“We tried to make a blues record, a blues-boogie-shuffle-kinda-thing.”
Since their inception in 2010, the Australian psych-rock band with the most memorable name in the industry have incessantly churned out albums left, right and centre, most notably producing 5 LPs within the year of 2017. Whilst their first two LPs engaged with surf rock and garage rock, their following string of LPs up until 2017 extended their reach into prog-rock, folk, jazz, soul, and by virtue, heavy metal. And here we’ve arrived at their 14th studio album, Fishing for Fishies, enlisting the somewhat ancient sounds of a genre which has recently borne its sole weight on such acts as The Black Keys and Jack White.
The product has ultimately been at the heart of mixed reviews - from NME’s acclamation of “their most accessible and immediate album to date”, to Pitchfork’s condemnation stating “there is very little joy involved in listening to these 9 songs.” Yet in comparison to their contemporaries, from Tame Impala, to Mac DeMarco, and Courtney Barnett, this act have, in my mind, audaciously and effectively breached into the bygone fold of blues-rock with a timely commentary on our destructive relationship with nature.
With this subject matter in mind, frontman Stu Mackenzie’s environmentally-conscious lyricism imminently strike us amongst the upbeat, major-key sheen to King Gizzard’s new facade. “Poor fishies should be free” are oxymoronically exclaimed against a bluesy backdrop incorporating inanely high-pitched rhythmic guitars and Mackenzie’s nasally vocal delivery. This stark sonic tangent blossoms further in the successive track ‘Boogieman Sam’ - exuding a Black Keys-esque blues-rock riff amidst harmonica wailings wading in-and-out of the fray - all the while revelling in such dark tropes, “dance like a demon...with a rope in his hand.”
The piano-based following track, ‘The Bird Song’ deems borderline reminiscent of Elton John’s poppier gloss furthering the ubiquitous major-key tonalities at the beginning of this remarkably exotic LP for King Gizzard. Against their previous exaltation of dissonant chords and elongated solos, this act have instead taken their hands to other worldly instruments, from mellotrons to percussion to call-and-response chants, which take further effect in ‘Plastic Boogie’. “Death will come from plastic” lead the surge of chants against the lack of environmental protection currently taking place across the world - with the prevalent harmonica powerhouse deepening these tempestuous claims.
The freer and bluesier feel to these tracks situated within the first two-thirds of this LP are certainly symptomatic of an ode to such influential 70s acts as T. Rex, Slade, and Thin Lizzy, who paved the way for King Gizzard’s newly-found, harmonica-infused sound. Such with their dissent against older generational-based politics at their time, this Australian act take defence against the popular lampooning of the current generation of millennials in ‘The Cruel Millennial’ at the LP’s halfway point.
Yet in the final third of the LP, signified by ‘Real’s Not Real’, matters begin to take a bleaker turn - one more reminiscent of their previous discography from last year in their cacophony of garage and psych-rock. With the harmonica’s lessening pertinence, blaring distorted riffs and vocals take the front line of this sonic progression marred with the incessantly repeated final lines of the track, "your real's not real."
The extensive and experimental outros begin to navigate themselves in numerous ways amongst the final few tracks of the LP, from ‘This Thing’, to ‘Acarine’, and ‘Cyboogie’. With the middle track acting as an unfitting anomaly in its synth/house instrumental outro, the other two tracks wallow in their minor-key tonalities - the former incorporating droney guitar notes and acoustic refrains, and the latter exuding a tumultuous downward-pitch of Mackenzie’s vocals. Whilst these final tracks pursue bleaker avenues to varying degrees of success, the thematic round-off they collectively provide remains impressive at the LP’s conclusion.
Although I found the instrumentation tiringly sparse at times, King Gizzard’s willingness to incorporate a variety of instruments amongst a bleak trajectory of blues-rock tracks retains its enticing grasp of the listener (perhaps not Pitchfork’s). Ultimately, this is the Aussie band’s venture into a genre which seemed as a mere twinkle in the current stratosphere of popular music. Yet King Gizzard have effectively reincarnated the genre in all its quirky glory, with an apt thematic approach to our dying planet and reckless nature against other species. Whilst my allegiances may yet lay with their multitude of LPs from last year, namely Flying Microtonal Banana and Gumboot Soup, my admiration for this elusively experimental act has undoubtedly grown stronger through the release of this LP. With frontman Mackenzie’s claim that these songs “went on wild journeys of transformation”, so too can be said of the omnipresent force of this act - and long may it continue for the next inevitable 14 records over the following decade.
7/10
King Gizzard's latest LP, Fishing for Fishies, is out now and can be found here.
Tickets for their UK tour later this year are on sale and can be found here.
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