King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard @ Electric Brixton, London (Live Review) Featured
- Written by Captain Stavros
King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard
Electric Brixton
Words & Pics by Captain Stavros
A Rave from the Multiverse: King Gizz Melt Minds and Time Itself in Brixton
It’s hard not to imagine monumental destruction, loss of life, and air raid sirens in the distance when the name King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard comes thundering down upon your ears. With song titles like ‘Planet B’, ‘Crumbling Castle’, and ‘Gamma Knife’, it’s easy to hold eye contact while backing away carefully, limbs probing for a wall, anything that might lead to an exit. But stick around, friends; you might just be pleasantly obliterated.
There are only a few things you need to know about Melbourne: chicken parma, chicken salt, and the six lads who together form a power station of aural carnival delights. Since their inception in 2010, King Gizz have refused to slow down or stay still. Their sound mutates faster than their album count multiplies; and considering they dropped five releases in 2022 alone, that’s saying something.
Their name says it all: unbound, unbothered, unstoppable. Song length? Irrelevant. Genre? Please move, you’re blocking the view. Instrument count? As many as they can wire up before takeoff. After years of near misses, we finally caught night two of their sold-out run at Electric Brixton.
We arrive on Igor, a rattling bicycle held together by stubbornness and cable ties, and lock it up beside a serpentine queue of fans wrapping around the block. Both nights are sold out. Thankfully there’s a press entrance, less thankfully, our names are not on the list. A sweaty round of negotiation ensues as fans continue to flood in, the air thick with anticipation and patchouli. Eventually, a scaly thumbs-up from the door crew and we’re in.
Inside is chaos in high definition. Metalheads in sleeveless denim vests thrash shoulders with tie-dye dreamers in butterfly capes. Plush toys dangle from belts; glitter reflects from prescription lenses. Everyone looks slightly unhinged, but in that friendly, communal, “I’ve met God and he’s Australian” kind of way.
We make it four rows from the front, just in time for ORB (Organic Rock Band), who channel Hendrix and Sabbath in slow-motion. Someone beside us mutters, “Yeah, they’re good, but not Gizz good,” which in hindsight is like saying a sparkler’s fine, but you were expecting a supernova.
Then the lights drop.
The stage glows like a nuclear reactor; two tables of analogue synths tangled in cables, a drum kit, bongos, a sax, and a sci-fi flute wielded by frontman Stu. The crowd howls. The Rave Tour is underway, and every psych-rock expectation is about to be vaporised. The visuals and vibes are all @honeycomb (if you know you don’t, if you don’t, you should).
From the first surge of '2.02 Killer Year’, the floor becomes a living thing, every body moving in time with the bass that rattles your ribcage loose. By minute three, the first crowd surfers rise, human comets launched into a galaxy of hands. The visuals blur between pulsating waves, fractals, and cosmic decay, like watching the end of civilisation through a lava lamp.
By the third track, ‘Dreams’, we’re in uncharted territory. It’s a debut, and when it ends, the lyric page is torn from the stand and flung skyward. It spins like a mortar shell, catches the lights, and comes down on us like one too; landing squarely in our hands, promptly folded and tucked into the empty void where our heart used to beat. Safe. Secure. Sacred.
It becomes hard to tell where one track ends and the next begins; the set feels like a single, sprawling organism. You lose time, and you lose bearings. Maybe you lose yourself a little too.
After an hour and a half of rhythmic hypnosis, we slip out before the crush. Out on Brixton Road, the night air feels alien, like stepping back into the wrong timeline. Behind us, the venue still pulses like something alive.
The fans outside swap stories like war vets; Americans, Europeans (many of whom have met before abroad at Gizz shows), locals, all buzzing from the same cosmic current. Everyone’s got a reason for being here, but everyone leaves with the same glazed grin. King Gizzard’s power lies not in the songs, but in the experience; — a total rewiring of your musical DNA.
You don’t just see a Gizz show. You survive it, transformed, pupils dilated, heart temporarily misplaced.
