Judging from past experience, "Gorillaz" is an album that should never have been made, by a band that should not exist. That said, it's pretty good.
Gorillaz are, after all, an unholy union, a rough collective consisting of Blur singer Damon Albarn, animator Jamie Hewlett of "Tank Girl" fame and eclectic hip-hop producer Dan Nakamura. On their self-titled debut album, which got its U.S. release early this summer on Virgin Records, they invite a staggeringly diverse collection of guests, including former Talking Heads members Chris Frantz and Tina Weymouth, Cibo Matto's Miho Hatori, old-school hip-hopper Del tha Funkee Homosapien, octogenarian Cuban singer Ibrahim Ferrer of Buena Vista Social Club fame and Montreal turntablist Kid Koala.
What could practitioners of Brit-pop, rap, 80s new wave, Cuban "son" and electronica possibly have to offer one another? Apparently, a desire to put aside their main musical interests at least temporarily, pretend to be cartoon characters (more on this later) and make a record full of 17 undeniably funky, impossibly eclectic songs.
Cross-genre experiments of this sort haven't always been pretty (see: the Eminem/Elton John collaboration at the 2001 Grammys). Besides, side projects are almost universally doomed to commercial, if not critical, failure. I mean really, how many songs can you name by the Golden Palominos, that short-lived side band formed by R.E.M. guitarist Peter Buck? And who would you rather see in concert, the Beatles or Ringo's All-Starr Band?
That means Gorillaz already had two strikes against them when they formed last year with the goal of laying down some unorthodox funkiness while (according to Albarn) under the influence of some equally funky substances in Jamaica, where they recorded the album.
Gorillaz, however, manage not to strike out. As you might imagine, the results of the collaboration are sometimes patchy, but at other times they are brilliant.
On the single "Clint Eastwood," which hit the top 5 of the British charts, Albarn takes the mike, singing a soulful, poppy chorus over a hip-hop beat before turning it over to Del to let him drop a few rhymes. With a long instrumental jam at the end featuring harmonica, synthesized strings and plenty of ProTools wizardry courtesy of the Automator, it is a smooth ride.
On other tracks ("Man Research," "Sound Check (Gravity)"), Albarn sings in a bizarre falsetto that somehow works, in an androgynous space-alien sort of way.
Still others ("Re-Hash," "Tomorrow Comes Today") are guitar driven, veering away from the alt.hip-hop sound that dominates the album; or else they sound like latter-day Beastie Boys B-sides ("New Genious"); or they tap into the punk vibe that has influenced some of Blur's music ("Punk"); or they add horn sections to rapped lyrics ("Rock the House"); or they soak up the reggae vibe of the recording sessions' location ("Dracula").
In fact, the constant musical shifts can be somewhat unnerving. Never knowing exactly what to expect next is a good thing, but sometimes you want to tell Albarn, Nakamura and company to just pick a genre and stay with it until they learn to avoid the less-than-compelling moments that tend to turn up near the end of some of the tracks.
Besides the music, the other quirky aspect of Gorillaz is that they do not, technically, exist. At least, not in three dimensions. The "band members" are really four cartoon characters created by Hewlett. 2D, Murdoc, Russel and Noodle give interviews, star in the band's videos and have their own website, the vast and expertly created www.gorillaz.com, on which fans can, among other things, poke around on the hard drives of the fictitious "band members."
