Dan Webb isn’t afraid to get weird. The Australian composer and multi-instrumentalist just unleashed his fifth studio album, Lion Dance, and it’s a massive, sprawling beast of a psychedelic jazz-rock fusion project that refuses to be put in a box.
Let’s talk about the sheer audacity of this record. As an independent artist operating completely outside the major label machine, Webb assembled a cast of musicians that is nothing short of ridiculous. We’re talking about heavy hitters who have played with literal legends. You’ve got Michael Bland, Prince’s core drummer, holding down the groove on several tracks. Tim Lefebvre, who played bass on David Bowie’s Blackstar, is in the mix. Clive Deamer from Radiohead and Portishead is smashing the skins. Dennis Hamm from Thundercat’s band is on keys. Nate Werth from Snarky Puppy brings the percussion. Ron Blake and James King, who have played with The Rolling Stones, handle the horns. The list goes on and on. It’s a testament to Webb’s vision that he managed to get all these heavyweights in the same room (or at least on the same album).
The album was born out of a massive life shift. Webb packed up his life in Melbourne and moved to Singapore. Instead of freaking out about the culture shock, he leaned into it, traveling across Southeast Asia and soaking up everything. The title track’s concept came from a random street corner in Da Nang, Vietnam, where he stumbled upon a spontaneous lion dance. The lion is a symbol of bravery, and that perfectly sums up the energy of this record.
He also dug deep into Eastern mythology, visiting Singapore’s Haw Par Villa—an insane open-air theme park filled with visceral depictions of the Ten Courts of Hell. That experience became a framework for exploring death and rebirth. And it gets heavy. During the final stretch of making this album, Webb lost three family members in quick succession. That kind of grief puts a different spin on the themes of crossing over and starting again, making the “bravery” of the title feel painfully real.
Musically, it’s a trip. The opener, “Soup on the Bridge of Oblivion“, sets the tone. “Hungry Ghosts” is a major highlight, pulling from the Buddhist festival of wandering spirits. It’s built around a killer groove from Deamer and Hamm, with Bob Lanzetti adding electric guitar. The whole thing is jazzy and funky, but drenched in cosmic, psychedelic synths.
The second half of the record is all about life, chance, and keeping your head up. “KC Spider” nails that jittery, anxious feeling of a new arrival, named after the Singlish term for a passenger who jumps up the second the plane lands. “TR 24” is an absolute trip—Webb literally built the entire track out of pieces of the other songs on the record, reversed and warped, while flying back to Melbourne.
Lion Dance is not an easy listen. It’s not something you throw on for a quick three-minute pop fix. It’s a journey. It’s the sound of an artist who left everything familiar behind and came back with a masterpiece. Dan Webb produced, arranged, composed, and mixed the whole thing himself. If you’re looking for music that challenges you and rewards you for paying attention, this is your record. It’s for the ones who get it.