There’s something cosmic about the way 5…4…3…2…1… unfolds, like a signal transmitted from the wreckage of Earth, half warning, half celebration. Zachary Mason’s latest EP is less a collection of songs and more a sonic fable: humankind flees a burning planet, lands on Mars, throws an accidental party with the locals, and ends up longing for what they left behind!
But Mason doesn’t tell this story with gloom or grandiosity. Instead, he builds a universe of shimmering guitars, buoyant basslines, and the kind of psychedelic charm that makes apocalypse sound oddly inviting. The title track opens the trip with an upbeat pulse, its crunchy guitar tones and glimmering riffs setting the stage for an escape that feels as reckless as it is exhilarating. There’s something deliciously ironic about dancing your way off a dying world.
Then comes The Funky Martians, a brilliant burst of wit and rhythm. Here, interplanetary diplomacy happens through groove rather than gunfire: John Thomasson’s bass lines swagger while Nate Barnes’ drums orbit tightly around Mason’s eccentric narration. It’s playful and cinematic, with enough character to turn a sci-fi scenario into a jam session. You can practically see the red dust rising as Martians bop to the beat.
The journey ends with Earthsick, a wistful descent that channels Bowie’s otherworldly melancholy. Mason trades in distortion for reflection, letting the ache of displacement seep through soft vocals and atmospheric textures. It’s a gentle landing after all the chaos, a reminder that even when we run from ruin, we can’t outrun longing.
Across just three tracks, Mason manages to weave humor, critique, and nostalgia into a seamless whole. His songwriting moves between satire and sincerity with the ease of someone who knows that the truth often hides behind the absurd. With 5…4…3…2…1…, he’s not just imagining life beyond Earth, he’s imagining rock beyond repetition!
