of the plasticity that cripples so much of today’s music. His message and way of life are the epitome of organic; not in the hippy, GMO-free, anti-establishment sort of way, but rather in the sense of wearing your heart on your sleeve, being true to who you are and needing only the bare necessities to not only survive, but thrive. Yet the music backing his introspective lyrics is as synthetic and digital as can be, at times sounding like an orgy between a broken computer, a drum machine and a megaphone. That juxtaposition is equally jarring and intriguing to me.

I kept focusing on the idea of organic versus synthetic, and the unwavering desire, and inevitable failure, humans have to recreate nature. There is nothing more organic than sex, yet at the same time pornography and sex toys have made it just about the most synthetic thing on the planet: breast implants, blow-up dolls, strap-ons and lube, to name a few. I started Googling various sex toys and quickly realized how massive that industry is (I also quickly cleared my history out of fear someone would use my computer and think I was a perverted deviant).

At first I was amused, then confused by the pelvic cross-sections which looked like the dismembered body parts of a serial killer, but soon decided they were too overt and would be censored by record stores, thus defeating my assignment of designing an album cover. When I stumbled upon the bizarre, cross-cut rubber head, I immediately knew I’d landed on the exact visual metaphor I was looking for. There was something captivating about this lifeless, silicone face and I started experimenting with various ways to breath life back into it.