You don't have to be a King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard expert to be expert in their antics. The psychedelic six-piece have gained a reputation for creating prolifically, touring relentlessly, and building a world of die-hard followers of their world-building.
For their 27th album in 14 years, the most radical thing King Gizzard can do at this point in their career is question its sustainability — or work with a 24-piece orchestra. On the lush and melancholy Phantom Island, the Melbourne band do both, creating their most vulnerable, intimate record in the process.
Hear me out: thematically, Phantom Island is oddly akin to '60s trucker country, where behind every whiskey-fuelled ramble with the boys lies an intense yearning for wives and children down the road, leaving the listener disorientated, wondering whether to raise a glass or cry into one. Guitarist Cook Craig's Wizard of Oz metaphors and frontman Stu Mackenzie's borderline doo-wop (Stu-wop?), "Worry which reality she would see / Did I do it for her, or did I do it for me?" on "Eternal Return" embody a reluctant goodbye where sadness is palpable, but masked for survival.
Maybe nuance is inevitable when Phantom Island and its excellent predecessor Flight b741 were born of the same sessions. As b741 revelled in rock 'n' roll hedonism, conductor Chad Kelly reimagined its homesick counterpart for orchestra, overdubbing his arrangements onto the original recordings. At its core, Phantom Island is a trial in bridging disparate worlds: music and family, '70s soft rock and rich orchestration. In the end, all gels well, if not fully.
Strings sweep effortlessly into the Southern rock riff of "Sea of Doubt," muted trumpets suit jazzy crooner "Silent Spirit," and the horns on freaky, bluesy "Deadstick" add more power and polish than multi-instrumentalist Ambrose Kenny-Smith's loose saxophone has in the past. When the orchestra fits this nicely and transitions songs so smoothly, it also begs for space to flourish, especially as the band stays dialled-back.
King Gizz being synonymous with heavy riffs and high-concept fantasy means dialling things back is pretty daring, and it's ultimately what makes Phantom Island striking. Trading realm-crafting for introspection normally withheld for side projects, imagery of space and the sea conveys lonely rootlessness; but more often than not, the outfit take a rare turn toward brutally candid lyricism. Most poignant is "Spacesick," where mid-tour, Mackenzie speaks to his partner CB radio-style, longing for family dinner and asking about a zoo trip where "they cried a lot / When they saw a guy who looked like their pop."
Guitarist Joey Walker matches the yearning with, "Fuck, I miss the smell hidden in your clothing" ("Eternal Return"), while Kenny-Smith advising, "I would say don't be a musician, my son / Be a doctor, lawyer, or a stand-up citizen" ("Silent Spirit"), hits harder coming from someone who followed the footsteps of his musician father. Where Flight b741 saw King Gizzard celebrating their stardom, Phantom Island takes stock of its necessary sacrifices.
Amidst the "Sea of Doubt," Mackenzie sings, "Here comes a friend for me to lean on," atop acoustic guitar and woodwinds, like a balm for all anxieties expressed beforehand. On Phantom Island, King Gizzard do sound more like friends than bandmates, comparing advice they'd share with their children and holding hands as the plane crashes ("Deadstick"). Where verse-heavy, pass-the-mic songwriting kept Flight b741 energized and playful, here, it works differently yet equally well, putting an emphasis on storytelling and sharing perspectives across the band.
Can we blame King Gizzard for longing to slow down when they've produced so abundantly at breakneck speed? Any worries that they're shutting off the engine completely — or any worries, period — can be soothed by the restless energy of breezy closer "Grow Wings and Fly." While it has grown far from the "Shanghai" offshoot live jam that rhymed "get real high" and "apple pie," its origin feels like a testament to the importance of live music, doubling the power of its message.
"Shanghai" shakes its head at senseless chaos and sees personal growth as the antidote; "Grow Wings and Fly" reflects on growth to grow further, seeing transformation as an endless continuum. Ascending violins embody its fluttering butterflies in one of the many moments on Phantom Island where the orchestra brings heightened sensitivity to its proper emotional heights. The result is euphoric, like the first deep breath after a hard cry.
A phantom island is one depicted on maps by explorers, then later discovered to not actually exist — and it's an apt metaphor for the ephemeral world of live music. "Your daddy never knew what he was doing / It's all love," sings Mackenzie on "Silent Spirit." Maybe the only way to bridge disparate, equally meaningful worlds is to see the love and pain in each, and recognize that the pain wouldn't exist without the love.
A timely pause in an otherwise full-throttle discography, Phantom Island is a mature reflection on grappling with success. Musically, King Gizzard may never step foot in the same stream twice, but it's clear they're here for each other wherever the current takes them.