While Moore acknowledges some philosophical inspiration from the Grateful Dead, their business model seems to have sprung from somewhere no more calculated than the necessity of creation. But for the most part, it’s bands and people getting creative and coming together and trying to put something out starting labels from scratch because they’ve got this thing they could potentially sell. “It was a complete experiment,” says Moore, “and yes, we kind of braced ourselves bigger labels and people who might exploit it: ‘Sweet, I can make a quick buck.’ That has happened, without a doubt. #Wizards lizard msuci free#Free as in free.” The band made the master available online, leading to a spate of imaginative releases – a set of three 8-inch lathe records in a glass package, an 8-track, a liquid-filled record and even a reel-to-reel. In November, Polygondwanaland was announced on Facebook with the unambiguous message, “This album is free. #Wizards lizard msuci Patch#Flying Microtonal Banana was written on specially designed instruments that messed with the standard western 12-note scale Murder of the Universe is an epic fantasy narrative with spoken word from folkie Leah Senior Sketches of Brunswick East, an ambitious collaboration with Alex Brettin’s psychedelic jazz project Mild High Club, has left a list of long, extended chord names scribbled in ink on a white patch of the studio wall. Unfettered by traditional marketing logic and outside record label priorities, the sheer volume of amassed material made compartmentalization essential. …’ Because at the time we had all of these songs that didn’t really feel like they fitted together very well.” “But I was doing this interview and I stupidly said, ‘We’re gonna make five records next year. “I love making records it’s the most fun thing ever,” says Mackenzie, who leads the group more by virtue of sheer charisma than anything more definable. As the afternoon heat slowly recedes outside, Moore, Mackenzie, guitarist Joey Walker and (other) drummer Michael Cavanagh sit noodling on unplugged instruments over their refreshments. Today, the seven friends from various corners of the state of Victoria and slightly beyond have begun jamming on a new set for a looming European tour. How can you ever be sad when you look at that?” “We kind of jointly developed this obsession with this record cover,” Mackenzie chuckles. As trams shake the crowded arterial road heading north from Melbourne’s city center, a gang of skinny guys slouch up from the 7-Eleven clutching life-giving soft drinks and ice cream, eventually escaping the baking Australian heat through an iron-barred door.Īnother white patch of wall is arrayed with large, glossy outtakes from the what-was-he-thinking? cover shoot of Elton John’s 2016 album, Wonderful Crazy Night. Sagging to its left, an old brick zipper factory quietly crumbles under faded graffiti. The awning of the bright orange building advertises martial arts supplies, with a comical illustration of two fists gripping an iron bar. He says the rented space of their Flightless Records compound, sparsely furnished with checkered carpet tiles and movable walls, is key to their autonomy. That freewheeling attitude may account for the seven-man army of psychedelic explorers releasing 13 albums in just six years – five of them in 2017. We were just like, Well, we can do whatever we want.” “It’s always, ‘No, you can’t do that,’ and, ‘People don’t do it like that’. “As a young band, people always tell you not to do stuff, which is kind of strange,” says Eric Moore, manager and drummer for King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard, throwing himself onto a couch in their Melbourne studio.
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