Z*L – S/T

reviewed by Eloise Ryser | Monday, June 10th, 2013

Z*L self-titled album coverHow do you feel about bat children? What about mermaid knives? Upon being given the opportunity to be introduced to these fantastic images, summoned from the band Z*L’s new self-titled album, I came to the conclusion that they are funny — extraordinarily funny.

I don’t mean to suggest that this album is a joke; in reality, quite the opposite. Z*L has a sound that operates on steady, fuzzy beats that roll along the lower registers of each song. The instrumentals are smooth and relatively calming, save for the hollow intonation the guitar makes as it slinks around the vocals like a disenchanted villain.

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Despite the relative interest of the band’s music, Z*L’s signature sound is not nearly as distinctive as the words that accompany it. While the rock and roll guitars rumble and hum below, regurgitating a swift and likable rhythm, the words of the band’s singers, Ian Adams and Isabel Riley float, as if completely detached from the rugged twang of the lead guitar. Few and far between are the refrains that have been so tediously instilled in classic rock and roll. Z*L surrounds the familiar emotions of angst, romance, and rebellion with lyrics more commonly repeated in gothic teenage fantasy novels. With lines like “bat child escapes into the night,” it is difficult to tell whether Z*L planned to invite this level of absurdity into the album, yet, by the way Adams and Riley croon over it I can’t help but play along with emotion their voices suggest, even if it is funny.

Overall, the album Z*L comes off as a bit juvenile, but from my perspective, that is its charm. Where else can you find a song about a girl named Lucy who “fell into a copper bell”? Unlike the other bands hatched in the indie scene, defined by dislocated Americana buzz and folksy pop, Z*L has found a calling amidst its wily lyrics. I am the first to admit that this band is an addictive oddity. Give Z*L a chance and you may find yourself suffering from a thrill similar to bat child’s as he escapes into the night.

(Midriff Records, 3 Adamson Street, Boston, MA 02134)

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