Do the members of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard play Dungeons & Dragons on their seemingly never-ending tours? They feel like they probably play Dungeons & Dragons (as a tabletop nerd, I mean that in the nicest possible way). Not only would that provide some additional context for their proggy aesthetic and the title of their 2016 breakthrough, Nonagon Infinity, it might just be the only credible explanation for how the Australian six-piece begins each new record: roll a D100 on a chart, pick a new genre to explore.
The transition from the shiny space rock and synth-pop of last year’s The Silver Chord to the country-fried faux-Americana of Flight b741 would be jarring for most bands, but it makes sense in the context of King Gizz’s sprawling discography. The band has tackled everything from psych and prog to jazz, ‘70s R&B, and metal over the course of their twenty-six studio albums, approaching each release with both fearsome musical chops and a disarming playfulness. Here they embrace a classic rock sound redolent of Steve Miller, The Band, and The Rolling Stones, with some pedal steel twang for good measure.
Flight b741 takes off with ‘Mirage City’, a country-fried rocker with singer Stu Mackenzie longing to flee to some interstellar city because “my ma and pa, they fight at home,” only to find that this sci-fi utopia is just an illusion. The Skynyrd-y first half gives way to a wild guitar and harmonica breakdown, with the whole band whoopin’ and hollerin’. It’s followed up by ‘Antarctica’, one of several songs on the LP unmistakably indebted to the Stones. This is another escape fantasy, with the band stepping “out of the heat” and heading for cooler climes – a tortuous metaphor that the gleefully daft lyric stretches way beyond its breaking point. Ambrose Kenny-Smith’s harmonica is once again dominant, but it’s the steady groove of the rhythm section that gives it some real swagger.
Elsewhere, the glam stomp of ‘Field of Vision’ nods towards T.Rex. It’s the track on the album that goes the hardest, its thrillingly fuzzed-out guitar ripping through your speakers as Joey Walker yells, “I’ve been a silly! I’ve been a silly billy!” The jaunty ‘Rats in the Sky’ adds a touch of McCartney to the mix, while the band harmonise some “scooby-do-wops” in the background. Album centrepiece ‘Le Risque’, meanwhile, groves along on a bouncing bassline before drummer Cavs Cavanagh (singing on record for the first time) grabs the mic to deliver a raucous call and response mid-section vocal “No fire! (no fire) / No flame! (no flame) / I’m always feelin’ the same” that leads up to Kenny-Smith’s shrieked “Hello, Evel Knievel!” It’s ridiculous and brilliant all at the same time.
The album closes out with ‘Daily Blues’, a sprawling multi-part epic that offers a sort of cranked-up speedrun of Flight b741’s different tones, from hip-shaking harmonica blues to a climactic glam rock shakedown. Like all of this record, it’s maximalist, absurd, and made with genuine affection for the music that it’s pastiching. Flight b741 could have come off as overly kitsch or ironic, but King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard stick the landing.
