Back from outer space, so to speak, Paris Jackson has reemerged to deliver “Zombies in Love,” her first single since 2023. And, like the sound of the songs on her 2020 debut album, Wilted, it’s a track with a decidedly “singer-songwriter” feel to it—all awash in emotional vocals and a slow tempo. Which, of course, isn’t what might necessarily be expected from the daughter of a man still billed as the King of Pop (not even capable of being dethroned by certain longstanding allegations).
Then again, it’s not as if it’s a new “tactic” for nepo babies to want to distinguish themselves from their more famous parents. Especially if those parents are musicians and the best way for a nepo baby to differentiate themselves is through tackling a musical genre that’s on the opposite side of the spectrum (sort of like what Lourdes Leon a.k.a. Madonna’s daughter has done with her Lolahol project, which is less pop and more “experimental trance”).
So it is that “Zombies in Love” continues Paris Jackson’s path toward carving out her own distinct musical identity as someone more aligned with folk musicians (with Joni Mitchell always being the blueprint for most women on that front) and/or the “indie rock” genre. Not to mention offering a music video that, frankly, makes more of a statement than the type of high-budget ones her father once meted out on a regular basis to MTV throughout the 80s and 90s (with some of his most blockbuster-y ones being “Thriller,” “Black or White,” “Remember the Time” and “Scream” [featuring Janet Jackson]). Because while, certainly, Jackson’s videography has endured as being among the most iconic, his videos were generally always about style over substance (with “In the Closet” being a prime example of that).
Paris appears eager to do the opposite with a video like “Zombies in Love,” which opens with a scene of two lit-up circles that soon become immediately recognizable as the “eyes” of the now-signature-to-Los Angeles delivery robot, all stout and square-ish in shape (and which sort of looks like a mobile mini trash can). As the robot makes its way through the patently harsh, unfeeling world—arbitrarily kicked at along the way (okay, it’s not totally arbitrary: a would-be delivery person does it)—Jackson sits against the metal gate of a closed storefront strumming her guitar (joined by an endearing black dog who often steals every scene with his expressiveness…and general confusion about robots). Looking part homeless, part like a troubadour playing for cash, she woefully sings, “So much pain and hate to fight through/A hopeless cause and tune to sway to/Dreams of all the things we’d be/But the common goal is so deadly/Zombies in love/We’re zombies in love.”
In between the robot wandering the sidewalks of Los Angeles and appearing as lonely and forlorn as Wall-E, director Fidel Ruiz-Healy (with Jackson also credited as a co-director) cuts to a scene of a child sitting on a couch and wearing a VR headset before then showing another child in the same household zoned out on an iPad, totally oblivious to anything else that might be happening in the real world. For added poignancy, these moments are homed in on after their presumed parent has just collected their “bag of dinner” from the delivery robot outside. The intent behind such a narrative being to emphasize just how cold and impersonal everything—and, of course, every interaction—has become.
But these children are hardly the only ones numbed out on a screen. Another cut to various adults in darkened rooms with only the blue light to illuminate their faces adds to the generally dystopian feel of the video. Along with the robot continuously roaming the streets with nary a soul to be found (that it’s set during the night also underscores a specific kind of “desolate” feeling).
That is, until “he” encounters another robot just like “him.” The EVE to his Wall-E, if you will. Staring at one another for a few moments before the “Wall-E” of the pair makes “his” version of googly eyes at “her” (this means the circles can become animated, as it were, and look as if they’re moving around and around in, well, circles), “he” then starts moving again, signaling for “her” to follow. Which of course “she” does. Because they’re two lonely robots who have somehow managed to not only “find” one another, but become more human than the ones they pass on the street who are totally checked out—glued to their screens and willing to surrender whatever was left of their humanity in the process.
In the meantime, the robots have decided to “take over.” Just not in the way that anyone would expect. Instead, they appear to exhibit more emotions and empathy than the humans themselves, who, ironically, dispaly far more robot-like (or rather, zombie-like) behavior.
Co-written with Linda Perry (a.k.a. one of the maestras of songwriting), the lyrics are heightened by Jackson’s languid, almost resigned tone. One that lends even more thematic meaning within the context of the video. Particularly when she sings, “I can’t find a way to fill this/Nodding off and rearranging/Nothing changes if nothing changes/A den of dust, my disposition/Is fading fast in this addiction.” In other words, one’s “disposition” (i.e., personality) is fading altogether thanks to the senses becoming dulled by the mesmerizing addiction that is the blue light of the screen, and all the fundamental nothingness it parades.
By the end of the video, the delivery robots must go their separate ways—at least for the time being. After all, they still have their endless deliveries to make, tasks to carry out. Even so, the promise shown by one of the robots (who have now become interchangeable after the viewer inevitably loses track of which is which) flashing a heart on its screen as the other “rolls” away leads one to believe that this could be the beginning of a lasting romance. Or at least one that might certainly be more lasting than anything humans are currently capable of.
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