Zebrahead
(Dr. Dream)
by Chaz Thorndike
To say this is not what I expected from an Orange County band signed to Dr. Dream is like saying I really like Zima and am eternally grateful for its return to popularity (if you believe the ads, silly consumer). Only two songs into this disc, I isolated 12 elements that, when strung together, would undoubtedly lose me my “job” as a reviewer. Put it this way, if you got excited about the potential of Sugar Ray until you realized they were little more than a Gap commercial waiting to happen, perhaps Zebrahead can redeem your misplaced faith in funky/pop/metal/hip-hop/punk (no worries on the former, by the way, many a worthy fan was duped and while no amount of margarita-sipping good times unwittingly humming along to “Fly” can be compensated, not even with a cover of A.P. to share the guilt, there are 900 numbers you can call and corporate addresses you can mail your ticking opinions to).
Zebrahead is the band’s debut, and, as the story goes, they grew out of various unnamed punk bands (in O.C., really?), couldn’t get into the whole ska thing (don’t blame ’em, I couldn’t stand being destined for Caribbean Cruise or wine cooler ads either), and had an inspiration: hip-hop. Not as in those buffoons who rap over already tired Zeppelin riffs about being so bad-ass even their accountants don’t wanna mess with ’em, dog, nor any of that O.G. Hooked-on-Ebonics crap, no, I’m talking “rock the house” hip-hop that makes beach parties sizzle and even repressed white boys shake their tight little booties. (Out of curiosity, what are we always supposed to be saying “yeah” to? Are we still awake? Do we feel that this is probably the lowest form of audience-participation imaginable?) No, Zebrahead are happy and positive (the continuous affirmation of the go-go goons ain’t shit in comparison), without being idiotic. As much as I enjoyed Third Eye Blind’s hit (once I realized it wasn’t the Spin Doctors who suddenly stopped sucking), I have no idea what they’re saying (not that I lose much sleep over it) and feel like a bleating Nike slogan while singing “do, do, do” over and over again. At least Chumbawamba gave us three sentences to endlessly repeat (and a name to always wonder if we’re misspelling).
Zebrahead’s single, the opening track, and the song that’s on the Clubland soundtrack, “Check,” opens with a heavy Rage ATM influence, both in the aggressive rap, the funky guitar twanging, and that annoying repeated high pitch which, to my knowledge, has no name but yet has somehow become a staple of this kind of music. “All I Need” opens with a “Run to the Hills” cymbal and kick drum intro, layered with the Mortal Kombat synths which never cease to get the blood pumping. And then, again, while there are obvious similarities to Rage, I somehow can’t see that self-important, ranting pseudo-politico ever having this much fun. And that’s the point, this is fun music. As “aggressive” as it is, it’s more energetic than angry. It’s obvious that the singer (different from the rapper) is from SoCal. His choruses, which counterpoint the rap at every turn, are very reminiscent of the Offspring, and the Offsring’s offspring. By the time you get to “Bootylicious Vinyl” with its chorus of “Get down, shake your booty, baby,” you either feel really, really silly for singing such nonsense and jerking like a scarecrow with a pole up its ass undergoing electroshock treatment, or you’re having too much fun to notice or care.
Perhaps Zebrahead’ll be a frat party fave in their home town, perhaps they’ll wind up doing Mountain Dew commercials or a theme song to a network TV series, but perhaps they’ll catch on as a helluva party band that has yet to irritate the shit out of the mass consciousness. My vote’s for the latter.
(841 West Collins Ave. Orange, CA 92867)
