If a train departs Paris at 13:30 (Paris time), travelling at approximately 270km/h toward London, which is hosting a Melbourne earthquake in a kaleidoscopic venue in Hackney at 2pm (BST), what time will Mick finally arrive at the King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard gig?

Late. But just in time to hear the double drums warm up my ears as I run towards the steamed windows of the swing doors separating the old, bald mortals drinking lagers from dirty glasses on a Monday afternoon and the space travelling Pied Pipers luring the children to their Nonagon Infinity.

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard are absolutely berserk!

The crowd were more than ready for the pulsating prog psychedelia ride they had bought the ticket for. The Moth Club hosted their first birthday celebration, Matinee, open to all ages, with an atomic bomb of Australian power sparkling in the light from the gold, glittered ceilings.

I have only recently gotten into King Gizzard myself, with Robot Stop kicking off their most recent album and personal playlist of choice, Bushballs, but I’m happy The Wizard sunk his hooks into me as they hold a prolific record output that even Anton Newcombe would gulp to.

Despite the frantic travelling to the sweat-soaked mosh pit destination, I couldn’t help but gyrate to the energetic Stu Mackenzie head-banging his way through a selection of new songs including Mr Beat & Gamma Knife, all seamlessly flowing into each other, to be all of a sudden broken by an ear-piercing shriek and then Stu whistling away on his flute to personal favourite, Cellophane.

Yes. The FLUTE! The only time I’ve seen someone actually play the flute is Ron Burgundy from Anchorman, and although that was amusing at the time I was 12, this performance is nothing near comical and a lot more entertaining. The crescendo feels constant as the soundtrack makes you wired with electricity as you’re frantically juggling a hot potato through a Crash Bandicoot course with an eruptive ear-sexplosion around every corner.

By this stage I had enough of the epileptic neck snap the girl in front of me was performing on every eighth beat, and I was no longer sure if it were beer or sweat being swept across my face (or even it was my own) but I retreated to the back of the club to witness the silhouetted waves of the crowd still very animated.


I had a brief conversation with a friend of mine about the energy the septet had, that extended onto King Gizzard’s countrymen DZ Deathrays & Dune Rats (playing soon in London here) who also bring a hyperactive chaos to stage when they perform.

You know if you ever had the pleasure of partying with these boys, it likely kick off on a Thursday, consist of surfing, skating, mushroom consumption, The Stooges being blasted, a broken arm and a tower constructed out of whiskey bottles and beer. Then you’d come round and realise it’s Tuesday afternoon and have to think up an elaborate tale (nowhere near as elaborate as the truth, mind you) as to why you hadn’t featured at work. Or worse, that you had forgettably featured at work at some stage in your affable adventure.

The show came to a close with Big Fig Wasp (if I’m not mistaken), their appreciations to the crowd and then the long haired Pipers headed for the door to gasp for oxygen & liquids, followed by the sweaty masses behind them.

King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard may fall in the psychedelic spectrum, but they are anything but droney and dreary, as their energy, pacy tempo, bluesy harmonica, ironic take on doom metal artwork and all round sound-attack can’t help but consume you, chew you over & spit you out wanting more.

Great show!

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As always,

Author Valentine Mick

Ad man and basic fuckwit

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