Review Gorillaz: The Mountain – A late-career peak haunted by ghosts but glowing with life | Gorillaz

IIt’s been 25 years since Gorillaz released their eponymous debut album. A project that you might have reasonably assumed was just a one-off prank on the part of a British pop star has instead lasted a quarter of a century, long enough for Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett’s concept of a “virtual band” to seem less like a snarky ploy at the expense of manufactured pop than strangely popular: their latest release was launched in a world where K-pop cartoon bands Huntr/x and Saja Boys have collectively spent 100 weeks and counting on the UK singles chart, playing Anime “vocaloid” Hatsune Miku on O2 Arena and where famous producer Timbaland launched an AI-generated singer named Tata Taktumi. Meanwhile, Gorillaz’s discography spanned nine albums, featuring nearly 100 guest artists; They’re the thread that connects Carly Simon to Shawn Ryder, Skepta to Lou Reed, and Bad Bunny to Mark E. Smith.

Perhaps inevitably, amassing so many eclectic contributors would be a challenge, even for someone as undeniably talented as Damon Albarn. Gorillaz albums are rarely concise and of variable quality, and thus difficult to navigate. The best ones are those united by a strong core concept, as in Demon Days’s melancholy survey of the world at night after 9/11, or the environmental satire of 2010’s Plastic Beach.

This is demonstrated by The Mountain, inspired in equal measure by a visit to India and the deaths of Albarn and Hewlett’s parents. Both seem to be reflected in the choice of guests. There’s a wide range of Indian artists, from playback singer Asha Bhosle and eccentric space disco singer Asha Butheli to a host of traditional musicians, including Anoushka Shankar. The sitar rings and buzzes regularly (on The Plastic Guru, it rings and buzzes in a duet with Johnny Marr’s guitar trio), the tambora planes regularly and the absolutely beautiful melody of the opening title track is played on bansuri.

There are plenty of names on the guest list that effectively speak to the listener from beyond the grave: Albarn returns to old recordings he made with the late Dennis Hopper, Bobby Womack, Mark E. Smith, Tony Allen, rappers Proof of D12 and Trugoy the Dove of De La Soul. Death is part of the sonic fabric of the album, or more specifically, the feeling people experience after death. There’s nothing weird or wailing about the way Proof’s guest verse explodes from The Manifesto, or Mark E. Smith growls, distracts, and guffaws his way through Delirium’s massive chorus. Their voices sound commanding and powerful.

You might think you know what to expect from Damon Albarn’s album of loss and grief. Melancholy is one of his trademark styles, expressed through the kind of sad, descending melodies that adorned Blur’s last album, The Ballad of Darren. These certainly appear here – there’s a particularly lovely example on The Empty Dream Machine – but the overall mood of the album is strangely upbeat: post-disco dance with lush cinematic strings on The Moon Cave; Bhosle’s vocals soar happily above The Shadowy Light’s tinny tones. Damascene Arabic acid house.

If it sometimes sounds like he’s trying too hard to put a positive spin on things—Orange County combines Albarn’s tense vocal “The hardest thing is saying goodbye to someone you love” with the whistling of an overly playful tune—the light and shadow are usually perfectly balanced. On The God of Lying, an ominous vocal from Idles frontman Joe Talbot is set over a delightfully chaotic low-rent reggae backing, to striking effect. The happy dictator acknowledges the superficial appeal of protection from bad news – “Your mind palace will be bright!” – emphasizing that those who might want to protect you from bad news always have ulterior and dark motives. “Sweet Prince” depicts Albarn at his father’s hospital bedside – “I was trying to say I love you, but you looked the other way” – but the music offers muted jubilation in a hazy swirl of harp, sitar and electronics, as if to highlight a theme that appears again and again in the album’s lyrics, expressed in different ways and in different languages: “Living is the end of the beginning.”

Furthermore, themes seem to bind “The Mountain” together. It feels more consistent – ​​more like an album, rather than a playlist created by someone with impressively wide-ranging taste – than its immediate predecessors: something you’re more likely to listen to from start to finish rather than playing with your finger ready to fast-forward, panning for the best bits. The result is an unexpected professional breakthrough, a quarter of a century later.

Alexis listened this week to

Goodbye – 13 a
“Goodbye” fits broadly into the shoegaze revivalist category, but their second single leans closer to the Cocteau Twins than My Bloody Valentine: stately, euphoric, poignant and beautiful.