“I built up a big body of work. And now I’m just like, surrounded by all of my emotions,” they laugh while sharing some of their more recent pieces. Each one is a saturated maze of cityscapes and doorways, winding staircases and windows. They describe the process of the new album as a form of spatial and creative exploration, where the focus was on creating an experience for the listener to sit in and explore, much like these paintings. Happy Thought School revisits Zoon’s adolescence in Selkirk, Manitoba, drawing its title from the middle school they attended and its spirit from the refuge they found in early-2000s music.
“I kind of wanted to make this album very vulnerable and childlike. Not even childlike in the songwriting, but childlike in the decisions that I made. I used to not want to be super poppy or make my music accessible in that kind of way. But I [thought], you know, as a child, I used to love pop music. Let’s try it out.”

Zoon is one of those artists you meet whose work is evidently as exploratory and vibrant as they are. The idea of artmaking as a form of spiritual practice comes up frequently in our conversation. Zoon tells me they picture the work like a pure stream which writers, painters, actors and artists alike tap into. There’s a sort of spirituality to Zoon’s music making; we gab about our shared love of Patti Smith and her idea of artistic Devotions — a sense of metaphysical calling to the altar of creation itself, beyond any singular medium.
“I’ve been hanging out with a lot of the people from Sonic Youth and Broken Social Scene and I got to see firsthand how they work. It was so inspiring; it didn’t feel like I was giving away too much of myself. It was more like someone was taking what I had and enhancing it”
The record is sprawling and hypnagogic; fascinated with the fuzz of a radio, the afterglow of pop and a thin veil of sunshine which barely covers the pain and discomfort of outgrowing your surroundings.
Happy Thought School is driven by archival tapes of Zoon’s family speaking about the experience of rural racism during those same school years. A departure from the ‘Moccasin-gaze’ of Zoon’s earlier work, the songs drift with the same lucid feeling as staring across a field beneath a sky that seems endless and alive.
“Bob Dylan talks a lot about growing up close to where I live in Winnipeg, but he was just a little bit down south. And he talks a lot about how cold it was; I know that experience because when I went to Happy Thought School, there was an experience where I had to make a choice between getting a ride home with my mom back to the country, or staying in Selkirk to watch 28 Days Later with my friend on VHS. And my mom was like ‘well, it’s up to you to get to school tomorrow’. And it was wintertime. And I was like, Okay, well, I’m obviously going to stay and watch this new zombie movie, but I knew I had to endure this cold weather, going to this kind of like racist, rural farm school. [Looking back,] it felt very vulnerable for a child to have to make that decision.”

It’s rare that an album, or anything else really, could capture this specific feeling of both awe and dread; the adolescent ritual of dissociation that comes with putting on a pair of headphones and blasting your eardrums out. But Zoon’s Happy Thought School is an exercise in that exact form of transportation. It’s a record that honours Zoon’s younger self, in both its sound and its creation.
“That’s why I decided to call it Happy Thoughts School, because a lot of the decisions I was making at that time were [also] controlled, but very freeing, too. In that time, I really discovered music. I wasn’t afraid of doing anything. It was just like, ‘you know what, I’m just doing it.’”
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