The landscape in a Zambri song makes you feel like someone no one wanted to be messing around with uranium and splitting atoms finally made that breakthrough that got them a nuclear warhead. It wasn't Iran though, it was someone more along the lines of Yoko Ono or Christine McVie and, as with all great intentions, there was a backfiring. These two never wanted the damned thing, but when they were trying to dispose of it or disable it safely, wouldn't you know it, the thing went off and it wrecked the kind of havoc that could have been expected.
Miraculously enough, word quickly spread about what McVie and Yoko Ono were trying to do, how they were trying to save society from this great evil and once news of these heroic efforts rippled across the world, this isolated event took on a significance that could have never been predicted. Artists in hazmat suits traveled to the site of the detonation - the place where McVie and Yoko both met their untimely ends - and they attempted to honor these two artists by making music that flies in the spirit of their artistic ideals, but also conveys the barrenness of the land that they're standing on.
Zambri, made up of sisters Cristi Jo and Jessica Zambri, make music that feels damaged, but still recognizable enough that it could be its own security blanket if push really came to shove. If there was nothing left to eat and there was no one else to love, the people in these songs would resolve to keep trying to make it, to wander those empty streets and find something that could assist them in staying alive. They're tapping on their hollow bones and seeing their pale complexions in broken pieces of mirror that they stumble upon randomly and they aren't bothered by it. The feeling of those bones and the context of that face could make a good chorus, even as the low-rumbling of the end crests above the horizon and picks up speed. They sing, "All of the power is in the air," as they stand on the edge of the Earth, or what's left of the edge. They're there to greet the day.