Stu Mackenzie, the singer and guitarist at the head of Australian psychedelic rockers King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard, shudders when he thinks back to the global events of 2020 that brought the planet to a standstill.
"Your whole existence is called into question when something like this happens," he says from his home in Melbourne. "It was an existential threat, because it was like, 'What is my purpose if not to go play music for other human beings?""
Given the prolific nature of the band - they'd released a total of 15 albums in the seven years since their 2012 debut, 12 Bar Bruise - it's hard not to sympathise with their predicament. But King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard are nothing if not hardy souls and so, despite Melbourne experiencing some of the toughest lockdown restrictions in the world, they set about overcoming the dilemma of not being able to make music together. Harnessing the power of digital communication, the band met daily via Zoom to exchange ideas, riffs and concepts to “make a record, which sounded like a live band, because that was the thing that we couldn’t do”. Of course, this being King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard, the band remotely made an eyebrow-raising two albums in the shape of KG (2020) and LW the following year and, in the process, upped their studio skills.
“It was like, ‘How do we record a drum kit and make it sound like there’s other instruments in the room, and we actually jammed and played together?’” says Mackenzie.
"In trying to do that, we actually had a lot of fun writing songs, and came up with a lot of things that were happy accidents." He adds: "I mean, this is all I've known how to ever do and I just love making music; I love recording music and I love touring. I really, really do."
Mackenzie's - and, by extension, the rest of the band - love of his craft has come into full evidence once again. With the group reunited at last, their flurry of creative activity and continual desire to keep moving forward saw them releasing no fewer than five - count 'em - albums by the end of last year and more are planned. Made In Timeland - originally envisaged as intermission music during their increasingly marathon shows and developed into two 15-minute tracks of electronic influences harnessed by a 60bpm tempo was followed a month after its March release by the full-length Ominum Gatherum, an album that jettisoned King Gizzard's usual conceptual modus operandi to jump around a variety of genres including psychedelia, prog, krautrock and funk, thus making it an excellent entry point for neophytes.
And that’s just for starters. Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms And Lava takes its cues from Can’s cut-up studio techniques gleaned from extended jams and sonic explorations, while Changes – a project that’s taken them almost five years to complete – finds the band basing every song around the same chord changes while oscillating between two very different scales. Oh, and finally there’s Laminated Denim, which eagle-eyed readers will spot as being an anagram of Made In Timeland. With shows cancelled, the band set about recording another two 15-minute tracks to be played as intermission music for when they returned to live duties.
With such a head-spinning amount of music being released in a relatively short time period, isn’t there a danger that King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard are overly challenging their fans to absorb and process an incredible amount of information?
“I think we are primarily challenging ourselves,” counters Mackenzie. “But I think that is an interesting way to frame it, though, because – and maybe it’s not something that I’ve even really thought about – I definitely do spend a lot of time thinking about our fans, because I just feel so grateful that literally anybody wants to listen to our music or come to a show.”
Pondering the band’s ever-expanding output, he continues: “I feel like, for me, recording something, collaborating with other people, finishing it, and then releasing it to a point where you can’t touch it or change it ever again, it feels like a purge; it feels really good when it’s done. And it feels like you can clear space. In my mind, it’s like emptying trash. And that’s always been my personal way of like being able to move on or being able to grow or change.”
And yet there remains a form of selfawareness within the band about applying quality control methods to what gets released and what stays in the can – along with a tip from a seemingly unlikely source.
“My ...
"Your whole existence is called into question when something like this happens," he says from his home in Melbourne. "It was an existential threat, because it was like, 'What is my purpose if not to go play music for other human beings?""
Given the prolific nature of the band - they'd released a total of 15 albums in the seven years since their 2012 debut, 12 Bar Bruise - it's hard not to sympathise with their predicament. But King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard are nothing if not hardy souls and so, despite Melbourne experiencing some of the toughest lockdown restrictions in the world, they set about overcoming the dilemma of not being able to make music together. Harnessing the power of digital communication, the band met daily via Zoom to exchange ideas, riffs and concepts to “make a record, which sounded like a live band, because that was the thing that we couldn’t do”. Of course, this being King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard, the band remotely made an eyebrow-raising two albums in the shape of KG (2020) and LW the following year and, in the process, upped their studio skills.
“It was like, ‘How do we record a drum kit and make it sound like there’s other instruments in the room, and we actually jammed and played together?’” says Mackenzie.
"In trying to do that, we actually had a lot of fun writing songs, and came up with a lot of things that were happy accidents." He adds: "I mean, this is all I've known how to ever do and I just love making music; I love recording music and I love touring. I really, really do."
Mackenzie's - and, by extension, the rest of the band - love of his craft has come into full evidence once again. With the group reunited at last, their flurry of creative activity and continual desire to keep moving forward saw them releasing no fewer than five - count 'em - albums by the end of last year and more are planned. Made In Timeland - originally envisaged as intermission music during their increasingly marathon shows and developed into two 15-minute tracks of electronic influences harnessed by a 60bpm tempo was followed a month after its March release by the full-length Ominum Gatherum, an album that jettisoned King Gizzard's usual conceptual modus operandi to jump around a variety of genres including psychedelia, prog, krautrock and funk, thus making it an excellent entry point for neophytes.
And that’s just for starters. Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms And Lava takes its cues from Can’s cut-up studio techniques gleaned from extended jams and sonic explorations, while Changes – a project that’s taken them almost five years to complete – finds the band basing every song around the same chord changes while oscillating between two very different scales. Oh, and finally there’s Laminated Denim, which eagle-eyed readers will spot as being an anagram of Made In Timeland. With shows cancelled, the band set about recording another two 15-minute tracks to be played as intermission music for when they returned to live duties.
With such a head-spinning amount of music being released in a relatively short time period, isn’t there a danger that King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard are overly challenging their fans to absorb and process an incredible amount of information?
“I think we are primarily challenging ourselves,” counters Mackenzie. “But I think that is an interesting way to frame it, though, because – and maybe it’s not something that I’ve even really thought about – I definitely do spend a lot of time thinking about our fans, because I just feel so grateful that literally anybody wants to listen to our music or come to a show.”
Pondering the band’s ever-expanding output, he continues: “I feel like, for me, recording something, collaborating with other people, finishing it, and then releasing it to a point where you can’t touch it or change it ever again, it feels like a purge; it feels really good when it’s done. And it feels like you can clear space. In my mind, it’s like emptying trash. And that’s always been my personal way of like being able to move on or being able to grow or change.”
And yet there remains a form of selfawareness within the band about applying quality control methods to what gets released and what stays in the can – along with a tip from a seemingly unlikely source.
“My ...
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Prog (Digital) - 1 Issue, Issue 139