When you acquire three new injuries per song and are no longer surprised to feel snot fly out of your face, you know it’s a good show. Only King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard could warp Music Hall of Williamsburg into such a frenzied mess of elbows and ribs.
It takes a wicked opener to get a crowd so freaked out on a weeknight. Michael Rault was clearly up to the task. He and his band filled the hall with a bold, beachy sound and got the sneakers popping off the floorboards. “Alright, this song goes like this, usually…” said Rault with a capricious grin, his long hair mingling with his guitar strings. But their fluid rock was bundled in meticulous precision. Locking in the rhythm, his bassist stood close enough to the drummer to be a piece of the set.
Everyone else was getting cozy too. In the grand tradition of King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, limbs collided for sport and bruises formed by default, right from the very first song. If you’ve ever stepped on an ant pile, you have a pretty good image of how the mosh pit was grooving. Psychedelic rockers don’t mess around.
Under a scaly array of lights, King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard kept adding fuel to the fire. Their deliciously sick sound was amplified by not one, but two drummers, who slugged identical beats into the sticky space. Stu Mackenzie‘s tranquil gaze was the only thing protecting you throughout the trip as they took some freaky piece of the 60s and preserved it like taxidermy.
It felt so good, the only reasonable response was to start punching people. Once that was out of your system, unhinged hits like “Hot Wax” just begged for some crowd-surfing. Of course, no begging was necessary. Welcome to a King Gizzard show.
Article: Olivia Isenhart
Photos: Shayne Hanley