“Gila Monster” as a modern myth: a thunderous warning about power, excess, and the ancient beasts we awaken
When King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard released “Gila Monster” in 2023, it arrived not as a bid for radio dominance, but as a declaration of intent. From the opening chant to its crushing, molten riffs, the song made it clear that this Australian collective—already notorious for their shape-shifting musical identity—was once again shedding its skin. Importantly, “Gila Monster” did not chase conventional chart success; it did not make a significant appearance on mainstream pop singles charts upon release. Instead, it spread the old-fashioned way: through devoted listeners, live performances, and word of mouth among those who still value albums as complete statements rather than disposable singles. That context matters, especially for listeners who remember when music revealed itself slowly, over repeated listens.
“Gila Monster” is the opening salvo from the album “PetroDragonic Apocalypse; or, Dawn of Eternal Night: An Annihilation of Planet Earth and the Beginning of Merciless Damnation”—a title as unapologetically grand as the music itself. The album debuted strongly on several international album charts, including high placements in Australia and the UK, confirming that King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard had cultivated a global audience willing to follow them into ever darker and heavier territory. Yet numbers alone cannot explain the song’s impact. Its power lies in how it feels—raw, ritualistic, and oddly familiar, as if echoing something buried deep in collective memory.
Musically, “Gila Monster” draws heavily from classic heavy metal traditions. There are clear traces of early Black Sabbath, Motörhead, and the more theatrical edges of 1980s metal, but filtered through the band’s uniquely modern sensibility. The guitars grind and slash rather than sparkle, the rhythm section marches like an approaching army, and the vocals—shared among band members—sound less like a lead singer and more like a gathering of voices warning us of what’s coming. For listeners who grew up when metal still felt dangerous and mythic, this is not nostalgia as imitation; it is nostalgia reawakened.
Behind the song lies a story rooted in symbolism rather than autobiography. The gila monster, a real venomous lizard native to the American Southwest, becomes something larger here—a creature awakened by human arrogance and excess. Lyrically, the song speaks in the language of monsters, fire, and destruction, but its meaning is unmistakably modern. It reflects anxieties about environmental collapse, unchecked industrial ambition, and the idea that the forces we exploit will eventually turn against us. This is not protest music in the traditional sense; it is closer to an old cautionary tale, the kind once passed down around fires, reminding listeners that every age creates its own monsters.
What makes “Gila Monster” particularly resonant for seasoned listeners is its patience. Despite its aggression, the song unfolds deliberately, allowing themes to repeat and intensify. It respects the listener’s attention span, assuming a willingness to sit with the sound rather than skip ahead. That approach feels increasingly rare—and deeply reassuring—for those who remember when an album side could feel like a journey, not a playlist.
In the broader arc of King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard’s career, “Gila Monster” stands as both a continuation and a renewal. The band has explored psychedelia, folk, jazz, microtonal experiments, and electronic textures over the years. Here, they return to something primal: volume, rhythm, and myth. Yet it never feels regressive. Instead, it suggests that even in a hyper-digital age, there is still room for music that speaks in ancient tongues.
Ultimately, “Gila Monster” is not just a heavy song; it is a reminder. A reminder that music can still feel dangerous, that albums can still demand commitment, and that stories—especially dark ones—often tell the deepest truths. For listeners who have lived long enough to see cycles repeat, warnings ignored, and consequences arrive late but loudly, this song does not shout. It growls, patiently, waiting to be heard.