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What began as an impromptu phone call in 2017 snowballed into a punk prog supergroup featuring Stewart Copeland of The Police fame, King Crimson and Zappa guitarist Adrian Belew and Level 42’s Mark King. Together Gizmodrome became a very happy and well-timed accident – and as Copeland told Prog that year, they also became “a hell of a lot of band.”

“Is it prog?” ponders Stewart Copeland, who is tall, gangly and adept at a comedy French accent. “Recently the French were telling us: ‘It’s progressive, but the songs are short. We are confused. We think maybe it is punk prog!’ I’d say we’re prog because there are way too many fucking drum fills all over the place. And we’re prog because Adrian’s guitar-playing is insane and should not be allowed on a pop record. And then Mr King fires up and this is a whole new world – all the other bass players, like Stanley Clarke, will soil their pants when they hear this. Oh my God, that’s a hell of a lot of band. Then again, maybe it’s punk because of the energy – and because, frankly, it’s our intention to burn down the city and eat all the children.”

Lock up your preconceptions: Gizmodrome are here. Something of an all-star musical supergroup – “That’s better than being called a shit group,” offers Mark King – they combine the fantasy line-up talents of Copeland on drums, King on bass and Adrian Belew on guitar, with Italian keyboardist Vittorio Cosma (a long-time Copeland collaborator) smoothing it all together. Stentorian vocals and peculiar lyrics are chiefly provided by Copeland in a manner he describes as “Tom Waits meets Barry White with a little hair of Lee Marvin,” while King and Belew chime in with sweeter voices.

The outfit’s phenomenal pedigree coalesces in vibrant, imaginative and unexpected ways. As they eagerly confirm, there was a natural chemistry, and what’s emerged from the lab – a studio in Milan – is a fizzing fusion of prog, jazz, pop, funk, reggae and, er, fusion.

That chemistry is clear as Copeland, King and Belew, evidently enjoying each other’s company, banter boisterously in a London hotel. Their enthusiasm, humour and sparky interplay perfectly match their eponymous album’s eclectic effervescence. So how did this crackling collaboration, this dream ticket of dexterity, come about? Although the three constantly interrupt each other with quips and teases, they’re equally fast to eulogise each other’s talents. King kicks off the tale.

“Last July, I get a text from Stew, saying, ‘Hey Marco – already with the Italian thing – do you wanna come join a band in Italy?’ Straight away I said yes. Seven days later we’re in the studio. As a bass player, the chance to play with Stewart is just fantastic. He’s got to be in every drummer Top 5. And I started out as a drummer, so the drums are very important to me. Then you see Adrian weave his magic, making things happen. It’s just been an absolute joy. And so easy to do – it’s not as if everyone had to find their place, to settle in… we just played, and it sounded so good that after 10 days most of the songs were in the can. Stew had most of these songs ready, but they weren’t much like they are now. We did another session in April. There’s a real sound to this band, it’s happening.”

Belew concurs. While he did add a few parts later, “90 per cent of it is us three in the studio, being able to get excited, to talk about it. Very rarely does putting people in the room together result in the synergy that this automatically had. It was palpable. By the end of the second day I was thinking, ‘Damn, what a great band this is!’ And then I’d think: ‘Oh… is it a band? Or is it a project?’ But every day we’d get up, go to the little piazza, have breakfast and talk about everything in the world. Then we’d go to the studio, play, have a little tequila at five and get straight back into it until a long late-night meal at some Italian restaurant. You do that for a couple of days, you get to know each other. The jokes and stories start to flow. You become invested in the whole thing. And you realise: this is a band! We should go and play this for the world.”

“That,” says Copeland in his best Doctor Evil voice, “was my secret plan all along. Adrian thought he was coming in to play a few solos on ‘Stewart’s project’ – but by day three it’s his project. I mean, otherwise I can’t afford these guys!”

Thus bonded, they plan to tour early next year (with Level 42’s Pete Biggin on drums to free up Copeland), hoping the response to the album will be as good as all the early signs indicate.

Copeland and King technically toured together back in 1981, when Level 42 supported The Police across Europe. King reckons it was a “fantastic education for a young dude to stand side-stage and watch how these guys, who were becoming one of the biggest bands in the world, were doing it.” He’d never met Belew before Gizmodrome, “so that in itself, if nothing else, has been brilliant.” The pair express excitement at how their voices sat together instantly. And Copeland and Belew knew each other “just marginally, by reputation.”

Butting in over their relentless rapport, Prog asks if, as primary songwriter, Copeland had to adopt the headmaster role. “Ah, no – one important part of the process was we dispensed with the notion of ‘sanctity of the composer.’ Of course, when you write a song, you imagine it’s perfection; it’s goddam Stairway To Heaven, y’know? But with these guys, it’s gonna get better. Whatever chords or riffs I had, they’d chew on it for five minutes then for the next 25 they’d fuck it up, with my blessing and encouragement. For example, Belew comes in on something that seemed a perfectly good song and – fuck me – we’re into a whole new cosmos! Again, that was my secret trick, my plan. I wanted them to realise it was our album, not mine. That’s the way you get things happening.

“You get stuff out of Belew that Trent Reznor’s not gonna get; you get the real shit, coming out of his imagination. Once set free, it gets freer and freer and wilder and crazier. But this got way better than I even imagined: you can hear the excitement of real inspiration. By the way, that’s an old Police trick. Next time you hear a Police record, consider that the drummer and guitarist had never heard that song until 20 minutes before recording it. It’s a useful technique…”

King interjects, “We’d be shouting out, ‘Section change!’ And, ‘I don’t know this part yet!’ At times it was like The Troggs Tapes on acid.”

“It struck me that for the first time in a long time, this material was custom-made for what I like to do,” Belew says. “I bring a lifetime of experience in, and everything I’ve learned since I heard Purple Haze when I was a kid, anything you want, I can throw it in there. And if you don’t like that, fine, I got another idea. If Stewart’s singing about an alien radio station, cool, I’ll play an alien radio station sound…”

Alien radio stations are just one element of Copeland’s curious, declamatory, serio-comic lyrics, which remind one of his erstwhile punk alter ego Klark Kent. Here be zombies in the mall, horny politicians and “strange things” happening. A recurring theme is that of letting off steam, escaping, going off the rails.

“At home, I’m a suburban dad, driving my kids to school,” the drummer says. “But when I’m out in the world, sitting at a lonely train station, riding a cab across a strange foreign city – that’s when your mind goes into really weird reveries. That’s where this shit comes from. Y’know, ‘the pain of the life that I have lived.’” (Imagine, if you can, Copeland putting on a Steven Toast voice for that last part.)

He goes on to discuss how mistakes are made while “looking for Babylon” – but of course what happens on the road stays on the road. Quoting his own lyrics, he says, “Back home you got a solid life/That don’t mean a thing out here…” The sense of rootless disorientation in his songs is, however, leavened with madcap humour. Which forces the question: what is the fascination with horses? The lyrics make frequent allusions to our equine friends. The trio crack up, pointing at each other and declaring, “Oh, that was him!”

Finally, King shrugs, “Oh, Stew is just fucking obsessed with horses.”

Eventually Copeland moves us on. “Some things are autobiographical. I’m an old bastard coming down from my ivory tower for a fling, or at least the guy in some of the songs is. Maybe a little dinged and dented, but just give me a Cadillac and I’ll stay all night. We seem to visit many strange cities in these songs. ‘Ah, my life is a strange city,’” he all but winks.

Pressing them on whether their previous rich bodies of work inform or colour this music leads to King professing his lifelong love of jazz fusion and Belew getting mildly defensive on the subject of his King Crimson past. “Of course when you’ve partially shared 30 years with a band of that name, some of that’s in there, but I’ve been out of that orbit for many years now. I’ve branched out solo and with my own band, so… I don’t think in those terms any more.”

Copeland clarifies that his own performance style delivery is influenced by the opera he spent three years writing. “It’s storytelling – you act the note as well.”

“He’s in character,” adds Belew. “And he’s going for it. Playfully.”

“Playful?” mock-protests Copeland. “I already told you: my intention is to burn down the city and eat all the children. It’s Darth Vader, but in a good mood. Hey, the original motivation was fun in the sun in Italy. The mission was la dolce vita. Then when these serious players came in we tried to hold onto that nihilistic feeling… and we just went ape-crazy.”

Scott Holiday is a child of the desert. A beach dweller these days, the Rival Sons guitarist grew up in sight of California’s Mariana mountain range, on the edge of the Mojave riverbed. Summers were spent exploring, taking psychedelics and absorbing otherworldly surroundings. It left clear marks on his musical vocabulary, captured now in his kaleidoscopic debut (under the solo guise of HOL1D4Y) Topology. It’s trippy but hooky. Think Pink Floyd via The Beatles at their weirdest, wrapped in a cinematic package and punctuated by the distinct, suave yet gnarly guitar tones crafted in his day job.

“My stepdad had these massive outdoor speakers, and we would listen to [Pink Floyd’s] Echoes while the full Moon came up over the mountains, the stars out,” he says. “So when I think of desert music, I think of Pink Floyd and cosmic music. Topology fits into that world.”

The first music I remember hearing

Some of the first music I took in was on TV shows. The Beatles’ Yellow Submarine I remember pretty deeply – very psychedelic cartoon, comical and light and far-out. And stuff from Sesame Street like the Pinball Number Count song – you’d be hard-pressed to find a funkier song than that.

The first song I performed live

One of the first things I learned and performed in front of junior high kids was Rush’s Fly By Night. I think we were playing this song maybe without a singer, so I was covering multiple jobs. Around the same time, I got up with my cousin, who’s a great singer, and we did [Extreme’s] More Than Words at my uncle’s wedding – we nailed that one.

The guitar hero

Jeff Beck. There’s something elusive and visceral and raw and creative and beautiful about Jeff. Also Dave Gilmour, Django Reinhardt, and then you get into the jazz world and it’s Grant Green, Wes Montgomery, Kenny Burrell. Of course, Hendrix and Page. I like modern players too, like Nels Klein, Jonny Greenwood, and Ruban Nielsen from Unknown Mortal Orchestra – nobody ever talks about him.

The singer

If you were gonna force me, I would probably say Aretha Franklin is the ultimate voice, and David Bowie the ultimate character-singer voice.

The songwriter

I could get into the Leiber & Stollers, but as a writer, David Bowie, Bob Dylan, George, John and Paul, and their individual works. Joni Mitchell, Prince…

The greatest album of all time

The first that popped into my head is The Dark Side Of The Moon, and in that world I also think of [Hendrix’s] Axis: Bold As Love, Led Zeppelin IV. But in hip hop you might pick A Tribe Called Quest’s Midnight Marauders, or in the jazz world John Coltrane’s A Love Supreme, or Kind Of Blue by Miles Davis. And Bob Marley’s Babylon By Bus .

The best cover version

Donny Hathaway’s cover of John Lennon’s Jealous Guy, his 1972 live version. Generally I feel originals are better, but you’d have to be so Lennon-biased to hear those two and go: “The Lennon version’s better.” Donnie’s just feels more realised to the meaning of the song.

The best record I’ve made

Probably Topology, because it’s the only one that is mine [laughs]. With Rival Sons, Great Western Valkyrie sticks with me for some weird reason, and I think Feral Roots is the other one – we had a certain groove, and a way we were writing that felt really succinct on those two records.

The best live band

Queens Of The Stone Age. We did a summer with them and they’re hard to beat. Those guys pack a punch. Also Nine Inch Nails.

The most underrated band

Spoon, from Austin, Texas. I love that band. I feel like they’ve never made anything bad. When I’m making Rival Sons records or my own, just in the ethic and the quality control, I think of a band like Spoon. They are a benchmark in my head. Gimme Fiction is great, but they have no bad records – even their B-side demos.

My Saturday night party song

If I’m on the bus and we’re gonna rev it up, and I’ve got all the crew dudes, I have the ‘Roadie Friday’ playlist. The first song that jumps into my head is Van Halen’s Dance The Night Away. And the first five or six Van Halen records, just put them on random – you’re gonna start partying when you hear these songs.

The song that makes mr cry

Keith Richards, Hate It When You Leave. There’s something raw with Keith that I just feel like it speaks to me. Keith sings a love song in a way that I feel connected to. Also my partner in Rival Sons [Jay Buchanan]. He wrote a song called Feel Better, that’s deep. And I love Deep Swimming on his new record.

The song I want played at my funeral

I would want the people I love the most to play things to feel great, and feel love and feel joy. Like The Bar Kays’ Holy Ghost, which is one of the funkiest songs ever put to tape, and with the message of ‘dance and live until we can’t dance and live any longer’.

Topology is out now via Sacred Tongue/Thirty Tigers.