An Exclusive with The Baby Cosmos: The Real Notes Behind the Noise
- Zainy Aryf
- Nov 19, 2025
- 6 min read
Between mamak, melodies, and midnight confessions.
I first met The Baby Cosmos the way many great Malaysian stories begin—at a mamak. There’s something about watching a band trade jokes over an iced limo at 7 p.m. that tells you more about their chemistry than any official bio ever could. They were loud, effortlessly funny, and strangely comforting, like cousins you only see once a year but immediately fall back into rhythm with. By the time I followed them into their practice session later that night, I already felt like I’d stepped through a tiny portal into their universe.
Watching them rehearse was its own sort of magic. No dramatic rockstar posturing, no intimidating ego hovering in the room— just boys who genuinely love playing together. Someone would start a riff, someone else would jump in, and suddenly the room bloomed into a full arrangement. Their dynamic felt easy, fluid, almost childlike in the purest way. You could tell that this was how their music was built: moment by moment, laugh by laugh, idea by idea.
Their origin story, much like them, is intentionally charming. Did you know they called themselves The Carnations for almost a week? Then a random name generator online came in handy and altered their brand forever. They laughed as they told me this, shrugging like it’s too late to change it on Spotify now. But somehow, The Baby Cosmos fits. It feels like a name you grow into, not one you force.
A ‘Rivalry’ That Struck Gold
Their songwriting journey began with rivalry. Timothy and Darrel used to send tracks to each other like two kids comparing exam results—“Oh, you wrote something? I can write one too.” That competitive spark gave birth to some of their finest songs: the classic “Right Here, Right Now” and the dreamy, colour-washed “Dream in Colour”. But the rivalry eventually softened into something else. Now, their music feels like a patchwork quilt stitched from four different hearts. A riff hummed at a mamak, a lyric scribbled half-asleep, a beat discovered in the car— suddenly there’s a new song taking shape.
Musically, The Strokes, Oasis, and The Beatles sit somewhere in their DNA, which explains why their music feels nostalgic even on the first listen. It’s familiar without being predictable. Like déjà vu for emotions you haven’t named yet.
Their Newest Addition: Isra
Then there’s Isra—the newest addition, yet somehow the missing piece they didn’t know they were waiting for. Before joining, he’d been a quiet observer at their shows, watching them from the crowd with a drummer’s instinctive longing. The night they asked him to join, it was past midnight—the kind of hour that makes everything feel fated. Even with a packed schedule, he didn’t hesitate. Isra brought discipline, grounding, and a softness that balanced their chaos.
“I first saw the boys when my first band was organising a show, as The Baby Cosmos was on the lineup as well. Over time, we started seeing each other more and more. Either I'll be sessioning or playing for another band, or I would just come to see them. Eventually, one midnight, I got the call.” -- Isra
Their latest EP, The Human Condition, took a year to complete—not out of indecision, but because life kept interrupting. School, work, burnout, time. But somehow, the waiting seasoned the songs. This EP is their most experimental yet, their closest attempt at capturing what they truly sound like.
They said the hardest track to record was “Strangers”. The story behind it is tender: it is a confession wrapped in chords and hearing them talk about it felt like eavesdropping on something intimate. The recording process was messy and emotional, but the end product is a track that’s seductive and captivating from its very first riff. So it just felt right when we found out that Darrel’s girlfriend is the muse behind this electrifying song. Romantic, no?
Part-Time Musicians, Part-Time Event Organisers
Organising their own shows is its own kind of beautiful disaster. Timothy sketched worlds into posters, Darrel held the logistics together with sheer willpower, and Joseph guarded the finances like a quiet knight. Every show became a cycle of chaos and tenderness—planning, panicking, arguing, reconciling, laughing, trying again.
When they talked about planning their EP launch at Livefact KL, it sounded like a storm they somehow learned to dance inside. Missed cues, shifting timelines, last-minute fixes; yet the way they remembered it felt warm, almost honeyed. The room filled earlier than anyone expected, humming with a kind of devotion you can’t manufacture. People were singing along before the first chorus even settled into the air.
And in the centre of it all, Darrel had this small, shining moment. A breath he hid somewhere safe.
“The best part,” he told me, “was that while I was on stage, despite all of that, I still got to enjoy it. I looked at the boys and we were smiling. Then I looked over at the crowd and even got to engage with some of them... That was great.”
It felt like the kind of night that softens a person. The kind where every sleepless hour is forgiven, where the universe gives you a wink and says, see, this is why you stayed.
Somewhere in the middle of our conversation, I asked them a question that somehow revealed the band’s essence even more:
“If The Baby Cosmos had a reality show or a podcast, what would it be?”
The entire group lit up instantly. Within seconds, the room spiraled into chaos—Joseph pitched a Hot Ones episode featuring the boys, where they will be suffering through spicy wings while being interviewed. Timothy follows up with a suggestion of a podcast recorded entirely from the toilet right after they finish Hot Ones, proudly titled The Greatest Shits.
Isra would be the unexpected voice of reason, Timothy would derail every segment with existential spirals, Joseph would drop chaotic wisdom between laughs, and Darrel would try to form a complete sentence but end up giggling too hard to finish one. In that moment, you could see it clearly. All the fun, the chemistry, the ease, the tenderness tucked beneath the nonsense. If The Greatest Shits does show up on my Spotify podcast one day, I’d listen without hesitation.
That’s the thing about The Baby Cosmos: what you see is exactly what you get. No curated personas, no hardened coolness. Their onstage selves are simply extensions of their offstage selves—honest, playful, curious, and deeply human.
In the end, what stayed with me wasn’t just their music, but the way it’s made— in dim studios and mamaks, in laughter, in disagreements, in the quiet belief that someone else will always catch the idea before it falls. The Human Condition feels like a snapshot of who they are right now: four boys growing, fumbling, revising, and still choosing one another.
Maybe that’s why their songs feel so familiar—because they come from moments that are real, imperfect, and beautifully human. And as they step onto every stage, shoulder to shoulder, you can’t help but feel that this is only the beginning.
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