![]() In Gorillaz, we got a living, breathing playlist. Even when they projected dystopia, they made the future sound bright (“On Melancholy Hill”). That they had no fixed line-up and an ever-rotating series of vocalists and collaborators (from Elton John to De La Soul, Clash bassist Paul Simonon to Afro-Cuban singer Ibrahim Ferrer) not only undercut old ideas of what it meant to be a “band”, it projected a vision that felt communal, even a little utopian, unbound by borders cultural, stylistic or otherwise. But in retrospect, Gorillaz’s work-the electro-indie pop of “Feel Good Inc.” and “Dare”, the leftfield hip-hop of “Clint Eastwood” and “Dirty Harry”, the bits of American gospel, African folk and dub-reflected a rootless, fragmented world that has only gotten more familiar with time. The question hit them: If culture was already fake, why keep pretending it was real?Īt first glance, the idea of an animated “virtual band”-the sprightly 2-D, rogue Murdoc Niccals, gangsta Russel Hobbs and sweet outsider Noodle-seemed a little gimmicky, an art-school shot at mainstream pop. ![]() This was the dawn of reality TV-shows that turned so-called real life into pre-packaged stories and people into cartoons. But it is so much more than that a record packed with number one pop songs, exquisite and inventive production, and an incredible mix of different influences and artists that showcase how Gorillaz. Their eyes were glazed, their minds empty. Demon Days is undoubtedly grimmer than Gorillaz, and Albarn’s sorrowful and melancholic voice marries perfectly with the tone of the album. One day in the late '90s, comic-book artist Jamie Hewlett and Blur singer Damon Albarn were sitting around in their West London flat watching TV-a brand-new Panasonic, eight channels on screen at once.
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