King Gizzard And The Lizard Wizard - Laminated Denim (LP) - Lucky Rainbow Wax Vinyl

King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard’s Laminated Denim landed on October 12, 2022, right in the middle of their outrageous October run, a week after Ice, Death, Planets, Lungs, Mushrooms and Lava and a couple of weeks before Changes. It is the sort of curveball only this Melbourne crew would throw: two side-long pieces that feel patient yet restless, hypnotic yet full of left turns. The title is an anagram of Made in Timeland, and the music leans into that connection. Where Timeland teased a ticking-clock concept, Laminated Denim stretches the idea into a deeper trance, the rhythm section locking into a steady pulse while everything else shifts around it like light through a prism.

There are only two tracks here, “The Land Before Timeland” and “Laminated Denim,” each around fifteen minutes, which is a daring way to present a record in 2022. It works because the band understands momentum. They do not rush. They let a theme breathe, then alter the harmonic color or bring a new percussion texture or synth wash into focus. The drum groove stays motorik enough to make your head nod, but the layers on top keep unfolding. You hear guitars chasing cyclical figures, organs swelling at just the right moment, and those little percussive accents King Gizzard stash in the corners of the mix. It is not showy. It is collectively zoned.

Side A eases you in with a clocklike gait, then starts to reveal detail, like the band slowly opening curtains on a sunny day. The bassline gets bolder, the guitars turn glassy and chiming, and the groove starts to swing without ever losing its spine. One passage rides a simple two-chord vamp that should feel static, but the phrasing gets nudged forward by tiny rhythmic games. If you have lived with their sprawling catalog, you hear echoes of their krautrock leanings and their long-jam instincts, but this is more meditative. No big riff explosions, just a measured build that holds you in a pocket.

Side B leans a bit darker and slinkier. The pulse gets a touch more urgent, and synth tones creep in, flickering against the guitar lines. Vocals appear like distant signposts rather than the main event, which suits the design. By the midpoint the band hits a shimmering plateau where the percussion and keys knit together so neatly you might miss how many moving parts are involved. Then they ratchet the tension, add a bit of grit, and glide back to the center with the confidence of a group that has been road-testing long forms for years.

Part of the fun is hearing how the six-piece trusts its own telepathy. Stu Mackenzie’s production lets every piece sit in a clear lane, and you can pick out the push and pull between guitar voices, keys, and that ever-steady kit. It is easy to imagine how these sides became launch pads in concert, but Laminated Denim works as a studio object, a little time capsule of the band’s 2022 headspace. Taken with Ice, Death and Changes, it maps a triangle of ideas: improvisational sprawl, patient pulse, and pop geometry. On that map, this one is the cool, blue corner.

It also happens to be a very satisfying piece of wax. The pacing suits the format, flip included, and the cover’s denim patch aesthetic feels right in your hands. If you collect King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard vinyl, this sits in the stack as a quiet flex, the record you put on when you want the room to hum. Laminated Denim vinyl moves quickly whenever it gets repressed, so if you plan to buy King Gizzard records online, keep an eye out, or ask around at your local Melbourne record store if you are lucky enough to browse in person. There is a big global appetite for King Gizzard albums on vinyl, and this is one that rewards proper speakers and a chair at the right distance. Fans in the scene for vinyl records Australia wide know that drill.

What makes Laminated Denim special is how it recalibrates the band’s sense of drama. No choruses that aim for the rafters, no monstrous guitar battles. Just a band at ease with repetition and change, shaping the flow by inches instead of miles. In a year where King Gizzard released a small mountain of music, this one could have been a footnote. It is not. It is a subtle favorite, the record you end up playing late on a Tuesday, letting the needle ride the groove while the clock, somewhere, keeps ticking along.