My New Zoo

Horse and giraffe masks. My New Zoo spray-painting their name on a white sheet at some small festival in Biessenhofen. I’d never heard of them before, and for a moment I thought, what is this going to be. Then they started and I got it.

Danny B on vocals, Robert on guitar, Wolfram on drums, Christian on bass. Four guys sounding like Keith Richards beating Paul McCartney to the rhythm of Roxanne while the Kinks watch. That’s how they described their sound, and it’s actually accurate. They tore through Mr Officer, Sometimes, Aida—playing at full throttle for maybe thirty people in the crowd. Most bands wouldn’t bother. These guys did.

The Make My Day Festival itself was fine. Small, not crowded, the kind of event where you can wander around and not feel like you’re missing anything. Decent food, eco-clothing stands, two stages, a bonfire. I came for the evening light and whatever was happening on stage.

I got caught dancing badly and the singer called me out on it. Danny. Instead of letting it die he just started talking, and we ended up watching the rest of the festival together. He had one of those laughs that makes you want to laugh back. His voice live was strong and warm, the kind of voice that carries.

Fools Garden played later. Lemon Tree and the entire crowd rushed forward like that was the only song worth their time. I understand—it’s a song people hold onto. But there’s something depressing about being defined by one track. All those other songs, all that effort, and you’re still just the one-hit-wonder band playing at a local festival. I’d hate that.

The fireworks happened during their set. The kind of thing everyone wants to share with someone, and I was standing alone watching the sky light up. Not because I was miserable, but because those moments make the solitude obvious. Beautiful thing, no one to feel it with. It passes. You move on. That’s how it goes.