Spirit of the Garage, or Lost in the Gizz-verse
I have the distinct privilege of having played my trusty Hagstrom II guitar (quite badly) in several Long Island-based garage bands back in the day. All these bands strictly adhered to the maxim “fun first, musicianship second.” Our cover versions were not guided by deliberate fidelity to the originals and our own original music — well, we did not have any original music. The main objective was to hang out together, make some noise, take a break for beers usually acquired through a fake ID, or pass around a joint of dubious quality before we got back to making more noise. We were comrades in fun, and when the fun ended, we did. For example, one garage platoon where I played rhythm guitar disbanded when, after a trip to the Carvel soft-serve ice cream shop, our bass player tossed an extra-large chocolate thick-shake float at one of our lead guitarists. Words were exchanged, and that was that.
It’s no surprise that the musical pride of Melbourne, Australia — King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard (abbreviated KGLW) — began as a garage band unapologetically making garage rock. And they still embody that sensibility beautifully. Their stage presence is casual and unpretentious, which also carries on to their recorded work. They are having raucous good fun, and their enthusiasm is infectious.
