In an interview with ‘Wired', Hewlett spoke about why they originally started the band: "If you watch MTV for too long, it's a bit like hell – there's nothing of substance there.
They have a clear ideology and belief system against the plastic and manufactured pop characters of the mainstream music industry. It's not just this constant supply of vivid storytelling and artistic endeavours that make this cult group so successful. The point is that they refuse to be constrained by the boundaries of what they can and cannot do within their industry. I'm not even going to begin to explain it on here because it's almost not the point. The story is incredible, and almost impossible to piece together fully unless you've seen, read or heard everything they've put out.
Since then the band has been telling the dark, and often twisted, story of ‘Murdoc', ‘2D', ‘Noodle' and ‘Russell' through an array of mediums including music videos, short stories, online games, films, biographies, fake radio programmes and audiobooks. Gorillaz formed in 1998 as the brainchild of Blur's frontman, Damon Albarn, and comic book artist, Jamie Hewlett in response to the state of the music industry at the time. These three digital stories are the most recent piece of the puzzle to the group's mind-blowing mythology.
Explicit gorillaz clint eastwood video no sfx series#
The video’s release on the eve of Donald Trump’s inauguration is a direct statement that forces listeners to identify Humanz’s political substance.In the lead up to their new album, Gorillaz have unveiled a series of three multimedia stories recapping the recent events of band's central characters in ‘The Book of Noodle', ‘The Book of Russel' and now ‘The Book of Murdoc'. His eyes are set on the viewer throughout images of kabuki theater and perverse Americana, including archival footage of marching Klansman, play behind him. The video for the lead single “Hallelujah Money” foregrounds the decidedly not-cartoon face of singer Benjamin Clementine. But this is why Humanz makes its most overt political statement in the band’s nearly two-decade career. Their lyrics might not be subtle, but the accessibility of their sound and apparent frivolity of their colorful avatars makes it easy to dismiss their work. (Check “Born in the U.S.A.”’s use as patriotic rallying cry.) As a cartoon dance band, Gorillaz risk this even more than anyone else on the radio. By communicating the message of a song subtly, its realization can be more powerful, but it can also remain hidden unless it's listened to more closely. Pop’s other trademark, of course, is that it’s easy to miss the point. This content can also be viewed on the site it originates from. There’s nothing left but a low static hum by the time Staples calls the “land of the free” a place “where you can live your dreams as long as you don’t look like me.” A distorted scream clips in immediately after the last syllable of his verse. But by the end of “Ascension,” the pretense is dropped along with, for a few bars, that propulsive snare. The caffeinated snares and digitized bass drum bounce of “Ascension” sound cheery enough, but Staples’ chorus says something far less hopeful: “The sky’s falling, baby/Drop that ass ‘fore it crash.” Throughout his verses, he masks outrage at American racism with a narrative apparently about nothing more than trying to find someone to hook up with. Vince Staples introduces Humanz’s premise through a first song that rockets forward with gut-rending indignation. An album responding to a modern world where fascism has returned to mainstream politics, where the worst-case scenarios of Donald Trump and Brexit have been realized, it’s still also a record of palatable dance tracks presented by animated figures. Their latest, Humanz, is testament to this bizarre strength.
Over 17 years, across massive changes in global governments and seismic shifts in Western culture, a quartet of monkey-ish cartoons has persisted as the grinning face of our hopes and fears. Instead, Gorillaz have maintained relevance, continuing to release albums not just sonically but politically of their moment. The creation of Blur’s Damon Albarn and Tank Girl animator Jamie Hewlett, their gimmick seems like it ought to have made for nothing more than a disposable pop act-an early-2000s curiosity meant to disappear alongside nü metal and anyone taking Chris Martin seriously. Gorillaz have always sounded more human than a cartoon band should.