In the press materials for Flight b741 — the 26th (!) studio album from Australia’s reigning jam band masters King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard — head Gizzard Stu Mackenzie suggests that the band’s recent records have been “sort of intellectual.” The idea with Flight b741, he says, was “to make something fun.”
Speaking as someone who has fought off a proverbial side ache from trying to keep up with this tireless band’s output in the past decade-plus, I would humbly argue that “fun” has never been an issue for King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard. Let’s peruse a recent smattering of their aggressively genre-hopping work. There was The Silver Cord, which we will classify as “the one that sounds like Kraftwerk.” There was PetroDragonic Apocalypse, also known as “the one that resembles Slayer if they were more like Frank Zappa.” (Probably more succinct to just say “Tool-esque.”) There was Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms, And Lava, the one that simultaneously nodded to fusion jazz and Greek mythology, as all bands inevitably do when they pass the 20-album mark in their discographies.
The key to appreciating King Gizzard, as well as all jam bands, is understanding that the journey is more important than the destination. This kind of music is concerned primarily with process — the dreaming up of an idea, the self-imposed demands of a musical challenge, the pursuit of spontaneity, the fetishization of moments that are impossible to prefabricate. When you approach a band like King Gizzard, you are implicitly striking a deal that accepts an imperfect final product in exchange for the sort of impromptu adventure that conventional rock bands can’t deliver. It’s not where you end up by morning, it’s the fun and exhilarating times you had along the way. That’s the King Gizzard experience.
What sets King Gizzard apart from their peers on the Red Rocks/Gorge circuit is that they take this approach in the studio as well as the stage. For them, making a record is like a playing gig that happens to take place in a room without audience, and with a new musical costume that will swiftly be discarded once they re-enter the studio months or even weeks later. That was certainly the approach for Flight b741, which was recorded “really loud” over two weeks on cheap amps and with a newly purchased Nuggets-style organ.
As for their present persona, King Gizzard reverted to the mean of their core influences — crunchy, riff-y classic rock with a twangy country edge. Early ’70s Dead, mid-’70s Stones, The James Gang, pre-yacht rock Steely Dan — all leave discernible fingerprints on these songs. The guitars chug. The cowbell cowbells. Until now I have physically restrained myself from typing the word “choogle” but I am finally relenting after 450 words. On Flight b741, King Gizzard choogles like few modern bands dare to choogle.
Is this a fun record? Of course it’s a fun record. Like I said, “fun” has never been a problem for this band. So, what is the issue? “Memorable.” In typical King Gizzard fashion, Flight b471 is uneven in the “memorable songs” department.
When it comes to live performance, I am a fan of taking the “journey over destination” approach. Most of my favorite live acts have adopted that philosophy, and the ones that haven’t seem a little dull in comparison. But in the studio, the shortcomings of this philosophy are more apparent. With King Gizzard, no matter the style of music with which they are experimenting, my experience with their albums tends to be the same. It goes like this: I enjoy them when they’re on, and I forget them when they’re not.
This is probably an unfair comparison but I’ll make it anyway: In terms of genre diversity, King Gizzard’s historical analogue is Ween, another group adored by jam fans even if that feeling hasn’t always been mutual. In the ’90s, Ween changed their sound just as often as King Gizzard, and in the case of their 1994 masterpiece Chocolate & Cheese, they did it over the course of a single album. But Gene and Dean Ween are infinitely better songwriters than Mackenzie and his fellow Gizzards. They didn’t just emulate certain instrumental tones associated with specific genres or musical eras. They started with great songs, and then those fit those songs to whatever style they wanted.
Now, I know this is unfair because Ween happens to be one of the greatest bands of all time. (And they are the greatest indie-adjacent jam act.) Nevertheless: I wish King Gizzard put more care into songwriting, even if Ween’s method — write five songs for every one you put on a record — is antithetical to what they do. Premeditation isn’t in the Giz’s DNA. And I can respect that, though songwriting will continue to be their most glaring weakness.
Back to fun: Flight b471 is definitely that and then some. No matter their ambivalent stance toward the greater jam world — they have embraced Trey Anastasio’s fandom and snarkily dismissed their potential rival Goose — King Gizzard is at their best when they come closest to approximating a jam band musically. That was true of the funky Ice, Death as well as the electro-pop excursion Butterfly 3000, and it’s obviously the case on Flight b471, in which they rip through bluesy jams in a manner that bear more than a passing resemblance to Tedeschi Trucks Band, The Black Crowes, and even southern rock O.G.s Widespread Panic.
The title track typifies this “sleazeball country rock” vibe, applying some well-worn stoned fuzz to the greasy grooves. “Sad Pilot” similarly struts with blotto swagger, while “Daily Blues” reimagines ZZ Top’s Eliminator as a lysergic Meat Puppets jam. And then there’s my favorite track, “La Risque,” whiuch successfully melds Countdown To Ecstasy with a loosey-goosey Dick’s Picks sensibility.
The word I would use to describe all of these songs is “spacious.” King Gizzard albums typically have a frenetic edge, going back to their early days as a hyperkinetic garage-rock outfit. There’s always this feeling that they have so much music on their minds that they have to burn through every song as fast as possible in order to get to the next brainstorm. It’s the quality that makes this band exciting and exhausting in equal doses.
But on Flight b471, you can hear them breathe — and chill — a little. (The exception is the self-explanatory “Hog Calling Contest,” which sounds exactly like the title.) This is a positive development. When you have 26 albums under your belt, you can afford to settle in for a minute. Just grab a comfortable seat, cradle a koozie-wrapped beer can, and ease your mind, man. With a little more consideration, you might even make your own masterpiece one day.