If there is a feeling that can be both incredibly abstract but also deeply visceral, it is extreme melancholy. When so much of the music coming out today is brought into our ears through pounding 808 drums and hi-hats that rise and crash in unison in seemingly endless loops, it can be a wonderful feeling to find a song that slowly lifts and comforts us. I found that feeling at the beginning of this year in the cold, latter half of a New England winter while listening to the album “Butterfly 3000” by King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard (KGLW).
A psych-rock outfit known for their eccentricity and eclectic catalogue of albums spanning surfer rock, garage rock and jazz, KGLW is one of the more exciting bands to rise in the 2010s. Compared to their Australian psychedelic colleagues, such as Tame Impala and Pond, KGLW has always leaned towards the zanier side, not shying away from strange aesthetics like tongue-in-cheek satanism, post-apocalyptic environmentalism and anything psychedelic.
What stands out about their 2021 album “Butterfly 3000” is that it elicits hope. It is an album made during quarantine, yet inspired by the birth of lead vocalist Stu Mackenzie’s son—that bittersweet optimism leaks out of every synth-pop crevice in the album. I came across “Butterfly 3000” following a dour Massachusetts winter. College rejections and the isolation that comes with the December holidays had left me deflated and somewhat aimless. I remember taking long walks with no destination, eventually circling back to my home and returning to the safety of my room. It was on one of these walks that I decided to listen to this strangely named album for the first time.
As the arpeggiated synths of “Shanghai”—the second and most popular track on the project—came and combined with the delicate, almost fairy-tale vocals of Stu Mackenzie and Ambrose Kenny-Smith, I felt a kind of comfort not afforded much in times of despair. It was not relief or direct happiness, but more of a return to simplicity: to forget the minutiae that dragged me down to Earth and walk as if the next door would open to something better, or at least cozy. It was the feeling of smiling for no reason while walking home from school in the cold as the sun set at 4 p.m. It was a feeling of warmth in the cold.
The dyad of the second track “Shanghai” with the third track “Dreams” perfectly shows the control of mood and the general vibe of songs throughout the album. Both songs use similar arpeggiated synths, sections where said synths spin off before resettling, all carried lightly by hushed vocals. However, the songs carry two completely different moods. From the arrangement of the synths to the urgency of the vocals, the differences are meaningful enough to make each song a beast of its own. “Shanghai” is carefree and almost whimsical, whereas “Dreams” is fittingly nocturnal and evokes a more immediate and action-focused scene. Considering the limitation on textures—really only synths, soft drums and vocals alongside light guitars––these two songs show how KGLW could go from mastering the stage with psych-rock classics to real studio rats.
The album inspired me for the rest of its runtime, especially partway through the album with the second incredible dyad of “Interior People” and “Catching Smoke.” Both begin as simple but groovy tracks that eventually expanded and grew into triumphantly jubilant songs about fighting back intrusive thoughts and reveling in life, respectively. As the sun finally returned to Boston in late March and an email from Vassar admissions landed in my inbox one day while I was walking my dog, I felt closer and closer to the final chorus of “Catching Smoke,” where hope becomes cathartic bliss, and the past seems a waning synth lost in the blur of drums and life.
Sometime in April, on the first day warm enough to feel like spring, I removed the tarp off of my bike and took off across the sunlight-speckled concrete. As the cool breeze that only lasts a week once the depressing winter of New England finally breaks rolled over me, I put on “Butterfly 3000” again. As the 10 songs bounced around, I really took in and appreciated the fact that not only had the album kept me warm in the cold just a few months prior, but also it still shined so bright now that the world around me reflected it. The infectious groove and smile-inducing demeanors of songs such as “Black Hot Soup” and “2.02 Killer Year” rang even truer knowing that it had helped me make it to this moment. It really felt like the beginning of a new stage to my life when the penultimate, immaculately sprawling track “Ya Love” seamlessly transitioned into the self-titled “Butterfly 3000,” which ends the album with flying synths evocative of staring into a starry night sky.
I realized then that the greatest beauty of “Butterfly 3000” lies within its creation, that of an album made by a band both worried by the future and inspired by the cycle of human life. The onslaught of depressing news, worrying trends and seemingly dire reports on our future can make it seem as if we are just little bits of warmth tucked under a sheet of cold. “Butterfly 3000” made me realize that our internal warmth, our eternal hope and lust for that hope, is our greatest strength. That the simple hope for love, for a happy life and to be a better person can triumph over the obstacles that loom in the distance. And for that, I am very grateful that I had the time to simply listen and experience an album this special.