It’s been a full decade since the world’s most famous virtual band burst onto the scene at the dawn of the century, born from two like-minded experimentalists and a set of crafty oil pastels.
But few could have predicted the heights to which Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett’s project would soar – somehow managing to satisfy the Blur star’s lust for venturing into the unknown with a sustained sky-rocketing level of commercial success. It’s not lost on Albarn that Gorillaz, for all intents and purposes, have far outstripped Blur commercially and arguably creatively.
But as the virtual band concept seemed to take on a life of its own, so did the demographic of the music and the infinitely blooming ideas that would be crafted into Gorillaz records. What started out as a creation that Albarn could mastermind behind silhouette shadows and mischievous caricatures, evolved into a communal embracement of sparse collaboration, something that peaked with the pristine arrangements and soundscapes of 2010’s ‘Plastic Beach‘.
Thus, ‘The Singles Collection 2001-2011‘ takes us on a well-documented tour of that evolution, even if the outstanding singles on show can sometimes belie the hidden gems that lay nestled in their respective albums, missing out on a place on this compilation because of the blurred line that seems to separate ‘Best-Ofs’ and ‘Greatest Hits’. This release is most definitely the latter, serving the casual listeners with all the relevant radio staples, whilst leaving die-hards in the dark with no real enticements or rarities added on for their benefit.
Set in chronological order, a tried and tested method of careerist evaluation, the collection kicks off with the opener from the group’s eponymous debut LP, ‘Tomorrow Comes Today’. The forlorn horns and doomsday lyrics that make up the song suggest that it’s not the most obvious choice to kick off a singles collection, but then Gorillaz always excelled in the unexpected. One of the high points of the first album, its hard not to get lost in Albarn’s meandering voice as it forms a delightful contrast against the instrumentation that coats it – something that would become one of the band’s trademarks.
Following on its heels are three other singles from its parent album, all so-so with the exception of the monster-smash ‘Clint Eastwood’, still one of the most popular in the band’s catalogue. It remains irresistibly charming after all these years with its fusion of hip hop, sunshine pop and swirling electronica. ‘Clint Eastwood’ arguably started what 2005’s ‘Feel Good Inc’ finished off, a more-realised and sophisticated composition that went on to have even greater success, placed here to initiate the ‘Demon Days‘ era.
But it’s the secondary singles from ‘Demon Days’ that are the most rewarding, look no further than the Shaun Ryder glazed ‘Dare’, the group’s only number one single. One of the few instances where Albarn is nowhere to be seen, you can just imagine his glee at watching how well Ryder’s malevolent bleat bounces off Rosie Wilson’s re-affirming chants, forming a smart marriage of melodic variety.
Out of the remaining a-sides that represent ‘Demon Days’, ‘Kids with Guns’ is the most forgettable, the scattered message it holds becoming lost in the stop-start nature of its verses. ‘El Manana’ shouldn’t be expected to buck the trend either. One of the weaker-realised ballads of the era, despite containing some promising ideas in the outset, it ultimately tends to fall through the very hands of the listener, leaving neither beauty nor emotion in its wake.
But the gems plucked from 2010’s ‘Plastic Beach’ better their predecessors in every aspect. The shuffling and bouncy ‘Stylo’ is still one of the most assaulting tracks Albarn has ever released. Though not as memorable as ‘Feel Good Inc’ or ‘Clint Eastwood’, it serves to reinforce the qualities of collaborative composition magnificently; Bobby Womack’s powerful improvisation cutting through Albarn’s yearning sentimentalism with vital force. ‘On Melancholy Hill’ likewise brings out the best of the other end of the spectrum, blending the power of lucid dreaming with a universal zest for the unknown, all thanks to Albarn’s ominously quiet vocal balancing against a beautiful array of erratic strings.
Despite a few unnecessary remixes added on to the tail end of the compilation – probably without Albarn’s approval – ‘The Singles Collection…’ leaves you feeling triumphant and fearless in its wake.
Truly confirming Gorillaz’s unique legacy, this compilation is vital to anyone who doesn’t own all of their albums already. Buy. It. Now.
