When Zero the Astronaut awoke and climbed out of their ancient tomb,
flanger pedals in hand, tinfoil instead of linen cloth adorning their decaying
bodies, the earth shook, and cries of “1991!” and “1975!” erupted from the
terrified populace. Undeterred, the band, led by Alex Adler, raised their arms
until golden glitter rained down from the skies, choking 2015 Los Angeles in a storm
of sparkling particulate. They wandered through the chaos they created,
marveled at the humans choking to death on their magic, their sugar, their
blood, their … sex. The City of Angels was forever changed, and no amount of
frantic prayer in dying moments to multiple deities was able to save the
populace. Zero the Astronaut had arrived. Zero the Astronaut had taken over the
city. The first stop toward global domination.
The sounds: psych-grunge-funk. Remember those lesser Sub Pop bands
you’d see in their 1994 catalogs that never made it, or were gobbled up in the
post-Nirvana major-label grunge grab? This is that music. This is that time.
This is Zero the Astronaut’s statement to the world.
I stood alone above Los Angeles on my pillar of cloud and watched as
the band shuffled through the streets with their instruments, stopping to mercy
kill any survivors with a quick blast of “Misery City.” I shook my head in
wonder: how did this band manage to escape their tomb? It was sealed with the
deepest magic known to our kind. But up here, above the glittering death, I
could only observe the chaos, knowing that we’d secure the borders before Zero
the Astronaut could continue with their nefarious plan. I smiled, and hummed a
tune that I had forgotten for almost twenty years, a tune from my high school
rock band days that sounded ominously like the chord structure of “On Pleasure
Pier.” Zero the Astronaut would indeed be destroyed.
--Ryan Masteller
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