'Garden State' Finds Jeremy Zucker at Ease—and in Command
Jeremy Zucker’s Garden State heads home, keeping sentiment at arm’s length. Billed as his third full-length, it’s a front-to-back listen that treats New Jersey less as a postcard and more as a mirror—an honest inventory of who you become when you circle back to the streets that shaped you. Across a lean, 48-minute runtime, Zucker keeps the production uncluttered and close to the chest: warm guitars, unshowy drums, and vocals that sit right at the edge of a conversation. The effect is also intimate without feeling small, and confident without turning arrogant.
If you’re looking for the record’s thesis, start with “hometown.” It’s Zucker at his most direct—steady pulse, roomy acoustics, and a lyric that sketches the tension between distance and belonging. A few tracks later, “natural disaster” kicks the doors in. It’s a little messier by design, with an anxious acoustic-pop momentum that lets him lean into volatility while still landing a hook you can remember—building up to an instrumental-heavy conclusion worthy of repeat listens. On the other hand, “letting go” is the exhale at the other end of that arc: restrained, tender, and unafraid to create space sonically and thematically.
Jeremy Zucker, Mercury Records (2025)
Zucker threads the rest of the sequence with sharp, lived-in detail. “navy blue” floats on a dusky, late-night sway; “pretty f**king tight” slips a grin into the melancholy; “simple things” and “surprise!” chase the little moments that end up mattering most. What stands out is how considered the arrangements are. Rather than stack layers for impact, he subtracts until only the necessary pieces remain. Harmonies bloom in the corners, guitar lines carry weight, and a small rhythmic shift can feel like a door opening. It’s the kind of restraint that comes from an artist who knows what he wants a song to do—and what he can trust the listener to feel.
Lyrically, Garden State avoids the trap of glorifying the past. Zucker writes like someone who’s returned not to reenact a memory, but to challenge it. He doesn’t sand down the rough edges of adolescence; he builds with them. There’s a grown, clear-eyed realism here—and that approach pays off in the sequencing, too. The record moves like a drive through back roads: quick turns, familiar landmarks, the occasional straightaway where you can actually breathe.
For longtime fans, this plays as a maturation point after love is not dying and CRUSHER: tighter songwriting, surer hands on the faders, and a voice that doesn’t need to shout to land a blow. And for new listeners, it’s an easy entry—hooky without chasing trends, earnest without lapsing into melodrama.
Overall, Garden State is Zucker in full command: a dynamic self-portrait that turns coming home into forward motion.
