kuko
“Every track on this EP comes straight from the heart. These are real moments, real emotions.”
Sometimes, techno doesn’t need to be colossal to leave a lasting impression. Sometimes it just needs to hurt.
At only 25, KUKO is carving out a rare space for himself, somewhere between the club and the confession booth.
Based in Cologne, he’s building more than just a sound; he’s crafting a space for emotional intensity to thrive.
While much of the harder techno
world still worships functionality over feeling, KUKO has chosen the latter. His latest release, Die Tonight EP, isn’t just music. It’s a rupture — a document of a man unraveling and rebuilding, alone, through voice notes, thunder, rain, and machines that cry.
“I worked on this project for almost a year. Mostly alone. At night. Just me and my laptop and a microphone,” he shares.
His voice is calm but loaded with weight, like someone who’s already cried and is now able to speak.
“I tried things, deleted ideas, and doubted myself. I wrote, rewrote, and felt everything, from grief to euphoria. This project helped me process a particular time in my life. And even though it was hard, I was grateful to have music to release everything that was buried inside.”
This isn’t an EP just for the dancefloor. It’s music that heals you no matter where you are.
It opens not with a drop, but with a voice memo: a man’s voice whispering “we can try it again”, followed by thunder, then rain. That rain stays with you, flowing through every transition, hiding inside the tracks, lingering like a feeling that won’t let go. It’s not just an aesthetic; it’s a memory. It’s how KUKO felt back then: like standing outside in a storm with no shelter and no plan.
“I consciously chose a different path. I didn’t want a loose compilation of tracks. I wanted something connected, with structure, purpose, and emotion,” he says.
The story unfolds with a failed attempt at rekindling love. “Die Tonight” is raw, intense, and unafraid of vulnerability; it describes the fear of being left alone. Followed by “Rette Mich” (“Save Me”), where the line “Schnee im Sommer” (“Snow in summer”) captures the contradiction of a time that seemed bright on the surface but felt cold underneath.
Then she comes back. Toxic. Her voice, sharp, angry, explodes through the EP. Accusations fly.
The
protagonist breaks. Everything collapses. And then comes “Destruction”, the most challenging, most aggressive track on the record. It doesn’t ask questions; it detonates. The relationship is over.
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