self-described as part “show tune” and part “rock band”, Zanders has always had fun teasing the balance between those two identities. or, if you wanted to simplify things even more, Zanders has flirted with the line between sophistication and chaos. part-Gershin, part-Guided by Voices. part-The Umbrellas of Cherbourg, part-Blue Velvet. left-brain, right-brain. you get it. usually when folks ask me what Zanders sounds like, I tell them “like David Bowie’s ‘Kooks’.” and if they don’t know what I mean by that, I immediately de-friend them because i don’t need people in my life that haven’t listened to Hunky Dory.
[check out our interview with Zanders!]
Zanders’ new album, Concentration Sixty-Four, has been in the works for some time. recording began in 2018, with some of the final touches applied in 2019. a lot has changed since the last Zanders’ record was released in 2015: a terrible new president, two great new Queen Moo records, and a whole lot of bands (both local and not) have come and gone. but you know one thing that hasn’t changed so much in those five years? Zanders, thank god. Concentration Sixty-Four picks up from Buried Men and builds, musically and lyrically, becoming both bigger and more complex in its ambitions.
and if anyone is aware of the time that has passed, its lead songwriter Alex Saraceno, who begins the opening track with the lyrics “I’ve buried men, and I’ve been better // it was the year I stopped sleeping altogether.” self-allusions to Buried Men and Been Better aside, a lot of Concentration Sixty-Four‘s lyrics have an eye on the past. even the album’s title, Concentration Sixty-Four, comes from the playground clapping game: one that requires its players to engage in quick call-and-response, drawing word associations from target categories. and while Zanders’ music has never felt childlike, it has always felt nostalgic, like it came from another period, where outfits were in technicolor and (bassist) Kevin O’Donnell and (drummer) John Rule III would probably both have sideburns.
like a complicated game of Concentration 64, this record is a well-choreographed dance between these three musicians. as the songs shrink and expand, grow softer and louder, slink and erupt, every moment feels tightly designed. this is where that balance i mentioned comes into play because for as expertly engineered as Concentration Sixty-Four is, it never sounds like it was expertly engineered. that’s the theatre, you know? like in a movie, when, in a moment of pure romance, a character bursts into an ornate musical number — a moment of spontaneity that is simply too good to be spontaneous. the illusion is that this emotion sprang out of its creators’ heads fully formed. it’s a piece of music (or cinema) magic that you don’t see much outside of the classics, and yet, here’s Zanders, making it look easy.
here are my three favorite moments on Concentration Sixty-Four:
“Terms & Conditions”: i don’t look to rock music for self-affirmation, so when it comes, honestly and without pretense, it’s a joy. lines like “If your absence doesn’t phase them, let the silence scream some truth // It’s okay to feel sad, but find comfort in loving you” are both incredibly honest and empowering. this kind of lyricism is something that i’ve always loved about Saraceno’s wordsmithing — it’s feels both measured and powerfully direct. it all feels personal, yes, but more than that, it feels mindful and self-aware in a self-actualized way.
“Marble”: while it’s not the final track on Concentration Sixty-Four, it feels like an appropriate conclusion to the album (in fact, the last three tracks on the record all work as fantastic closers). what i love about “Marble” is its tone, which feels unique in this set of songs. it’s the only song that feels melancholy. don’t get me wrong, there are other songs on Concentration Sixty-Four that are morose (“Rose M. Singer” for example, with its sneaky “Amazing Grace” riff), but this slow march gives me an ache in my chest.
“Your Palms”: and while i enjoy the darker corners of Saraceno’s songs, Zanders feels at its most comfortable singing about love. or rather, maybe i should say singing about romantic moments, whether those be about love or not — they can be, as in “Your Palms”, glimpses of the past, retold in a way that feels storybook. closing track “Traces” works in a similar way. what is it about Zanders music that recounts love in such a genuine way? is it the tight orchestration that makes us recall grand, sweeping moments of cinema, and we can imagine ourselves in these vignettes?
