Song of the day – 550: Zebra Hunt

Move along now. Move along. Nothing to see here, nothing to get worried about. Just some great awkward pop with a slight 80s Flying Nun influence, courtesy of a Tamsin Chapman recommendation, hailing like a particularly welcome taxi at one in the morning from Seattle.

Zebra Hunt is the name of this delightful pop confection, and their Bandcamp describes them as rock garage pop psych Seattle, which makes me think there might still be room for the occasional music critic. It’s like the mid-80s indiepop backlash never happened. At the Bandcamp, you can download their 5-track EP for free, and why the fuck not? It’s like having your own personal Bats, your own personal Clean, your own personal Jesus in your living room. If I didn’t know this was from Seattle I could easily be fooled into searching out the semi-legal clubs in Brisbane’s West End 2013 to find exactly where Zebra Hunt have been hiding for the past couple of years. Fits into an Aussie mould, you see. Instead, they play shows at my former beloved Seattle haunts like Ballard’s Sunset Tavern. Nothing to get worried about. No. This is smooth, and poignant, and jangly, and frankly Mr Shankly reminds me why I once thought it was fine for boys to play music too.

Awkward pop, y’see. One-string guitar solos. Melancholy, plaintive voices. Neon and grey and hope and broken hearts. It’s a little jittery in places, too.

As unoriginal as liking kittens, as Tamsin puts it. But that’s no bad thing – right?

by Everett True

My name is Everett True. I am a music critic. This is what I do. I criticise music. The clue is in my job description – music critic. I do not consider myself a journalist, as I do not research or report hard news. I do not consider myself a commentator as I believe that everyone should be a participant. I criticise people and in return I am not surprised if other people criticise me. It is part of the whole deal of being in the public arena. I am Everett True. Believe in me and I have power like a God. Quit believing in me and I no longer exist.