Only King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard could make an album which is named not only after a doomed make of Boeing aircraft, but also after a chord progression popularised by a number of classic rock songs from the 1970s: b741 (or the b7-4-1, to differentiate between the two). Flight b741 is the Australian band’s 26th record, and although not strictly a concept album, there is an aviation-themed thread which connects some of its songs to the infamous Boeing B741 fleet, one of which crashed into the Atlantic Ocean nearly two decades ago. Over the course of ten songs, Stu Mackenzie and co. ditch grand designs and wild genre adventures (such as last year’s electronic The Silver Cord) in favour of no strings attached, grooving fun fit for the whole family.
In anticipation of the album, the band premiered half of it live during their most recent European tour. The bombastic opener Mirage City tells the story of its protagonist leaving home in search of the so-called Mirage City, never finding it. “There’s a place I wanna go, ‘cause my ma and pa they fight at home” sings frontman Stu Mackenzie from the point of view of our protagonist, referencing Moon goddess Chang’e before trading places with Ambrose Kenny-Smith as he puts down the harmonica and picks up the microphone. It’s a trend which recurs throughout the album, with five of the band’s six members taking lead vocals at some point (bassist Lucas Harwood does contribute to backing vocals, though). Our protagonist discovers that Mirage City is quite literally, well, just a mirage, which is the cue for a garage rock-inspired, harmonica-led midsection jam which has gone down a treat during live shows earlier this year. Antarctica features Kenny-Smith, Mackenzie and Walker on shared vocal duties as they sing of the planet’s coldest continent over a mix of bluesy guitars, honky tonk piano and harmonica. “I made a deal with the devil in the fuselage, crashed into heaven in the dead of winter” sings Mackenzie before all three join in unison to sing of a supposed utopia. Lucas Harwood’s gospel-like organ provides a smoothness to proceedings throughout, linking up nicely with the piano. It’s also home to one of the standout lyrics on the album: “There’s a polar bear calling out my name, he’s telling me that a sunny day ain’t got shit on this place“. Now try imagine a polar bear with a human voice telling you that. Fun, right?
Raw Feel is another of the five songs fans already knew, introducing a verse from guitarist Cook Craig alongside a whole barrage of sweet harmonies, fuzzed out guitars (which border on southern rock), and a larger than life chorus which is one of the punchiest on the album. “We’ll dig to hell and back so you can see the devil’s lair” sings Mackenzie, before referencing 2022 song Exploding Suns with the utmost subtlety (“we’ll shoot an arrow through the sun so you can see exploding skies”). Raw Feel is a prime example of King Gizzard & the Lizard Wizard showcasing each member’s individual strengths within the same song, and it’s one of the highlights on the record. However, it’s not the highlight – that title is reserved for Field of Vision. Imagine T-Rex and Slade getting together in a room, with Kenny-Smith their new defacto, harmonica-wielding frontman: that’s Field of Vision. Three and a half minutes of upbeat, pumping glam rock with contributions from Walker (“I’m feeling like a horse on Ket”) and Mackenzie during the chorus. It’s big, bold, badass and the most accessible rock song the band have written in years. It all comes to a head near the end, where we hear Kenny-Smith boldly declare that he’s “being a silly billy”. The fun oozes out of this song, and it’ll seep right into you.
There’s a nice little Easter egg which separates Field of Vision and the curiously titled Hog Calling Contest: namely the ‘ding’ of a seatbelt sign turning on. It’s very subtle, but it makes way for a song which is anything but that (so putting on your seatbelt is probably wise). Hog Calling Contest kicks off with the entire band singing the album title in harmonic unison, before a rhythm section faster than the Concorde takes the helm. It sounds like the musical equivalent of a plane descending into chaos before crashing; a sonic turbulence that doesn’t reduce its BPM whatsoever. Interlocking guitars and ad-libbed background noises underpin the song, one which is largely sung in unison by at least two band members at any given moment. “When pigs fly, I’ll be on that flight – b741” they sing just ahead of a frantic Ambrose-led verse, full of swagger and sensation. It’s one of many moments on this album where Kenny-Smith shines, which shouldn’t come as a surprise when you consider his background with The Murlocs and other blues-y Gizzard songs.
Le Risque follows, marking drummer Michael Cavanaugh’s debut on lead vocals by way of a spoken word midsection. He uses this vocal debut to reference his “tiny prick”, which is what most people would do when they finally get given the microphone…right? Jokes aside, Cavs’ vocals add a new dimension to the band which we had never heard before, and it makes way for a bellowing “hello, Evil Knievel!” from an unrelenting Kenny-Smith. It’s upbeat, punchy and bluesy, each members’ contribution creating its own distinct vibe. The equally swaggering Flight b741 (bassist Lucas Harwood’s first contribution as lead vocalist and songwriter) has more of a pop in its step, complete with keys that wouldn’t sound out of place on a yacht rock song. It’s not yacht rock per definition, but it’s the closest the band comes (especially with the Beatles-y harmonic breakdown midway, sonically unique to the rest of the record). “This plane’s going down with me” sings Harwood, before Mackenzie asks what would happen “if we fall out of the sky?” It’s one of the poppier songs on the album, its closing drum fill leading right into Sad Pilot. This was the first track the band debuted live, and it makes use of the aforementioned b7-4-1 chord progression. It sounds a lot punchier and loaded on record as it does live, its lyrics telling the story of a (you guessed it) sad pilot who’s really going through some shit. He’s drinking on the job, the psychologists aren’t listening, and to make matters worse, he’s also got Satan winking at him. Tough life, aye?
Penultimate song Rats in the Sky picks up the pace considerably as we hear glimpses of Cook Craig on vocals alongside Kenny-Smith and Mackenzie. There are echoes of 2019’s This Thing throughout, with a healthy dose of doo-wop scat vocals added into the mix for good measure at the end (“scooby doo wop, doo wop”). It’s the shortest song on the album, and perhaps it could have been fleshed out a bit more as each individual element finds itself crammed into three brief minutes. Album closer Daily Blues, on the other hand, is the longest song on the album (clocking in at eight minutes), taking the strongest elements from across the previous nine tracks and ending the album on a sonic high. Mackenzie wishes for “all the bigots to go get fucked” and “give us back our free love”, taking the middle finger and turning it into a two-fingered peace sign. As the album ends and this sonic plane prepares to land, guitarist Joey Walker has one final message for listeners:
“Thanks for flying
We’ve been your pilots:
Lukey, Joe, Cookie, Amby, Cavs, Stuey
We couldn’t tell ya what the local time is, but the weather’s fine out
Get on your horse and ride out”
On Flight b741, King Gizzard ditch the thrash metal mannerisms and electro experiments of 2023’s PetroDragonic Apocalypse and The Silver Cord, replacing them with the 70s-infused sound of a band quite simply having the time of their lives. Much like Infest the Rats’ Nest (2019) felt like the precursor to PetroDragonic Apocalypse, it’s safe to say that Fishing For Fishies (also from 2019) is Flight b741’s little brother, an album which helped lay the foundations for this sonic whirlwind. Plane fun, if you’ll pardon the pun. Flight b741 is released on 9 August via p(doom) Records.
8.5
