Words by Javier Serna, Editor at JamintheStream.com.

It’s been more than a month since I returned from a three-week trip of a lifetime to Europe, one that afforded me the opportunity to see six King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard shows on the front end of their insanely paced seventeen-show tour.
You only live once, and I feel extremely fortunate to have been able to swing such a trip with my wife, who had never even seen King Gizz live before. I wouldn’t have been able to do it without her, and the prospect of time in Paris got her excited about the trip. I had faith that she’d connect with their music despite her lack of background with any form of heavy metal. I was hopeful and excited about meeting new Gizz friends abroad, be they from here or there, and seeing the different flavors of crowds in different cities as well as of the venues themselves. First and foremost, I wanted to know if this band that I’d seen only twice before really had the deepest well of creative genius I had ever witnessed in a rock and roll band (subjective, I know).
Not only was I not let down on any of these fronts, but I don’t think I could have fathomed just how amazing it would all be.

I guess the obvious is to say that this band showed me six times, from Paris to Prague (I skipped some shows so we could take a look around), that what I saw in St. Paul and Red Rocks fall '22 were no flukes. I know, many of you reading this have known that for years. I’m cool getting to be a noob all over again.
When they played the opening riffs of Gaia in St. Paul, the power of their heavier material finally made sense to my brain. It was like: 'Oh'.
'Ohhhhhhhhhh'.

No matter the show, the band continued to display creativity in improvisation that I’ve never seen before from any band. Improvisational music is one of my passions in life, starting with the jazz fusion era spearheaded by Miles Davis. King Gizz may not be a jam band, but, man, do they jam; I love heavy stuff, too, and thrash metal was one of the first genres I ever got into.
Gizz delivered on every night, even their opening show, a slot I almost expect most bands to come out rusty. The band played loud frequently – they clearly love their heavy mode and had a sense for when a crowd wants it. That didn’t seem to bother my wife too much, though she’d take a Magenta Mountain over their heavier material. The one that painted that amazing circular room in Amsterdam magenta (not pink) was special.

Next, I was really looking forward to meeting new friends with common interests. I didn’t make a ton of Gizz friends, but I was incredibly fortunate to run into the three dudes in particular, aside from several other good-natured people I am thankful for having the chance to meet and chat with.
I was hoping to run into Americans around town or at the hotels that I booked near many of the venues, but that didn’t happen at all.
The first Gizz friend I met was Ivo Lutjen of the Netherlands in line at O13 Poppodium in Tilburg. He is from a nearby town and a guy with some experience watching live music. I had been too distracted to be my normal outgoing self at the first two shows but set out to be friendlier with folks and struck up a conversation with Ivo, one of the kindest people I met in Europe. In a follow-up phone call, he said he’d seen King Gizz before at Amsterdam’s Paradiso, a venue I’m well aware of because of some insane shows Phish played there in the 90s.
One of the coolest things about attending these shows was seeing the different flavors of moshing in each city, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a harmoniously bouncing bunch of people responding to a breakthrough jam in my life. My wife, working with a sore ankle, sat up in the terraced area in the back of the main room, with me up on the rail, so I didn’t fully understand how awesome these moments were until I saw the videos she shot.
To see the power of music move people like that brings up raw joy in me. It’s reaffirming to see and feel the universal nature of music.

“I was in a small mosh pit,” Ivo said in a follow-up phone call. “I would say it really reminds me of a playful mosh pit. It’s not like we are going to hurt each other; it’s just getting rid of energy and enjoying it. I also go to metal concerts and sometimes it is too much. People start punching each other." I met two other dudes I wish I had exchanged numbers with, Lee and Keith (I think), up front. These guys were nice enough to make room for me on the right corner of the rail and we had a lot of fun joking around and watching the show together. If either of you two happen to read this, please reach out.
In Prague, I met a bunch of very nice dudes that looked out for me, and Antonio and I connected, chatting about the Grateful Dead. He got into the band in the last few years, and I wanted to tell him about one of their more obscure songs ("Here Comes Sunshine") that I only discovered for myself about 25 years after getting into the band. He’d already heard that song, and seemed to have already dug deep on the band the way I have done the last year or so with King Gizz.
Prague was the one city where I was able to use American dollars, but at the Lucerna Great Hall, only hard Czech Republic cash was accepted, and I had none. Twice, basic strangers hooked me up so I could purchase water, including a pair of saints behind me in line.

I met Alma and Robert at Stockholm’s Münchenbryggeriet, a cool room full of a bunch of tall Swedes that liked their moshing a bit more aggressive. But these two were definitely two of the nicest people I met in Stockholm, a gothic-feeling city where I pine to spend more time. And that’s where I fatefully met Seamus Patrick Kobayashi O’Conner, the American who had already gained legendary status as ‘Streamus’ for attempting to live stream each and every show on the tour to the world via Facebook with his smartphone.
I first noticed Seamus in front of Amsterdam’s Gashouder, attempting to find a ticket for the show, offering up a Paris show print as potential trade bait; he caught my attention in part because of his American accent. I recall chuckling at someone who mocked his offer under their breath, but in retrospect I think their reaction was telling of the at least slightly lower demand for show prints in Europe.

In Stockholm I recognized him on the floor before the show, as I was chatting with several Europe-based folks, including one fine gentleman I was standing next to who had seen the Malmö show I skipped. That guy was likely in his 50s and a big guy like me. I related on some level to him, but the mosh pit that ensued seems to have separated us during the show. I can’t remember his name. Seamus and I exchanged numbers and connected briefly the next day in Oslo before the show. He was at the front of the line with two friends I would soon meet, but I had an interview with Serra Petale of Los Bitchos, the tour opening act, right before the show so I couldn't visit just yet. Seamus, who travelled frugally mainly via a Eurail pass, said his faith in humanity was restored by the trip, in a sense.
I still don’t understand how he kept pace with a band that moved like a machine, seventeen shows in sixteen cities over twenty two days. He had to rely on donations from folks around the world thankful to be catching the magic at these shows.
“At a time in this country when everyone is so divided, and that’s exactly what the powers that be want, I got to see that human beings are inherently good,” Seamus said, in a phone call he made to me as I was crunching to get this piece written. "We all mean well, no matter what your life is about or what you do for work. We all just want to be happy and to meet other people that want to be happy, through music or other mutual interests. … The way people looked out for me, the way you and others I don’t even know, it’s hard to say it was something I accomplished. I feel that we as a community accomplished this. People helped me get on the right train. Being open and honest with people and telling them what I needed and what my goals were, people helped. We all have our bad days. None of us are perfect. I am not perfect. If you chase your dreams and do what you believe in, people will respond in kind. I never met so many people as I did on that trip because I followed my heart and dreams."
The night we spent at Oslo’s Sentrum Scene was one I’ll cherish forever.

Oslo was my favourite show of the six I attended (including Paris, Amsterdam, Tilburg, Stockholm and Prague) not only because it was a jammier show. I got to watch this show on the rail of maybe the coolest venue I’ve ever visited, with three new friends, including Seamus and Halvor “Ivan" Njåstad and Jonathan Hairgrove, two young men that are close friends. The room has these weird eyeball-like fixtures hanging from the ceiling and affixed to the side walls:

The band’s visual artist Jason Galea used the venue like a canvas and absolutely blew my mind as I thumbed through the pictures my wife took in the upper levels of the room:

The four of us were on the rail, where you just didn’t have that incredible perspective. To be able to roll four deep on the rail was amazing. The three had all met just hours before. The two Norway homies were attending their first Gizz show and had the day off. That’s how they connected with Seamus.
“It was our first (King Gizz) show,” said Jonathan, 20, in a later phone interview. “We were planning on being one of the first to be in line to get the posters." It was cold in Oslo that day, so the two buddies from Trondheim, Norway, hung out nearby at a local eatery, where they could watch the front door from inside. “We were just like, let’s go and check the place out and see what’s going on,” he said. “Seamus starts talking to us and asking us if we want some chips.”
Ivan, 19, a college student in Oslo, said that it isn’t that common in Europe to travel to see live music, and he was raised on punk, handed down to him by his dad. He definitely knows music, and placed Gizz in his top three bands.
He said bands in Europe do like to play three or four nights in a city. One, he noted, was playing 15 shows in Oslo and 15 in Trondheim.
“All of the shows sell out so they keep adding more shows,” he said. As for Gizz, he knows they are a special kind of musical monster.
“It is hard to categorize,” he said. “They play with stuff you don’t always see. Microtonals and different time signatures. Their albums flow. They have concepts and themes. It is a different experience than what I am used to. I guess you could call it a musical journey, a destination you are going towards.” America could learn so much from Europe if we could set aside our polarizing politics, but the gears were definitely moving in the heads of these two young men as they pondered the travels of two Americans seeking the live music experience abroad.

I was tempted to join Seamus early the next morning as he left our hotel room for Copenhagen and my wife even encouraged me to do so. But I didn’t go and have no regrets. It would have complicated our already complicated trip, and I wouldn’t have taken a fjord boat ride the next morning and gotten to see how amazingly beautiful Norway is. It reminded me of a combination of Duluth, Minn., Lake Superior and Minnesota’s Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness (my spiritual stomping grounds). The harmony of people and sheer North Country beauty brought me to tears. And I got to have dinner that night with Jonathan and Halvor. Oslo was definitely a highlight of my Gizz travels, but I met really cool people in four of the six cities I visited.
I didn’t meet a single fellow Gizzhead away from the venues where they performed. I guess I wasn’t sure what to expect, but I know I was at least hopeful to run into the Weirdo Swarm around town, perhaps back at some of the hotels I rented closer to some of the venues (in locales such as Stockholm, Oslo and Prague).
I don’t recall having a conversation with anybody at the first two shows in Paris and Amsterdam. We were running late for both of those shows, though we arrived in time both nights to secure at least decent spots on the floor off to the sides and away from the center mosh pits that were certain to develop.
Even as more of a mosh observer than participant, I loved seeing each city’s varied flavour and styles of moshing, from the jubilant bouncing that occurred at Poppodium 013, to the on-the-floor boat rowing half the Gashouder floor seemed to partake in, or the giant gaping hole that opened up in that weird conference space at Münchenbryggeriet.

But the friendships I made are what mean the most to me, and it was clear in conversations with the three I hung out in Oslo with, that the feelings were mutual.
I’ve made friends through live music, just never internationally. The four of us hit it off in a way that we all knew was special. “I am so grateful that it happened,” Jonathan said.
Yeah, brother.

Check out Javier's feature on KGLW.net over on his site JamintheStream.com.