When California splits into thirds, Santa Cruz should declare autonomy from the entire debacle, and immediately make Coffee Zombie Collective president. Six musicians running a futuristic country beholden only to the laws of kindness, compassion and a zeal for fun, scruffy, eclectic music? By Jove, I do believe there is a way forward!
With a brand-new release titled There’s a Ball of Fire in the Sky, debuting at Balefire Brewing Company on Saturday, Feb. 1, CZC has never sounded better. And while musical comparisons are the sour bread and rancid butter of reviews, CZC defies categorization. But if you had to break the band down, imagine if Squirrel Nut Zippers and Devo got swept up in a non-locational force field that had them confined to the borders of Santa Cruz county, while mutating their DNA so they resembled a close-knit tribe of troubadours who met at a full moon alien abduction.
One of the more familiar faces around Santa Cruz, usually framed by a red Viking beard, is Nate Lieby. Father, husband, software engineer, but more notoriously known as the lead singer of Coffee Zombie Collective. “Ever since COVID,” Lieby says, “it’s been hyper local mostly. We have a running joke within the band that we are not allowed to leave the county.”
On the new disc, mixed in amongst covers like “Punk Rock Girl”(The Dead Milkmen), a smoking “Bad Guy” (Billie Eilish) and“Seven Nation Army” (The White Stripes) are some of CZC’s brilliant originals. The eponymous track “There’s a Ball of Fire in the Sky” starts off like somebody created an AI version of Herb Alpert’s Tijuana Brass. And it’s this left-of-left-field approach, which CZC inhabits, that keeps the audience on their toes.
In the song, like an unexpected, completely amped dinner guest, Lieby begins a rant about meeting a mysterious person who reveals what the cause is of all of humanity’s sorrow. “It’s a story about a guy who runs into some old traveler out in the forest. The guy explains how the sun is trying to kill humanity. All the time.”
But it’s not just a poppy They Might Be Giants song, weaving a funny tale without depth. CZC is more like the San Lorenzo River, with canyons of deep, bottomless, sparkling water. “It’s about how nothing we do has meaning. But what’s the point of complaining about all of our trials and tribulations, when the sun’s gonna go supernova and consume us. So, might as well chill out,” Lieby laughs.
If Banana Slug String Band is Santa Cruz’s daytime music for kids and weirdos, the collective is definitely the nighttime messenger for oddballs and kooks. Its high-energy ebullience emanates from the stage, and its infection rate is zombie level. The other songwriter on this album is Zach Langton, who is a daytime nurse anesthesiologist. His tune, “Why Can’t We Get Along,” busts out like a Violent Femmes B-side, then rises to the top of the album as one of its best compositions. Trying to nail down Langton on a break from his healthcare job, he is concise on the new album. “The song ‘Ball of Fire’ came together so easily in the studio. Nate is inherently funny, and the story he sang became the spark that pulled the whole album together,” Langston says.
Lieby, the aforementioned ginger shaman, is in transit from his daytime gig at Joby. And pardon the hyperbole, but Lieby and CZC represent everything Santa Cruz is about. Hardworking, family and community conscious, environmentally hip, creatively talented. So, it’s not a stretch to consider his band (yes, they are a collective) as one of Santa Cruz’s most crucial voices. CZC works from the core roots of what music is. “Music goes back to cave people sitting around a campfire, clacking rocks together,” Lieby notes.
Coffee Zombie Collective is about accessibility. They want to root for you, as you root for them. Their presence is a walking, dancing affirmation of family. “We just want to lift everybody up together, and make something bigger than just the individual pieces,” Lieby says.
Coffee Zombie Collective’s album release event takes place at 7pm on Feb. 1 at Balefire Brewing Company, 21517 East Cliff Drive, Santa Cruz. Free.
