It's Kind of A Cosmic Gumbo: Frankie Cosmos Dish On Their New Album - Different Talking
- Josh Kitchen
- Nov 19, 2025
- 8 min read
By: Josh Kitchen / November 19, 2025
When Greta Kline started releasing demos on Bandcamp in 2014 as Frankie Cosmos, her DIY ethos and bedroom-pop lo-fi tracks were immediately embraced for their honest and raw vulnerability. Songs like “Leonie” and “Art School” felt like glimpses into the mind of an artistic, hyper-creative 20-year-old who sang as if she had to get every idea out or risk losing the chance to speak. Over the next decade, Frankie Cosmos would evolve into a larger musical idea, with Kline eventually adding more band members, instruments, and lush arrangements. And with 2025’s Different Talking, Frankie Cosmos feels like a band that has not only grown up, but grown into itself — a fully realized collaborative organism that sounds confident, curious, and in total command of its own world.
The album was written and recorded while Kline and her bandmates lived together in a house — eschewing a traditional studio for a more domestic, communal environment — and the music feels fuller and richer because of it. Tracks like “Pressed Flower” shimmer with the sound of collaboration, the push-and-pull of musicians who not only feed off each other’s talents, but who listen closely, internalize what they hear, and synthesize it into something new. Different Talking is an album about aging into and growing alongside the audience that has been with Frankie Cosmos since the beginning.
It’s that spirit of collaboration that makes Frankie Cosmos in 2025 just as exciting as they were in 2014. Kline and company have taken what made Frankie Cosmos so compelling in the beginning — that DIY ethos — and upgraded the lo-fi production into something that feels as lived-in as the house they recorded it in. I caught up with Kline ahead of the band’s European tour, and we talked about the dynamics of recording in a studio versus a home, how aging affects creativity, humor as a way to process grief, and how Tim Robinson has brought her family together like nothing else.
I was watching the mini-doc you put out about the making of the new record. It’s really fun, and I think people who love the album should watch it because it made me appreciate it even more. Katie [Von Schleicher] quotes Bob Dylan at the beginning, where he's talking about his process of recording music — “Don’t ask me how I make it or who I make it with.” I'm going to start by completely disobeying Bob., because I think what makes this record so exciting is exactly how it was made and who made it with you. Following your career from the beginning — from the Bandcamp era to now — it’s so interesting. Frankie Cosmos then and Frankie Cosmos now feel connected but different, and that evolution feels special. Especially seeing the collaboration between everyone in that house. Can you talk about that process?
Thank you for watching that. That was my little passion project. The less easy watch is the hour-long cut I made that’s much more dramatic — that one’s just for me.
It was the most time I’ve ever spent making an album, and I feel that in the final product — not rushing, not fighting studio time limits. Usually the limitation is time: you’re in a studio, you want to use all the gear, you want to play with keyboards you’ve never seen before, and you have ten days tops.
This was the opposite. The limitation was just what we could fit in the car and bring to the house. It wasn’t treated for sound and it didn’t have fancy equipment. We had a clear palette and a loose timeline. It was fun, it was hard, and it was the whole summer — like summer camp. Very isolated. We only spent time with each other.
What’s interesting is that someone hearing this album — whether they’ve followed your music for years or are just discovering it — might assume it was made in a big studio with professional engineers. It sounds so polished. But it was recorded in a house with six people, which is incredible.
Yeah — Katie is a producer professionally, and she has that skill set. It’s really about the people working on it more than the space. I like when music sounds like it’s made in a room. Especially drums — people love to nitpick drum sound, and I love drums that sound like they’re played in a living room.
Hugo pointed out something that was true for all of us: this is the first time we made a record in the same space where we worked on arrangements. Usually you rehearse in one place and record in another. This blurred the line. When you rehearse elsewhere, you say things like, “When we get to the studio, we’ll fix this.” But here, it was going to sound like it sounded right then. It closed the gap between imagining and recording.
There’s no going home afterward to rethink things. You’re living in it.
Exactly. My favorite reaction was when I sent the mixes to my old bandmates. They called me saying such nice things, and one of them said, “I feel like a fucking idiot for ever recording in a studio.”
So after doing it this way, how do you go back? Do you want to?
There are merits to both. But this process changed things. We’re now making plans to build a recording space from scratch. We’re entering a kind of Beatles-Apple-Studio era. It feels empowering to record ourselves. It opens a new world — practicing and recording in the same space consistently.
What we missed was having a producer outside the band. I personally like not having one, and I know I have ego issues about working with producers. I’ve never clashed with anyone, but I always say, “I’m in charge. I have final say. I’m also producing.” Producers don’t always love that; they want to have their vision.
But a producer gives you neutral critique. If everyone is silently thinking, “I don’t like that snare tone,” it’s nicer if a producer says it than a bandmate. There’s real value in studios and producers. But we did a good job managing ourselves.
And some of these songs could only have come from this process. You can hear the evolution.
I think it’s the most cohesive Frankie Cosmos record I’ve made — the sound, the palette. Even though it took the longest, it’s the most singular. Zentropy was the last time I worked that way, which is funny — the first record and this latest one feel connected.
It feels like every song is exactly where it should be. They feel contained in a way that makes sense.
Definitely. I could imagine a pop producer having fun with “Vanity,” making it sound different. But doing the DIY version of a pop song was a fun challenge. It’s the only song where we used an electronic beat. It’s funny to do a DIY version of pop production.
You can hear it. And “Porcelain” is poppy too in its own way — but then Alex [Bailey] absolutely shreds.
“Porcelain” is the weirdest fucking song. I love all the little guitar moments.
There’s so much here — you can jam, go intimate, go quiet. It’s wild that it’s been over a decade of Frankie Cosmos. I remember when you first came out — it felt like this exciting new thing. Now you’ve been in the industry for a long time. I recently read this Paste interview you did with Casey Epstein-Gross. You talked a lot about being a woman in music and getting older. And some of the lyrics on this record reflect that — they’re honest, self-aware, funny. Lines like “I can’t go a day without touching my fucking phone,” or “I still don’t know what I want, I’ll take one of each.” Can you talk about that feeling of being honest with yourself about aging and your place in all this?
Thank you for seeing the humor — levity is always my goal. Laughing at the big feelings.
A lot of themes surfaced later as I saw the songs together. One recurring thread was gentrification and New York City. It’s a potent metaphor for aging — watching things change around you. The line I think about a lot is, “My body rent goes up for my soul.” That feeling of constantly doing more to maintain your life and health. Watching a city change mirrors your own changes — especially post-COVID. have to make fun of myself even while acknowledging it’s my home. It’s not a preachy or self-wallowing record. Humor is my way into feelings like rage or grief — feelings I sometimes forbid myself from accessing directly.
I think a lot of your fans have been listening to your music for so long and stuck with you because when they listen to your music, they feel seen. And this record meets people where they are in a new way. It couldn’t have been made by 2014 you.
Definitely not. A lot of my listeners are my age, and the response I loved most was longtime fans saying the music feels like it’s growing up with them. That means a lot.
Is it strange to think younger artists might cite you as an influence now?
I wish they would! But yes, they do, and it’s really nice. I still feel young, but I realize how young I was at 19. I knew I was writing young, but you understand it better later.
It’s nice when younger artists pay respect to those who paved the way. I always try to do that. And it means a lot when those artists give opportunities back — like when Clairo let us open for her after she opened for me at 16. Very full-circle.
What would you tell 19-year-old Greta Kline - right from when you were starting out?
I’m scared of time travel — I don’t want to mess anything up. I want to end up where I am now. I think I made good career decisions. I could have been swept into the industry machine, but I was wary. I’m glad I didn’t chase being a huge star. That always scared me. When I was in the spotlight, a lot of people were knocking, and I wondered, “Would I still be in community with the bands I love?” If the answer was no, I didn’t want it.
What’s the last thing you laughed out loud at — like truly boisterously laugh out loud?
I got home from tour and immediately went to my parents’ house. We watched the first three episodes of The Chair Company. They had already watched them and re-watched with me. We laughed so hard. When he yells into his pillow - “This is the worst damn pillow in town!” — we rewound it several times.
I actually saw him on the street a few days ago in New York. My jaw dropped. I took out an AirPod and said, “I’m such a big fan. I love everything you’ve done. Thank you for your work.” He said, “Thank you,” and kept walking. Very chill. He must be used to it, especially now. I’ve seen everything he’s done.
What’s your favorite I Think You Should Leave sketch?
The bassist going rogue — “The bones are their money.” Extremely relatable. And then the one where he doesn’t know how to drive and the guy honks. I reference it
a lot.
I’m constantly quoting “I don’t know what any of this shit is and I’m scared" from that one.
“Yes — you don’t want to help, you just want to yell!” It’s wild how pervasive the quotes are. My family references them constantly. His work is the one thing my whole family agrees on. It brings us together. My mom constantly tries to sell people on the ghost tour sketch. Sometimes people get it, or they don’t, while we're all just laughing so hard. It’s pure id — doing the worst possible thing in every scenario. That’s what makes it funny.
My favorite kind of art is art that expresses something super potent — a powerful feeling you can only understand while watching or listening. That’s what I love about Tim Robinson’s work. You just have to see it and be in it. I watched Friendship twice and thought it was actually really powerful art. Not just funny and weird, but deeply thought out. It’s saying something, but you can’t explain it — you have to feel it while taking it in.
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