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Plastic Beach
What a sad commentary about modern music that a "virtual band" can create a record of more depth and feeling than most actual bands.
In its decade of existence, Gorillaz, the genre-blending brainchild of ex-Blur frontman Damon Albarn and British comic artist Jamie Hewlett, has delivered a trio of albums that are self-contained marvels of mood. The pair's latest, Plastic Beach, is no exception. Incorporating the Lebanese National Orchestra, soul legends (Bobby Womack), rap stars (Snoop Dogg, Mos Def) and a freewheeling sense of discovery, Albarn and Hewlett have made what's sure to be regarded as one of 2010's stronger albums.
Attacking each record like a film, rather than strictly as a music project, has allowed Albarn and a dizzying cast of contributors to fashion immersive worlds that reward repeat listens. After the last Gorillaz effort, 2005's Demon Days, Albarn made lots of noise in the music press about the group's demise, citing his desire to engage other ideas.
But the vivid, unrelenting nature of Plastic Beach suggests Albarn wasn't quite finished with his animated pals. Whereas Demon Days was tightly focused on melancholy, Plastic Beach tempers that moodiness by incorporating a more carefree feel. From the gorgeous opening Orchestral Intro through to the Lou Reed-augmented Some Kind of Nature, Plastic Beach is the most pleasant downer imaginable.
Some of that sadness stems from Albarn's wearied, faintly mournful tone, which is leavened by the cameos from De La Soul, Little Dragon and Mark E. Smith. There's a wonderful grab-bag quality to the talent gathered to make Plastic Beach; like a vagrant picking through scraps looking for something to sell, Albarn patiently assembles precisely what he's looking for, without succumbing to the need for attention-grabbing names.
That clarity of vision pays off, as Plastic Beach unfolds and feels utterly cohesive (if a bit loopy). Far too many albums, in this era of atomization, cling to superstars as a means to move units. Instead, Albarn gets by with a little help from his friends -- the fictional and the real -- and delivers a minor-key masterwork.
Download this: On Melancholy Hill
Preston Jones is the Star-Telegram pop music critic, 817-390-7713
