In an era where the music scene often feels overrun by trends and algorithm-driven homogeneity, Zachary Mason stands as a singular voice of creativity, curiosity, and sincerity. The 28-year-old artist from Guildford, UK, has built an impressive reputation for fearless experimentation since he began recording in 2021. Working with an ever-expanding collection of guitars and keyboards on a humble home studio setup gifted by a relative, Mason has crafted over 200 demo tracks in just a few years—a prolific streak that’s garnered praise from Rolling Stone En Español, The Big Takeover, and SPIN Magazine. His newest EP, 5…4…3…2…1…, released on October 3, 2025, is his most ambitious and cohesive work to date: a compact, three-part space odyssey that blends space rock, psychedelia, and experimental pop into a soundscape as imaginative as its concept.
From the first note of the title track, 5…4…3…2…1…, it’s clear Mason is taking listeners on an interstellar journey through sound and humanity’s own conscience. The song opens with a countdown, mechanical and urgent, layered over rising synth drones and a fuzzy, almost desperate guitar riff that feels like a rocket struggling to lift off. The narrative—humans fleeing a ravaged Earth after the collapse of its ecosystems—is simultaneously satirical and sincere. Mason’s lyrical delivery feels half broadcast, half confession, capturing the duality of excitement and dread that comes with escaping one’s own mistakes. The chorus swells into a cosmic anthem, buoyed by the tight drumming of Nate Barnes (of Rose Hill Drive) and the fluid, propulsive basslines of John Thomasson (Little Big Town). There’s a palpable sense of propulsion—both musically and emotionally—as if Mason is forcing us to look at the destruction we’ve caused, even as we’re desperate to leave it behind.
The second track, “The Funky Martians,” is where Mason’s eccentricity truly shines. The title alone suggests playfulness, and the music doesn’t disappoint. The tone shifts from tension to groove, as syncopated drums and wah-heavy guitar riffs create a rhythm that feels equal parts Parliament-Funkadelic and early Bowie. The story continues: humanity’s first encounter with life on Mars turns chaotic, with “funky” extraterrestrials who are more menacing than musical. Yet, in Mason’s universe, catastrophe is never too far from comedy. The humans’ salvation comes through a “lucky mistake,” a line delivered with dry wit that could easily be a Douglas Adams punchline. It’s a brilliant example of Mason’s ability to blend narrative storytelling with inventive sound design—the Martians’ presence is hinted at through distorted samples and alien-like synth effects that bounce between channels like interplanetary Morse code. “The Funky Martians” is not just a middle act, but a statement of artistic confidence, proving Mason can balance satire and substance without missing a beat.
Then comes “Earthsick,” the emotional anchor of the EP and arguably one of the most affecting songs in Mason’s catalogue. Here, the humour fades, and nostalgia takes its place. Humans have colonised Mars, but the red planet’s sterile soil and cold horizons only deepen their longing for the world they destroyed. Mason’s vocal performance—soft, cracked at the edges, and intimate—sits atop a soundscape of melancholic synth chords and a heartbeat-like rhythm. For the first time in his career, Mason handles the bass himself, using his keyboard to craft a low, pulsing tone that mirrors the emotional gravity of the lyrics. “We traded oceans for dust,” he sings, a line that’s poetic and painfully relevant. The production by Derrick Lin (of Voyage In Solitude) adds a cinematic polish while maintaining the DIY charm that defines Mason’s sound. “Earthsick” ends with a faint echo of wind, as if the remnants of Earth’s atmosphere are sighing through the void—a haunting close to an imaginative trilogy.
What makes 5…4…3…2…1… remarkable is its concept and its execution. While concept albums and space-themed epics are hardly new territory in rock history, Mason’s approach feels refreshing because of its scale and sincerity. He doesn’t aim for bombast or self-importance; instead, he leans into wit, emotion, and texture. His influences—David Bowie, Neil Young, Bob Dylan, The Beatles—are evident in flashes of melody and phrasing, yet Mason’s sound remains unmistakably his own. There’s a lo-fi warmth running through the EP, an intimacy that suggests you’re listening to a transmission sent from a homemade spacecraft rather than a corporate studio. The charm lies in those imperfections—the hum of the amps, the slightly uneven mix, the human fingerprints on every sound.
Beyond the technical artistry, 5…4…3…2…1… functions as a metaphor for modern humanity’s disconnection from nature and its longing for redemption. The EP’s narrative arc mirrors our collective experience: creation, confrontation, regret. Mason captures the irony of progress—the idea that in running from our problems, we often recreate them elsewhere. Yet he does so without cynicism. There’s compassion in his tone, an understanding that even in exile, humans will seek beauty, rhythm, and meaning. The recurring motifs of flight, distance, and memory tie the three songs together, transforming what could have been a simple concept EP into a cohesive emotional journey.
It’s also worth noting how much 5…4…3…2…1… represents a personal milestone for Mason. Coming off the success of singles like “I Wish Humans Were Made in a Factory…” and “I’ll Get Through,” which charted across indie radio and Groover’s lists, this release feels like the arrival of an artist ready to define his era. The involvement of musicians like Nate Barnes and John Thomasson lends a professional weight, but it’s Mason’s imagination that drives the project. His songwriting—always introspective but never self-indulgent—has matured into something layered, cinematic, and thought-provoking. With 5…4…3…2…1…, he’s writing songs and building worlds.
As the final echoes of “Earthsick” fade, one can’t help but reflect on Mason’s trajectory. From the quiet beginnings of home demos to a fully realised conceptual EP, he’s charted a course that’s both deeply personal and universally resonant. “5…4…3…2…1…” is an invitation—to dream, to grieve, to imagine. It asks us to look at what we’ve lost, but also what we might still save. Like the best works of Bowie or Pink Floyd, it lingers long after it ends, a reminder that great art entertains, unsettles, inspires, and expands the boundaries of its own universe. Zachary Mason has launched something extraordinary here, and the countdown has only just begun.
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