zzzahara
Spiral Your Way Out
LEX
zzzahara inhabits a world made of teflon. That term typically connotes an invisible armor that renders its wearer invincible of criticism or anything negative hurled in their direction. In this instance, the provocative yet inoffensive zzzahara doesn’t draw back as a defensive posture; the artist simply wants to be independent, autonomous, and free during the process of creating music. You may be telling yourself, “Well, sure, every artist requires creative freedom if they want to realize their vision.” But with a broken relationship, a renewed assault on queer and trans individuals, and the corrosive noise of tech culture as backdrops to this new record, Spiral Your Way Out occupies a special space that’s private but not precious, safe but forthright.
Nearly five years have elapsed since zzzahara materialized in the Los Angeles art community and took their bow with their maiden single, “Sugar Gay.” The light, loopy synthpop tune is a pleasant enough listen—but when listened to in the shadow of Spiral Your Way Out’s fleshed-out vision of bedroom pop, shoegaze, and slacker rock, it wouldn’t have made the cut on this, zzzahara’s third record. That’s how far the artist has come in a very short but very eventful period of time.
Like the majority of great pop albums, Spiral Your Way Out documents the dissolution of a doomed, presumably romantic relationship. Accordingly, the record is mapped out in accordance with the five stages of grief: denial (opener “It Didn’t Mean Nothing”), anger (”In Your Head,” “Bruised”), bargaining (“If I Had to Go I’d Leave the Door Closed Half Way,” “Wish You Would Notice (Know This)”), depression (“Ghosts,” “Pressure Makes a Diamond,” “Head in a Wheel”), and acceptance (“Bluebird”). It’s on the album-closer, “NY NY,” that they share what they’ve learned from going through these different stages after a failed relationship: “Latch onto an arm or you’ll drown.” If that isn’t an example of a human being who’s systematically and healthily processed loss, and an artist with the skills to communicate that profound experience in such soul-penetrating terms, point to someone who can do it better.
All of which is to say that Spiral Your Way Out—as suggested by its title—is an instruction manual for how introverts can cope with grief, trauma, and loss. There’s a good chance you won’t catch zzzahara navel-gazing, but there’s a strong possibility that you might spy them on the dance floor, twirling around gently and—with eyes closed—brimming with a smile.
