MUSIC 2026
There’s a scene in a Wong Kar-wai film where nothing really happens—someone lingers in a doorway, someone else passes by—somehow it says everything. That in-between space, where feeling outruns language, is where Zzzahara tends to live. Born Zahara Jaime, raised in Highland Park, Los Angeles, they make music that moves the same way. Often it starts with a phone camera rolling at 2 a.m., a half-formed riff spilling out after a night that lingered a little too long. A moment most people let pass, but one they’ve learned to hold onto, almost like evidence.
The music bug caught them early—their mother blasting the Carpenters through their living room stereo loud enough to fill the morning. Four years old, already tracing melodies in the air, trying to meet the sound halfway. That instinct to respond, to echo, to turn feeling into something you can hear never really left. It just got heavier. More complicated.
The songs Zzzahara writes now aren’t chasing perfection, just honesty. Sometimes it’s a pretty riff. Sometimes it’s love, still warm. Other times it’s the messier stuff, and a place you go when you stop pretending you’re fine. Their upcoming album Distant Lands leans into that weight, marked by the loss of their brother and struggles with opioid addiction, told from a place that feels both removed and deeply tethered, as they look back.
Take those songs out of isolation, put them in front of a crowd, and something shifts. The lo-fi haze, the emo undercurrent, the push and pull between restraint and release all land differently when there’s a room full of people breathing it in with you. No grand resolution—just something real hanging in the air. And maybe, if it sticks, you carry a piece of it out with you.
PANTS BY TAOTTAO
Do you remember your earliest relationship to music? What it felt like or where it came from?
My earliest memory of music came from my living room stereo. My mom used to blast the Carpenters in the morning. I was 4 when I started thinking of melodies and started singing along.
When you’re writing music, what tends to come first: a feeling, a memory, a sound, or something else?
It depends. Sometimes it’s a pretty riff...sometimes it’s the weight of what I’m holding on the inside. Sometimes I’m in love.
Did any particular feelings, questions, or experiences guide you while making this new album?
I kind of let my dreams carry me through writing this record. I documented a lot of random feelings or memories. Every time I started a song, I filmed it on my phone. This would be at 2 a.m. coming home from the bar or just a random outburst of music that I had within me.
Have your ideas about identity or self-understanding shifted over time? If so, how?
Yes, I used to be self loathing and care only about the things that hurt me. Life used to feel unfair...when it comes to the cards I’ve been dealt. Now I’ve sort of embraced the change of it all. I can laugh harder and lean into what I love these days.
How has your relationship to love shaped the way you write?
It’s been really hard to define my relationship to love and writing has helped bring out the deepest parts of me that I could never really communicate so clearly.
What does solitude feel like for you, and does it have a place in your creative process?
I love solitude. I’m a pretty lonely person despite being surrounded by friends. The isolation makes the creative process fun and interesting. I’m never embarrassed in front of myself.
Are there experiences or parts of your life that feel difficult to translate into music?
For sure. Talking about my life growing up has been pretty hard. It’s hard to talk about addiction or family life. I tried for this record.
What do you hope stays constant in your relationship to music, no matter how things change around you?
I hope to always love music. I haven’t fallen out of love with it. It’s just nowadays the authenticity is lacking. I love an artist with a story.
You’ve spoken openly in the past about your relationship with substances - how do you think about that part of your life now?
I feel like substances helped me when I needed them. It’s hard to function when you’ve got so much weight holding you down. They really eased part of my life, but they never healed me. Looking back, maybe there’s some things I would have changed.
What has surprised you most about the life of being a musician?
That this life is filled with drama. It’s hard to avoid. So many egos and so many shit people, but so many good ones who I want to grow old with and learn from.
How do you experience the indie music scene right now - does it feel like a community to you?
Sometimes. I like the community of musicians that I’ve met along the way. It’s very clicky out here. No one really likes you for you...they kind of like you based on how far along you got. That’s never super true...but can be. I feel like shit’s a competition and I hear so many musicians shit on other musicians then you start to regurgitate the same bullshit. I love musicians, but some folks are in this for the wrong reasons.
What have you been listening to recently?
Recently, when it comes to new stuff I really like MJ Lenderman right now. I like the way he writes. Old stuff...Labi Siffre and Wild Nothing.
What has it been like to be on tour with this new music, especially when you’re sharing it with a live audience?
It feels good! I feel like I’ve messed around with indie lo-fi music and emo music. So it’s fun to play the two genres.
For more info on Zzzahara’s tour dates and new releases, go to lexrecords.com and follow them @zzzahara.wav
