Church of Magic brings 'hedonihilist revival' to Tumbleroot

Have you ever considered joining a cult?

If you buy a new car every five years or throw out food on the expiration date, then you may already be in one, according to Ben Folstein. He calls it “the adult cult.”

In an attempt to resist the pressures of “adulting,” Folstein created a self-described “cult” of his own, the Church of Magic. Part performance art project, part rock band and part parody religion, the Church of Magic will perform at Tumbleroot Brewery & Distillery in Santa Fe on Saturday, May 17.

Their two-act “hedonihilist revival” will include burlesque performances, rock song mantras, paintings, video projections, multicolored choir robe costumes and “attempts at Astral Projection,” according to a press release.

Folstein estimates that Church of Magic has close to 40 dedicated followers, including the five members of the band. They know him as Ipsissimus Mark, “Ipsissimus” being a Latin term for “the highest self” coined by early 20th century English occultist Aleister Crowley.

During a conversation with the Journal, Folstein shifted in and out of his Ipsissimus Mark persona before asking rhetorically, “How Andy Kaufman are we getting with this?” Unlike the reality-bending comedian Kaufman, Folstein isn’t 100% comfortable fooling people. He wants us to know it’s all an act.

For an act, though, it’s quite elaborate. Folstein has written his own scripture, “The Book of Abra” — as in abracadabra — along with a convoluted backstory about where and how the book was discovered. The Church of Magic’s cosmology, as detailed in the book, is pretty far-out.

“The actual structure of the universe is a lasagna,” Folstein said. And the lasagna is a battery that “ultra-dimensional creatures” use to power “another ultra-verse.”

“We are just growth on this machine that’s powering another ultra-verse,” Folstein continued. “And there are two creatures who are overseeing the machine. Their names are Hedon and Nihil, and they are in charge of keeping the machine clean and running well. So, their primary job is to destroy all life.”

Avoiding being destroyed by these cosmic cleaners is what constitutes “the struggle of life,” according to the Church of Magic.

“Mother Nature is not malicious, but she wants to see everything dead and flat and cold, so we’re fighting against that. When you realize that we are insignificant, the only choice is to love each other and love ourselves and to ‘please calm down,’ so that’s the main tenant of our credo,” Folstein said.

Although couched in satire, it’s clear that the Church of Magic reflects some aspects of Folstein’s actual life philosophy, which values art and creativity over social status and upward mobility.

Aficionados of parody religions may note similarities between the Church of Magic’s cosmic lasagna and the Flying Spaghetti Monster of Pastafarianism, but Folstein — speaking as Ipsissimus Mark — is quick to distance his religion from theirs.

“The Spaghetti Monster is ridiculous,” Folstein said. “We’re based on lies, not fantasy.”

Folstein’s father was a well-regarded neurologist, and his brother has followed in their father’s footsteps, making a living conducting EEG experiments for the military.

“My brother is in the adult cult. Super-duper the adult cult,” Folstein said.

Folstein also said his brother attended a Hebrew college, whereas he abandoned traditional religion after his bar mitzvah.

“I’m actually my brother in a lot of ways, though,” Folstein said. “We’re both fascinated by information input and how that is interpreted, which is obviously what art is. And that’s what my brother does too. He does some experiments with differentiating objects.”

Folstein said the Church of Magic reflects an “avant-goof” sensibility — part experimental art, part silliness. His peculiar combination of music, humor and social critique was influenced by the experimental, anticapitalist art rock band Negativeland.

“I have a direct connection to them, because my mentor, Craig Baldwin, made their big documentary,” he said.

Folstein doesn’t insist on always being funny, though.

“Whenever I try to be funny, it’s not funny. And when I do something that is just the rawest, most embarrassing truth about myself, that’s what people find funny,” he said.

So, if you’re looking for an escape from your regularly scheduled life, why not slip out of the adult cult for an evening and join one of the strangest art rock experiences we’re likely to experience in Santa Fe all year. Just try not to let Hedon and Nihil suck you into their cosmic vacuum.

Church of Magic brings 'hedonihilist revival' to Tumbleroot