poster by Jason Galea
words and photos by AlteredBeef
In Part Three, we blink back into being at the Hotel San Carlos, Phoenix, Arizona. The first memory registered that morning was a sign on the wall outside of the elevator celebrating the haunting of the very place I’d slept. I had not seen a ghost, but the previous night’s show had felt supernatural. This morning, we wasted no time before seeking the road to Albuquerque. It was my turn to do the bulk of the driving, and I was ready for it. The day before, Brent had graciously steered the ship from Vegas to Phoenix while I gawked at my first glimpses of the real American desert. To my Appalachian eyes, the expansive views of vast and dry terrain verged on the sublime, awe-inspiring, and, strangely, a little unsettling.
Gathering ourselves for the road ahead, we got enough coffee, water, breakfast sandwiches, and snacks to last a long shift behind the wheel, and we left town. I was excited to get out into the desert again. Little did I know how much the landscape would change, and how we’d climb from just over 1,000 feet above sea level in Phoenix up to Albuquerque at 5,312 feet (the highest metropolitan area in the country). The atmosphere sharpens up there. I’d soon find that out.
photo by AlteredBeefThe drive was saved early by Brent who caught that our GPS had rerouted us up towards Flagstaff, which I’m sure would have been spectacular enough for me. But we wanted to traverse the Tonto National Forest, Sitgreaves National Forest, and on up to I-40 at Holbrook, just outside of Petrified Forest National Park…for good reason with names like those. Then we would pass into the Navajo Nation with its vast expanses, roadside attractions, and more scenery than I could possibly digest.(The human history I didn’t get to take in at all, and that is one reason why I will definitely be back to this part of the country.)
photo by AlteredBeefI had control of the stereo, but no service for most of my five (of seven) hours behind the wheel. That limited me to what I’d downloaded. A strange mix accompanied us including albums by the Osees, The Legendary Marvin Pontiac, Frank Zappa, Phish, and, just as we pulled out of Phoenix, a compilation album of 70’s shoulda-beens that I really love called Sad About the Times. That wasn’t exactly the desert music I’d planned, but it fit fine as we climbed in altitude. We were immersed in a coniferous forest, seeing Joshua trees and pines replace cacti. Snow showed in the shadows. I kept seeing glimpses in my mind of the two shows I’d already witnessed in Vegas and Phoenix. There were plenty of highlights and lots to wonder about, but mostly I kept my eyes on the road and let pass whatever appeared in my mind. At least that was the idea.
There’s this feeling I get— don’t know if you’ve ever experienced it—it’s when you’re driving over a crest like you do in the American Southwest on the Beeline Highway between Phoenix and Albuquerque. As you climb and then you peak, there are these shockingly vast expanses that open before you. And I don’t mean an overlook or a vista, just a vista. I mean the limits of human eyesight expand before you. And it’s all solid earth that you could walk on or live on if you dared: sand, scrub, cacti, plateaus, undulations, distant peaks. Distant distant distant peaks.
So, this feeling I’m talking about comes to me at the top of a crest while my eyes yearn to stretch as far as I can possibly see. I start to lose what’s underfoot, underwheel. It’s then I get it—maybe you know it, too—that sense of coming unmoored. It’s all that space all around, like you could just launch into oblivion if you let loose of the steering wheel or because you stole too long a glance into the future. You counteract it by gripping tightly and locking squint-eyed into the road just ahead. I invoke this feeling because I think a lot of us are on this wavelength, and maybe the band is, too, as they look out onto the vast crowds, all the eyes of our troubled country.
photo by AlteredBeefWe made our way into Albuquerque to our hotel right next to Rudy’s BBQ. We dropped off our stuff and met up with our taper buddy Jay (@puffanug) for a meaty feast. Amazingly enough, we ran into Jay at a stop in the desert, somewhere just beyond Tonto National Forest. We pulled in for gas and he rolled in right behind us even though we’d not coordinated a thing since we’d last seen him at the show in Phoenix. Those same kind of fortuitous, against-all-odds encounters used to happen to me at Phish shows all the time. Once, in the 16 hours of Big Cypress traffic, we got separated from our friend Boyd and hadn’t seen him since it had started to get dark out (no cell phones), and gave up hope once we finally got into the concert grounds at dawn seeing the massive festival grounds full of nearly identical tents and vehicles. Poor Boyd; we had his tent and his luggage. So, I decided I’d take a walk to find him. I stumbled around in the gathering light for a good half hour scanning all the people who happened to look just like my friend, and then, sitting up against a post, gaze cast downwards, I found Boyd. Somehow, the “whims of the great magnet” favored us. Anyways, I’m certain that the same karmic magnetism vibrates throughout the Gizzverse.
So, we made our way over to the venue after our big BBQ meal and a bit of rest. Revel ABQ was a less centrally located venue than the other two, and there was a long line around the building to get in. No matter, we chatted to people and shuffled our way in. Getting inside was a simple process, and we found a big bar area and the concert space itself was deeper in the building. What was great is that you could freely move from one area to another…AND water cost $1.60, beer was about $5. Now that was incredible. Great spot to see a show!
Inside the concert space, I got to go meet Ted Rockwell, founder of everydaycompanion.com, the Widespread Panic site. He’s been running that site for over 30 years now, and a little while back reached out to us at KGLW.net to congratulate us on our progress and thank us for our contribution to the community, with an offer to “trade war stories.” Now, being a leader of our site is an immense amount of fun. But there are a lot of big decisions, occasional differences of opinion, and some conflicts here and there to address. I love every bit of this weird branch of my life and don’t see it as a battle (I’m sure Ted doesn’t really either), but I jumped at the chance to learn from someone who’s been in this space for a long while. Ted was great to talk to, and was there with his wife, family members, and friends. He’d brought a whole crew that was posted up right in front of the soundboard. I can’t wait to hang with him again in Buena Vista.
The King Stingray set was the best of the three I’d seen. The band seemed most engaged with the crowd and really full of energy, even doing kangaroo impressions. To me, this set really had me hoping that they’d join Gizz on stage either at that show or later in the tour. Of course, the epic cover of “Treaty” happened just a few nights later.
photo by AlteredBeefWhen Gizz took the stage, I was feeling good. I wasn’t quite so sure about everyone in the band judging by appearances. Joey looked like he was sick and maybe Cavs, too. Still, they poured gasoline on the place and started the double-bass drum pound of “Self-Immolate.” That’s one of my very favorites, and my favorite metal song, so I got very amped up during this opener. And my intensity didn’t really wane during the metal section that included “Supercell” into “Organ Farmer” and “Venusian 2.” I was right between the soundboard and the pit, squeezed in, feeling the energy, and feeding the frenzy with my own excitement. I spent a lot of energy during this metal segment.
Then we got the serious suite of “Inner Cell,” “Loyalty,” and “Horology.” These songs sent me deeper into my own inner cell, swimming in the sea of the crowd and the music, but also feeling my headspace expanding, filling with thoughts and distractions. Maybe it was the third show in three nights, or maybe it was because that trilogy isn’t my favorite Gizz, but I was losing some grasp on the present moment.
photo by AlteredBeefBy the time “Mirage City” began, I wanted to fully focus but my head wouldn’t let me. This was the first time I’d heard that song, and one I’d absolutely loved since the acoustic version from Detroit. So, it was bothering me that I was having a hard time keeping my attention on the show. Then, I noticed my field of vision was getting a little fuzzy, and then it was closing in a bit, and I realized that I might be that big guy who passes out in the middle of the show. So, I took a knee and some gulps of water. That helped. After a few minutes, I stood back up thinking it had passed, but it hadn’t. I took a knee again. Then, I realized that I really ought to get out of the crowd in case I did actually pass out or puke. Fortunately, I was able to keep to my feet as I pushed out of the crowd and made my way to the bathroom. That’s where I heard “Raw Feel” through the wall of the stall. But nothing awful happened to me. I didn’t pass out or puke. I didn’t flunk or fail. I just needed a few minutes to collect myself.
photo by AlteredBeefI was back in the crowd by “Ice V” with a fresh bottle of water and a $5 beer for good measure. Again, I felt fine but was wary of what was going on with me. It wasn’t until the next morning, taking a walk along the Rio Grande, that I realized Albuquerque is at a high elevation (as high as Denver). I’d never been to any place so high in the sky (besides hiking mountains), so this was not at all on my mind. I’m pretty sure that what happened to me was a result of my going all out during the metal set, the tight and hot crowd, and the high elevation. At least that’s my story. I had regained my “Field of Vision,” and the band was singing about being Silly Billies.
At least I was pretty much all there for the “Magma” that peaked with a cathartic scream by Stu. That scream has stuck with me. It really encapsulated a lot of what I’d been experiencing on this tour since the election results came in. We were carrying the fire, but then we’d just hit those moments of anguish to recognize the precarity of our future. It felt like Stu had a moment like that and let out a bottomless scream further deepened by an fuzzed-out electronic “skrrrrr.” We all felt the heat.
What I needed right then was a beastly version of “The Dripping Tap,” and we got one. This one didn’t go pulsar like the “Magma” before it. But it did feature a jam that KGLW.net calls a “Dark Star style jam.” I felt the melting, spacy vibes. The Tap itself melded me back into myself and helped me get back to what was happening now. The whole trip was about that, really. How can we live our lives so that we’re as firmly planted in the present as possible? This trip was a way for me to explore the immediate nature of my surroundings, and I did it by surrounding myself with some scenery that demanded attention. Whether the desert daze or the Gizzard craze, I was here in the middle of it at every moment. Sure, I would leave the present time and place to go wandering through demanding memories and meandering plans. And that tended to happen when I should have been gripped to every note. That frustrated me at times, but it was all part of the experience of living.
“Theia” into “Gilgamesh” was the serving for our twenty minutes of table time. Out of the three shows I saw, I can’t say this was my favorite sequence, but it had some great moments. Opening with Stu’s super synthed out “I’m a cyborg” (“sexy cyborg”) that developed after the main portion of the song into a plinking and pleasant jam. Eventually, the light of “Theia” faded into the deep and rubbery rumblings of “Gilgamesh.” This version engrossed me, but I can’t say it was a stand out.
photo by AlteredBeefMy last song of this run came out of nowhere. I really didn’t think there would be another one after the table. But then they went and gave me a song I’d been hoping for since I’d been only daydreaming about this trip. I love “Float Along” and hadn’t heard it live yet. Plus, it was high up on my list of the most played Gizz songs that I hadn’t seen, so something for the stats junky. But at the moment, I let any of those thoughts float along and let myself be carried away by the song. Stu sings, “I saw you in the paper folds/and I saw you in my coffee mug/Just float along and fill your lungs/Float along and take a deep breath.” And that was the message we all needed, one of interconnectedness, peace, and acceptance. After all we’ve been through and all that is to come, what more can we do than accept our roles in this ever-changing scene? That doesn’t mean to do nothing and let injustices pass, but it does mean we should recognize we’re just as interconnected with the awful as we are with the awesome. King Gizzard’s music helps me see that clearly by embracing more that previously felt other to me. Musically, at first, but in such a more expansive way than that (which should be the subject of its own blog post). I am quite sure it’s the same for so many of us who have found some new meaning for our lives by making the effort to go see this band near or far, one show or the whole tour. When Stu says, “I love you” a million times at the end of a show, that’s the message. Uncompromising love and compassion, even when it’s fucking hard.
When the show ended, I said my goodbyes to Ted Rockwell, Taper Jay, and others I’d met along the way. We got a ride from Chase, the coder of the reddit setlist bot that uses the KGLW.net API, in his house on wheels. He’s got a very slick van that he kitted out himself to accommodate any length of travel. Wood paneling and all. But then it was the next day. And the trip was ending. I wrapped it up by taking a walk along the Rio Grande and eating green chile cheeseburgers before it was time to part ways with Brent at the airport. I gazed out the window already thinking about my return to the desert.
Now that the trip is over, and a month has passed (it’s taken me a bit to get this last part written), I’ve been seeing some things differently, including my own state of Pennsylvania. For the first time, I understand how someone from the west might feel claustrophobic among the Appalachian folds and forests. You just can’t see that far from most places. Yet now I see this as another important contrast that helps me get a better picture of my own life, and maybe more than just mine. Like a King Gizzard show that stretches our ears and our hearts, maybe even makes us uncomfortable or unsteady or unsure of what to think, those are the moments of wonder and growth. They are a band that is always ready to take risks, and they ask their fans to do the same. The thing I’m learning about risk is that it is “technicolour paint” but it only becomes that way when the risk makes you confront the unknown. Whether that’s packing a bag and taking a trip, creating and sharing a piece of art, or shaking the hand of a person you “hate,” this whole King Gizzard thing is about risk-taking that helps us see the beauty of the entire scene of living, even the parts that make us uncomfortable, uneasy, and upset. So, grip the wheel tightly, take a deep breath, and fix your eyes on the horizon.
Thanks for taking this journey with me. I've really enjoyed writing these recaps of this trip. Keep an eye out for more on our blog from myself and our other writers. If you have an idea for a blog post, please reach out to us at [email protected].