A lot of what follows depends a great deal on how you respond to the Gorillaz’ whole Marmite concept. They still attempt to give the impression of being a unique prospect (and maybe they are, for now, that is until the Crazy Fuppin’ Frog hits number 1 this Sunday), but that doesn’t change the fact that under the virtual costumes they are a super-group skillfully managed by the suits at EMI. And super-groups never work as well as those involved presume, do they. Though there is this perception that Gorillaz are the innovative exception to the rule.
But which way does the relative anonymity that the project affords its architects push perspectives (and the marketing blitz of the past few years has created a brand that somehow gives credibility to those behind the scenes without them being your first point of reference)? Like, is the quality watermark dropped because, y’know, they’re cartoons and the drawings are nice, cut them some slack? And how far do the tediously uncharismatic band ‘interviews’, lazy PR copy masquerading as journalism, lapped up by magazines duped into viewing it as subversive art, cancel out positive impressions created elsewhere?
Damon Albarn’s vocals on opener ‘Last Living Souls’ (after the atmospheric, context-setting ‘Intro’), not to mention numerous examples elsewhere, are no more than a technically lazy drawl scattered carelessly over a Tetris-style reggae vibe with synthesized strings. It’s a track that does encourage a picture to be drawn in your head, but certainly does not reflect his best, or most appropriate, vocal work. But can we take this as a character work? We’re not listening to Damon Albarn, are we, we’re listening to Noodle, nonchalant caricature of a blasé pop star? Still, one suspects it won’t stand up particularly well to repeated listens.
This should reflect those involved working with their collective strengths, but it’s only on rare occasions that you actually feel that. There is the layered peaks of single ‘Feel Good Inc.’, the d&b rush of ‘All Alone’, ‘Dirty Harry’ with its children’s choir and crescendo bringing guest rap from Bootie Brown, and on ‘Every Planet We Reach Is Dead’ the lazy drawl seems at least more informed and the tune, aided by Ike Turner on the keys, a journey. Some guest spots, while adding potential breadth to tracks, like a past-his-best Shaun Ryder on ‘Dare’ and Dennis Hopper reading a passage throughout ‘Fire Coming Out Of The Monkey’s Head’, feel like wasted opportunities.
All in all (and at fifteen tracks there’s a little too much all) the first album, though also with its faults, felt more on the money. This record feels more drawn out (pardon the pun) and merely interesting rather than innovative.