Gorillaz, Plastic Beach review

Gorillaz, Plastic Beach [Virgin]

Reviewed by: Christian Hagen

My initial feelings about every Gorillaz album to date (well, both albums) were tepid at best. As far as I was concerned, the only songs that really interested me were the ones with a greater focus on Damon Albarn’s voice or on the classical orchestrations. The group’s self-titled debut was a maddening mess, moments of excitement few and far between. Their followup, Demon Days, balanced pretty equally between worthwhile and unlistenable on early listens.

That is, until I saw their live concert special, Demon Days Live at the Manchester Opera House. Somehow, seeing these songs, which sound so thrown together, performed live with all of the pieces put together, the full orchestra, the choir, the ten-piece band, all of it left me awed by the intricacies that went into that album’s creation. It even made me appreciate a few of the tracks from their first release, though admittedly I still find it extremely spotty. What especially impressed me was how beautifully Albarn’s thickly-accented voice fit in amongst the sounds of an army of instruments and backup singers. There’s a fragility in his tone that clashes with the occasionally asinine electro-hip-hop noise his band sometimes puts together. After seeing that film, suddenly, the prospect of another Gorrilaz album went from something I couldn’t care less about to something I wanted very badly to happen.

Well, the new album is here. As for Damon Albarn? Well, he’s here too. Sometimes. Though it seems that, despite being the leader of this mysterious musical collective, Albarn has slipped into the background. He doesn’t appear in the introductory track, the light and unnecessary “Orchestral Intro.” He doesn’t appear in the opening, “Welcome to the World,” nor in the following “White Flag.” In fact, on an album that features more guest appearances than a Rocafella Christmas party, with the likes of Snoop Dogg, Mos Def, Lou Reed, and Mick Jones (to name just a few), it’s as if Albarn didn’t even feel like showing up for half the recordings.

The Rocafella comparison is actually fairly appropriate; Albarn and crew have mostly ditched the psychadelia and experimentation, which made up the best moments on their last album, in favor of a definite hip-hop approach. Which isn’t to say it’s not odd. It’s downright weird at times. “Rhinestone Eyes,” the first track where Albarn actually lends his voice, features the singer attempting some sort of lazy, low-key Tom Waits impression that’s half spoken word and half rhythmic gibberish, while he’s surrounded by disco club synths and sirens. “Superfast Jellyfish” is about food(?) and features the line “All hail King Neptune and his water-breathers” and sounds vaguely like a rapped-over jingle written by a Japenese meth addict.

The problem is that all this weirdness, particularly in the album’s first half, comes at the price of the uniquely satisfying power, the rises and falls, the sudden bursts of fire that fall away into a bath of rebirth and comfort, which Gorillaz utilized in their previous outing. It isn’t until “Empire Ants,” featuring Little Dragon, that we get that soft, warm quality that Albarn’s voice is capable of producing and which an entire string section and some careful arranging can provide. Even the album’s overall messages of the dangers of consumerism and the problems with an instant culture are worn thin by pop radio production values and tracks that sound like they were written as score for the next Fast and Furious movie.

There is some definite good to be found here. “White Flag” begins with a soft, interesting classical motif, though that’s quickly done away with in favor of a wild hip-hop beat that grates more than it excites. “Melancholy Hill,” despite at times sounding like an ’80s synth ballad, is sufficiently sweet and longing and well-crafted. The following “Broken” is similarly captivating, making good use of it’s club beat and distorted backup singers to highlight Albarn and co.’s gift for melody and harmony rather than their affinity for insanity.

Bobby Womack’s contributions to “Stylo” and “Cloud of Unknowing” provide by far the best surprises here. The former is an otherwise grating song, proto-typical of what you’d expect of a Gorrilaz single without the interest and with a subversive nod to “Safety Dance,” but for Womack’s explosive appearance, belting to the skies, “If it’s love, it’s electric.” But the latter, “Unknowing,” is the album’s highlight, the soul of an otherwise hit-and-miss whole, subtlety and pervasiveness of spirit encapsulated in this quiet ballad that finds by far the most restraint of any song on the album.

But on the whole, the disc is a letdown. Whereas Demon Days showcased immediate contrasts, the light and dark of the world and the war symbolized in each song by the diametrically opposed forces of Damon Albarn’s reserved vocal qualities and his tendency to over-produce, Plastic Beach is an exercise in pop beats and unnecessary collaborations that could have been cut in half in order to find the earnest truths trapped at its heart.

Rating: 77%