If the tracks are shaped by patient editing, the artwork and aesthetic of Cody’s projects come from something tactile and stubbornly hand-made. An original tattooist by trade, they emerse themself in dot work, etch work, self-portraits and robots. The album art for Mechaeval nods to both the tooling of tattoo culture and a pulp-sci-fi lineage. Virgil Finlay’s surreal, alien etchings are literally inked onto Cody’s skin and figuratively inked into the record. “For Mechaeval, I was inspired by an artist called Virgil Finlay… I just recently tattooed one of his pieces on my leg for Mechaeval.” 

There’s a small, defiant humanism in Cody’s refusal to outsource the image-making. They worry about the encroachments of AI on dot work and etching, but they also sees an opportunity to insist on something organic — a human hand’s patience — as part of the music itself: “I can get pictures to post on socials all day long, but it's nice to build real artwork that I've spent a really long time on for my actual music.” 

The hand-drawn element of their work becomes an aesthetic and ethical marker. It’s a reminder that the music and the art share a maker. 

Musically, Cody mixes house and rock, folding punk’s urgency into danceable structures that invite listeners across genres rather than policing them. It’s an antidote to gatekeeping, and the concept that politics and art are luxuries reserved for the educated or the credentialed.

“A reason why working class people can sometimes be deterred from understanding politics is because there's this language barrier… I just wanted to bring some politics perspective to people that might not necessarily have been interested in it before.”