Zeahorse

Zeahorse are four affable young men from Sydney. When they play you all set off on a path, an ascent. It is a path reminiscent of those trail-blazed in the 80s and 90s by those of a noisy independent spirit – the Albini’s, the Mackaye’s, the Yowe’s. The path is questioning, self- deprecating and distrustful of society. You will pass the life laid out for you by others – your career, your 30th birthday, your very own pool. Western dreams that do not end well. And then, just like that, the groove changes. You are off the path you thought you were on and in unfamiliar territory. A once straight open forest has closed in. Now you are surrounded by brightly coloured mushrooms of all sizes that can bend your mind like Neo’s spoon. Thick, sludgy quicksand sucks you down and down until your eyes are black. Storms heave overhead at such a low pitch, and in such a strange time, that you feel them more in your internal organs than your ears.

Zeahorse’s is not a safe path. You may forget which way is up or down, right or wrong, even where you thought you were headed. But, in the end, the destination is the same all music lovers strive for: to be left on top of the world. You may be left wondering how the fuck you got there, but you did get there, didn’t you?

Zeahorse are four affable young men from Sydney. When they play you all set off on a path, an ascent. It is a path reminiscent of those trail-blazed in the 80s and 90s by those of a noisy independent spirit – the Albini’s, the Mackaye’s, the Yowe’s. The path is questioning, self- deprecating and distrustful of society. You will pass the life laid out for you by others – your career, your 30th birthday, your very own pool. Western dreams that do not end well. And then, just like that, the groove changes. You are off the path you thought you were on and in unfamiliar territory. A once straight open forest has closed in. Now you are surrounded by brightly coloured mushrooms of all sizes that can bend your mind like Neo’s spoon. Thick, sludgy quicksand sucks you down and down until your eyes are black. Storms heave overhead at such a low pitch, and in such a strange time, that you feel them more in your internal organs than your ears.

Zeahorse’s is not a safe path. You may forget which way is up or down, right or wrong, even where you thought you were headed. But, in the end, the destination is the same all music lovers strive for: to be left on top of the world. You may be left wondering how the fuck you got there, but you did get there, didn’t you?

Members

• Morgan Anthony
• Max Foskett
• Julien Crendal
• Ben Howell