ZETI Doesn’t Escape Reality on 'It Is What It Is – Prevail,' She Sits Inside It

There’s a difference between artists who talk about healing and artists who have clearly been forced to figure it out the hard way. ZETI sits in that second category, and It Is What It Is – Prevail makes that obvious almost immediately.

Led by Margaret Stutt, this project doesn’t move like a typical indie release. It’s slower, heavier, and way more intentional. Experimental folk, post-rock, and art-pop all blend together, but none of those labels really explain what’s happening here. This feels more like a process than a product.

The EP opens with “Remain,” and it doesn’t ease you in. It confronts collapse head-on, pulling from climate anxiety, political instability, and the chaos of recent California wildfires. But instead of spiraling, Stutt leans into something bigger. The track dissolves the individual perspective, pushing toward a sense of oneness that feels more spiritual than sonic. It’s unsettling, but grounding at the same time.

“Candlelight” shifts the tone without softening the weight. It’s about surrender, but not in a passive way. More like accepting what you can’t control while still holding onto whatever small light exists. The production stays minimal, almost fragile, which makes the message land harder. Nothing is overdone, and that restraint is what gives it power.

On “Look at the Sky,” ZETI pulls things back even further. It feels like a quiet check-in rather than a statement. No pressure, no urgency, just a reminder that support doesn’t always have to be loud to be real. It’s one of the most accessible moments on the project, but still carries that same underlying depth.

Then there’s “When a Poet Is Killed,” which is easily the most intense track on the EP. It processes violence, control, and the kind of societal pressure that tries to silence expression altogether. Instead of turning it into something explosive, Stutt channels it into resolve. It’s not about reacting. It’s about enduring.

What makes It Is What It Is – Prevail stand out is how it was made. This wasn’t some overthought, months-long rollout chasing perfection. It came together quickly, built from grief, loss, and a need to create in real time. You can feel that immediacy. Nothing here feels polished for approval. It feels necessary.

There’s also a deeper foundation behind it. Stutt’s background in meditation and their work as an ordained Soto Zen practitioner isn’t just a side note; it’s embedded in everything. The way the songs move, the space they leave, the refusal to force resolution. It all reflects a mindset that’s more about sitting with reality than trying to control it.

After years away from performing publicly and over a decade of releasing music largely out of the spotlight, this project doesn’t feel like a comeback. It feels like a continuation, just louder in intention. It Is What It Is – Prevail isn’t trying to fix anything for you. It’s reminding you that you can sit in the middle of everything falling apart and still find a way to keep going.

This project rejects perfection and overthinking. Do you think artists hide behind “polish” to avoid actually feeling what they’re making?

I have no hard feelings against polish. There are many ways artists hide or soothe anxiety, fear, insecurity, even when being spontaneous and raw. The pursuit of perfection can also mean a commitment to discipline and taking craft seriously– dedicating oneself to bringing art and beauty to the world. I don’t reject the deep thought and discipline of Philip Glass’ Symphony No. 9, for example. I don’t know if this project rejects perfection so much as embraces the simplicity of working with what’s present and available here and now. 

That said, I don’t think perfection matters nearly as much as the heart of what you’re communicating. There is a shadow side to polish in terms of money and time, in getting too much in our heads, caught in the future, obsessively trying to control the outcome of how the work will be perceived. There’s freedom to be found in letting the current flow, in embracing all that arises, even if it’s unexpected or unwelcome, in just accepting a degree of flaw and allowing ourselves to float on with the river. To focus on what feels real and authentic, to experiment, play, grow, and explore. 

So maybe the path is– if you’re punk, try polish. If you’re polished, try punk. Try sketching with your eyes closed. Sing into a $25 mic and work in GarageBand with a time limit of one week. See what happens. Nature isn’t perfect. It’s ok. We can do both. We can let go of the tight grip. None of us is fully in control, and we’ll all be dead soon. Try splashing and having fun a bit. It’s not so serious. Release!

Your music sits in grief without trying to resolve it. Was it difficult to resist the urge to turn these songs into something more “hopeful” or digestible?

The assignment was really to honor the darkness that was presenting itself– to observe reality as it is. Loved ones die, sometimes far too early. Family members become homeless with no solution readily available. Children die brutally in unjust wars. Friends lose homes in a wildfire. Darkness is a part of being alive. How do we reckon with devastation, breathe through it, and continue to put one gentle and bold step in front of the other? How do we make our hearts large enough to be present with it, with care and compassion? We can’t respond appropriately if we’re insisting that reality always be different or wrapped in a pretty bow.

I think for me the hope is found in the fortitude to sit upright while chaos reigns around you, living out values amidst devastation–to forbear, to determine what might be useful– what might sustain life, beauty, joy, connection. That’s incredibly hopeful. To make art amidst collapse and intensifying violence, to strengthen the weave of our togetherness– that’s hope. Tender care and love sometimes wear black, can be tenacious and gritty.

You’ve spent years creating without performing publicly. What does stepping back into that space feel like now, especially with something this personal?

Live shows are reframed. I see my role now as a facilitator for a collective sonic journey, an effort that is meant as an offering. I used to play and be on the road constantly, and now I’m being very selective about live appearances to preserve the groundedness that has been of benefit to the work and my life. It feels incredibly special to come out of the forest to share some of the audible herbal teas as an act of love, to initiate gatherings and connection, to communally fortify in a time of meta-crises and messy rebirth.

Your Soto Zen practice is clearly embedded in the music. Do you see this EP as spiritual work first and music second, or are they the same thing for you?

A baker simply bakes bread. A spiritual baker: simply bakes loaves of bread. I think I’m similar in that I find myself as a musician with a spiritual practice that simply assembles sounds and presents it before you as music to ingest.

Before I observed spiritual practice, I was an untended plant that grew wild. With practice, it’s as if there’s a wise old gardener who now prunes the branches, fertilizes the soil, waters consistently– bringing better airflow to the leaves, reducing pests and mildew, strengthening the roots, and ultimately leading to a healthier plant with more rewarding blossoms. The music is the blossom of a plant that is tended to with care. 

You made this quickly, with whatever was around you. Do you trust that kind of immediacy more than long, structured creative processes?

I fiercely love planning and structure, and am currently working on a studio project for a double LP, which is a multi-year-long project. Planning for years is my innate muscle, so I think putting something together DIY in the interim is great cross-training to rein me back into the here and now. Just because you climb mountains and feel really great about the effort and achievement of summiting a studio project doesn’t mean there is not also complete merit in taking walks around the block to admire the neighbors’ flowers. I trust movement of all kinds. There are pros and cons to immediacy vs. planning, DIY vs ambitious long-range projects. Why not do both? I will say, it’s certainly more affordable to just dive in at home with friends, and there’s a special intimacy and vulnerability that comes with that.

At the end of the day, I think the bigger question is, are we in touch with life, flowing with the stream? Are we tapping into the source without fabricating criteria and prerequisites to be creative at any given time? We can sing out right now! We can touch keys and strings this second. We can make noise with objects around us, within arm's reach. We can pick up the nearest pen. Yes, we can also paint massive oil paintings that require countless study sketches to bring to life, and we can produce the magnum opus. But art isn’t exclusive to one mode, and there is joy to be had in the everyday. 

Trust comes from showing up with our whole heart. We can break the rules, barriers, constrictions, and hindrances, and free ourselves this very second. Perhaps the biggest thing in our way is ourselves.