DAMON ALBARN

HISTORICAL FRICTION: Damon Albarn looks to the Elizabethan era for inspiration

By: MATT ASHARE |
Published: May 09, 2012 http://www2.the-burg.com

Damon Albarn, Dr Dee (Virgin)

RENASSANCE PLAN: Albarn scores and opera of sorts

At some point — several years, months, or maybe just days from now — people will look back in bemusement on the mid-’90s at an ultimately meaningless battle that broke out in England to see who might be crowned King of the Brit-Pop Hill. In one corner stood Oasis, a ruggedly handsome, dour gang of ruffians who chiseled monolithic melodies out of big hooks cadged from the Beatles catalogue, added a little punk snarl to the mix, and created their own hit parade of fairly meaningless anthems. (Seriously: I'm still not sure whether a wonderwall is that not quite floor-to-ceiling partition you'll find between most respectable bathroom stalls, or some mysterious Stonehenge-like structure erected by ancient astronauts as fodder for a fascinating History Channel special. And I have yet to come across a cocktail menu that lists a beverage called a "Champagne Supernova," although I'm pretty sure it would be awesome.) On the other side of the ring lurked Blur, a cagier bunch of louts who quickly moved on from the druggy Manchester dance grooves of their 1991 debut Leisure to the eccentric social critiques that characterized Modern Life Is Rubbish and Parklife, a pair of smashing Anglocentric successes that never stood a chance of gaining much traction here in the US.

       In retrospect, the outcome of this particular clash of the titans was fairly predictable. Oasis went on to conquer the greater part of the known world, complained about the rigors of stardom (i.e., drugs and alcohol abuse), and ultimately imploded in painfully public fashion, as singer Liam Gallagher and his brother, guitarist/songwriter Noel, became increasingly annoyed with one another, as siblings in the spotlight are wont to do. Meanwhile, Blur emerged as O Britannia's favorite sons, while garnering little more than critical acclaim on these shores until they accidentally hit something close to paydirt in 1997 with "Song 2," a charmingly churning shout-along that rose to the level of a sports stadium staple and is probably best remembered for its "yoo-hoo" choruses. Although Blur essentially ceased all military operations after guitarist Graham Coxon called it quits and singer Damon Albarn drifted into the virtual world as the de-facto leader of a cartoon splinter group known as Gorillaz, they've remained friendly enough to reunite from time to time, most recently in 2009.

       As for who won the epic showdown, well, let's just say that it remains an open question that's probably not worth debating for more than a few minutes. (It's a little like arguing the relative merits of the Who versus the Stones: Who fans pick the Who; Stones fans pick the Stones; and the rest of us happily don't care one way or the other.) However, in the wake of the Oasis collapse and Blur's slow disintegration, the clear victor and reigning champion has gotta be Albarn, especially now that Liam (with his poorly named band Beady Eye) and Noel (who's now backed by his own High Flying Birds) are currently in the business of trying to recapture past morning glories by out Oasis-ing one another.

       Albarn, on the other hand, has grown into something of a postmodern pop Renaissance man. His Gorillaz, a collaboration with visual artist Jamie Hewlett (the creator of the Tank Girl comic book series), have synthesized brilliantly stylized pan-cultural mash-ups that have drawn on the talents of San Fran turntablist Dan the Automator, Oakland rapper Del Tha Funky Homosapien, Japanese actress Haruka Kuroda, Chicago's Hypnotic Brass Ensemble, former Clash guitarist and bassist Mick Jones and Paul Simenon, soul singer Bobby Womack, and, ah, Lou Reed, to name just a few. The group has won all kinds of awards on both sides of the pond, including a 2006 Grammy. And, at least two of their four albums have been certified platinum in both the UK and the US. Beyond that, under Albarn's stewardship they basically established themselves as one of the most interesting, forward-thinking multi-media musical projects in the galaxy, both online and off. Oh, and Albarn also married African rhythms and dub-style production with Brit-pop hooks on a self-titled, kinda solo album credited to the Good, the Bad & the Queen back in ’07.

       So Albarn has definitely been keeping himself busy. But the story doesn’t end there. With Liam and Noel Gallagher currently doing their honest best to promote the debut albums by their respective bands, Albarn has upped the stakes yet again with Dr Dee, another sorta solo album that’s actually credited to Damon Albarn, although it has its roots in a collaboration with British theater director Rufus Norris.

       Dr Dee may indeed be the first album the elusive Albarn has put his given name to in the two decades since the beginning of Blur, but it is defiantly — perversely, even — not at all what fans might expect from the man behind the Gorillaz mask. The soundtrack to an operatic stage musical based on the life of a rather mysterious magus/mathematician who played a controversial advisory role in the court of Queen Elizabeth I, the disc is a mélange of spare organ drones, pastoral British folk, symphonic arrangements by the BBC Philharmonic Orchestra, and African percussion. And, yes, there’s also an opera singer. To suggest it’s all over the place, or even a bit incomprehensible, would be an understatement.

       Not that there aren’t moments when the pop savvy Albarn emerges with what might best be described as song sketches that might work as b-sides to an actual single. The sadly sung “Apple Carts” works well enough as a folky rumination, replete with fingerpicked acoustic guitar, a flute solo, and a bittersweet melody, as does “Cathedrals.” And, let’s face it, Albarn has done more than most rock dudes to earn the artistic license it takes to go off on an obscure excursion like this. Let’s just hope that Dr Dee makes more sense on a stage than it does as an album, and that Albarn has something a little more accessible in his nifty bag of tricks ready for his next project.

      

      

GORILLAZ

Damon Albarn delivers an actual singles collection from the virtual Gorillaz 

By Matt Ashare

November 30, 2011

The Burg

Gorillaz, The Singles Collection 2001-2011 (Virgin)

I had every intention of of approaching Gorillaz new ten-year retrospective compilation The Singles Collection 2001-2011 as purely a musical entity — just fifteen tracks from the "virtual" band's three proper studio albums, including two remixes. But then I found myself actually stranded on or in "Plastic Beach," Gorillaz's interactive virtual recording studio complex, which is actually located at the band's website. Okay, so it's essentially a role-playing game, and I'm still stuck trying to identify the various captains (so far I've got Captain Crunch, Captain America, Captain Cook, and a handful of others) on the "Captains Wall" in the study, although I will confess that from time to time I wander over to the fish tank to drop little nuggets of a Spam-like substance to a hungry little bugger swimming around in there just to pick up some points.

       Perhaps I should backtrack a bit. When Gorillaz got off the ground back in 2000, it was billed as a multi-media collaboration between Damon Albarn, the cheeky frontman of ’90s Brit-pop sensation Blur, comic book artist Jamie Hewlett of Tank Girl fame, and SF hip-hop producer Dan "The Automator" Nakamura — an eclectic, brainy bunch, to be sure. To further diversify, Albarn brought Talking Heads/Tom Tom Club bassist Tina Weymouth and drummer Chris Franz, Cibo Matto multi-instrumentalist Miho Hatori, rapper Del tha Funkee Homosapien, and a couple of Nakamura's pals, DJs Deltron 3030 and Kid Koala, along for the first Gorillaz studio adventure, a self-titled 2001 album that merged hip-hop beats, Brit-pop hooks, dubby production, and playful programming into something both unique and accessible to the tune of roughly 7 million units moved worldwide. Yet, in typically puckish fashion, Albarn asked to have Gorrilaz withdrawn for consideration after it was nominated for Britain's prestigious Mercury Prize.

       Meanwhile, Hewlett set about creating characters, storylines, and, in very Tank Girl fashion, an entire dystopic world for Gorillaz. The band's titular frontman, singer/keyboardist/guitarist 2-D, would appear to be an Albarn avatar — a black-eyed, spiky-haired, nihilistic punk with mischief on his mind. And then there's tall, dark, roguishly handsome bassist Murdoc; guitar ace Noodle, a little Japanese grrrl who looks like she was plucked straight out of a futuristic Anime series; and, on drums, a rather large b-boy who goes by the name of Russel. Along with the dozens of futuristic videos Hewlett's produced for his creations — including one for each of the tracks on The Singles Collection — there's a 304-page band biography (Rise of the Ogre), and several DVDs documenting the various "phases" of Gorillaz (there have been three, one for each studio album).

       For all of Hewlett's stylistic flash, it's still an awful lot to get one's mind around, particularly for an entity that doesn't really exist. And yet, you kinda have to admire the lengths to which Albarn and Hewlett have gone in marketing a project that, at its core, is essentially a commentary on how art and music are branded in the digital age. In 2004, they went so far as to create a viral marketing campaign at rejectfalseicons.com based around the line "reject false icons" from the "Rock It" single. But I won't get into that here. . .

       If you're not sure whether you've ever heard a Gorillaz tune, chances are you have: the upbeat dance track "Feel Good Inc.," featuring the members of De La Soul sparring maniacally with a melancholy Albarn, wasn't just one of the better charting singles on Gorillaz's 2005 album Demon Days, it also formed the basis for one of Apple's more successful iPod ad campaigns. (If you're a gamer — video, that is — then there are a couple of other tracks on The Singles Collection that are likely to sound familiar.) And, just last year, Albarn made the Apple connection again when he produced an entire downloadable Gorillaz disc, The Fall, using an iPad and featuring, among others, former Clash guitarist and bassist Mick Jones and Paul Simonon, who'd also been part of a touring version of Gorillaz.

       All the extras — from Jones and Simonon, to rapper Mos Def and r&b singer Bobby Womack (they turn up together on the spacey techno-funk single "Stylo"), to the cast of characters Hewlett has created — have threatened, at times, to overshadow the substance of Albarn's Gorillaz, namely the songs themselves. And, make no mistake, Albarn is the primary musical force behind Hewlett's cartoon caricatures. Indeed, the chronologically arranged Singles Collection essentially traces the evolution of Albarn's clever take on pomo hip-pop, which is often every bit as peculiarly British as was Blur's brand of guitar-based rock. That's especially true on a track like "DARE," a blue-eyed soul number with falsetto vocals that features intermittent declamations by former Happy Mondays mumbler Shaun Ryder, and the more hip-hoppity breakfast treat "Superfast Jellyfish," a techno twister that pairs De La Soul with Welsh singer Gruff Rhys of Super Furry Animals.

       And then there's the relatively straightforwardly reflective "On Melancholy Hill," a melodic mid-tempo number that finds Albarn on hooky terrain that's not much of a leap from where he once stood with Blur. Maybe that's really the point of having a virtual band to hide behind: ultimately, it gives Albarn the freedom to take Gorillaz in whatever direction he choses, even if that means handing the microphone over to a relatively unknown Manchester soul singer named Daley for the yearning "Doncamatic," a disco throwback that's also Gorillaz most recent single.

       As for me, I'm still trying to conquer the "Captains Wall" so that I can move on to the next level of "Plastic Beach."