The history of American underground rock in the past 25 years is as messy and hard to track as the music. But ask any aficionado to cite stalwarts—groups who’ve stuck it out without bending their sound toward the mainstream—and a few immediately come to mind: No-Neck Blues Band, Bardo Pond, Pelt, Oneida. One outtfit not as commonly thought of, but whose unique body of work has certainly earned them a spot in this loose canon, is Los Angeles noise-rock trawlers Gang Wizard.
Part of the reason they’re less frequently cited is that their existence has been sporadic. Where all the aformentioned bands can claim mutliple members who’ve been involved from day one, Gang Wizard’s lineup morphs frequently, such that no single individual has participated in every stage of their career. But the group does have a core in the trio of Michael Landucci, Christopher Breedon, and Jacob Anderson, all of whom have welcomed anyone they like—including most recently Landucci’s teenage sons—into the fray.
Gang Wizard’s sound has a core, too. Though they come off as shambling and impulsive, they always offer a beat, riff, chant, or some other solid element to latch onto. Each song takes on a degree of shape and direction, then tears and fractures, darting around like a dog off its leash. Nothing is ever completely chaotic, but every moment trembles with fall-apart potential, which is why their music is so blood-filled and—for those who like their rock risky—so fun.
19 years of hammering away at this resolutely-untamed approach have made Gang Wizard pretty sharp at imprecision, and as a result Important Picnic might be the best of their 40 or so releases. On previous efforts, their boundlessness has sometimes drifted into tedium, but there's no downtime on Important Picnic. Guitar noise spits around as if shot from water guns; shards of hardcore punk and grumbling bass pass through like cars running a red light; and drums get so throroughly punched, slapped, and punctured, one wonders if the band believes kits have to be broken to work right.
Throughout, there’s a sense that Gang Wizard are always in the midst of working things out, with the process serving as the goal. In that sense, they recall throw-it-all-out-there scramblers like Sun City Girls, Trumans Water, and Harry Pussy—groups whose releases obliterate the lines between jamming, practicing, and “properly” recording, if they even imagined such a thing: there’s something thrilling about music whose embryonic stage is so apparent in the final result that it’s unclear if there’s even a difference between the two.
Examples of such pulse-quickening sonic phenomena abound throughout Important Picnic, but one that seems to capture every dimension of what makes this band special is a stunning ramble called “Dog’s Share”. It starts low-key, with a few shards of bass fuzz and guitar cluck. But less than a minute in, strings explode into dementia, chopping the song’s weighty rhythm into a kind of musical flambé. The band not only maintains this manic pitch, but escalates it; every time you think they’ve hit their heads on the ceiling, they find a another hole to break through.
Such untethered imagination gives Important Picnic a freshness that transcends the mid-90s era in which Gang Wizard began. In fact, if this music says anything about time periods, it’s that the group’s elemental take on rock—their thirst for building it up and blowing it apart—is somewhat missing in today’s underground. More bands should be flailing away in basements and garages, treating rock like a huge water balloon to pop and drown in. If anyone out there feels so inclined, I can’t think of a better role model than Gang Wizard.
