Adelaide quartet Swapmeet formed on the final day of high school, just as the world contracted under the weight of the global pandemic. It is perhaps unsurprising, then, that the group underwent a period of arrested development; their debut album, Mount Zero, arrives after six years of relative quiet, punctuated only by their evocative 2024 EP, Oxalis. Upon first listen to the single “Halfway,” one is struck by a distinct familiarity—a warm, fuzzy, and undeniably authentic sound that captures the existential dread accompanying the transition into adulthood. It is a record that feels both shoegazey and self-indulgent, idling and roaring in turn, marked by a refreshing, almost childlike sincerity.
Mount Zero is not a record of experience, but rather one of virginity in the most positive sense. The band, featuring Maxwell Elphick and Venus O’Broin, weaves desperate, hair-pulling fantasies that feel entirely prelapsarian. As the album progresses, it unravels the heartaches of youth, bleeding into the disillusionment of young adulthood. The title track, with its buzzing guitars and muffled riffs, features a poignant duet between Elphick and O’Broin, capturing the feeling of being stuck in a place that is more an idea of adventure than a reality. The album itself is a study in inaction, with lyrics that breathe the tension of wanting to leave while remaining firmly planted.
The musical landscape of the album is defined by a Slow Pulp-y guitar aesthetic that often snowballs into a wall of sound. Tracks like “Seeds,” fronted by Jack Medlyn, demonstrate this penchant for building from tentative beginnings into a tsunami of indie-rock instrumentation. While this structural trick occasionally borders on the repetitive, the album’s quieter moments—such as the sparse, haunting finale “My Heart Breaks II”—provide a necessary, arresting contrast. O’Broin’s vocals here are particularly striking, sounding both chilled and broken as she navigates the silence of her own fears.
The central tension of Mount Zero lies in the chasm between passive desire and decisive action. This is best exemplified by the standout track “Halfway,” a twinkly, pleading number that functions as a sonic embrace for the unique pain of an “almost-was” relationship. With rainy strings and a mournful clarinet, the song encapsulates the endangered sweetness that makes the album so compelling. Ultimately, Mount Zero captures the impossible, eternal desires of the cusp of young adulthood, pushing forward with a gauzy, needling intensity that remains open to the world’s inherent hurt.
