A nine-pointed prism howls at you from an acidic orange sunset, burning like a subliminal message that doesn’t disappear fast enough. Your eyes bounce around the corners, and you lose count at each turn, but there are just enough lines to keep you tuned in. Little do you know you’ll soon be surging through the center, whipping through each rigid angle as you spiral downward; your elbows scraping Dali clouds and bumping Escher mountains. Yes, there’s a kind of sacred geometry to King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard’s new album – but that’s only the beginning. And with Nonagon Infinity, slated for formal release this Friday, there’s truly no ending in sight.
From the beloved Aussie psych rockers comes a fierce, dizzying work that is steeped in zealous syncopation, demonic imagery, and instant headbangability. There are more than a few high-impact moments in this album in which you really want it to go on forever. Through the magic of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, it actually does. With an end track that flows perfectly into the beginning track and an endless trip in between, Nonagon Infinity is being hailed as the world’s first infinitely-looping LP.
It’s the way they connect all the dots that makes it not only a historic record, but a freaking sick one. The tracklisting (which is, cleverly, nine songs strong) brings us such ghoulish, fight-or-flight imagery as “Big Fig Wasp” “Gamma Knife,” and “People Vultures” – but you’re better off losing count here too. Nonagon Infinity has just the right stuff to make an infinite album stick, and the beauty is in their seamless transitions – if you can even detect them.
You probably won’t, because it feels so good to be hypnotized by the melodies. They’re certainly built upon some of those mystical, everything-is-gonna-be-just-fine progressions that make King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard so groovy. But thank God, or whomever they consulted, you’re only a few steps away from chaos at any given time. Each new theme concedes to some dark force almost as quickly as it’s introduced, veering into rapid-fire segments that flip back and forth faster than Konami code thumbs. So the nonagon spins, and the septet levels up with their own shreddable version of up-up-down-down-left-right-left-right-B-A-start.
Even at a low volume (although, dude, turn it up), there’s a wealth of material here that should rightfully scare the shit out of you – especially if you’ve ever made it out of a King Gizzard show alive. The potential for a savage onstage performance is just part of Nonagon’s DNA, as are the the tripwire twangs, transmogrified growls, and those rolled-tongue yelps of “whoooEEEE” that would be right at home in a bullfight. To the thrill of the thrasher, each lyric is delivered with such crazed uniformity in both length and timbre that the words almost become part of the drumset – or both drumsets, in the case of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard. Sure, they tend to take things to the extreme. But the deliberate way they do it is exactly what makes you put Nonagon Infinity on repeat. And then, once again, a nine-pointed prism howls at you from an acidic orange sunset, burning like a subliminal message that doesn’t disappear fast enough.
Article: Olivia Isenhart