Nearly five years after their last album, The Gorillaz are back-and their leader wants to set the record straight.
So four freakshow rockstars walk into the music industry and sell 15 million records. The punch line? This happened in the 21st century! LOLZ! But after two absolutely gangbusters albums and a handful of mind-blowing videos, the Gorillaz fell off the face of the earth. Some of us didn't think the disappearance was all that strange; after all, it was just a bunch of animated characters who were the brainchild of Damon Albarn and comic artist Jamie Hewlett. But those of us who thought that were wrong.
See, a little while ago, we got a letter at Complex HQ with a postmark we couldn't quite decipher. The letter (which smelled like lighter fluid and was dusted with a powder that was decidedly not anthrax) said only, "Wish you were here! Not really! Plastic Beach is done, though!" But instead of a signature, there was only an international phone number and the inscription "M." Turns out it was from Murdoc Niccals, the Gorillaz bassist (and, to hear him say it, the band's only significant member), who had been holed up on his garbage island for nigh on three years—possibly by himself. The ensuing conversation was odd, but we managed to chop it up and find out what's been going on with the rest of the Gorillaz, what we can expect from the new album Plastic Beach and their headlining appearance at Coachella on April 18, and why we think Murdoc might just want to remain in a non-extradition country.
Complex: Hello? Murdoc?Murdoc: Ungh. It's half past two in the afternoon and I've just been woken by the seagulls. Who are you and what do you want?
I'm from Complex—remember? We were supposed to talk about your new album.
Murdoc: Complex? Amplex? What...? Oh, COMPLEX! The magazine for the discerning gentleman! Why didn't you say so?!! Hang on, I'll just pour myself a tot of rum. Wait a moment while I light a Lucky Lung...ahhhh. You don't mind if I do this interview in my boots and underpants, do you? I'm a bit more relaxed that way.
Not at all, I'm just glad this is a phone conversation.
Murdoc: Oho! Now, fire away, dear boy! What do you want to know about the greatest virtual band ever?
Talk us through what happened after the last record, Demon Days. You sold six million records, performed at the Grammys with Madonna, did five nights at the Apollo...then just kind of disappeared.
Murdoc: Ah, the Harlem Apollo. Stomping ground of every great from James Brown to Richard Pryor and beyond. Couldn't have been a better setting for the majesty of Gorillaz. We got all the guests from the Demon Days album there—De La Soul, Ike Turner, Dennis Hopper—and put them together with some animations, pre-recorded appearances, an explosive live band... A phantasmagoria of sounds, colors, and assaults on the senses. Splendid! But once the door slammed shut on Gorillaz that evening, for me that was it. I was sick of the sight and smell of the whole band. I just wanted to have a long lost weekend, and somehow I managed to string it out for about three years. It's amazing what kind of fun you can get up to with an Amex Black and a big bottle of absinthe.
Why the disappearance, though?
Murdoc: I just wanted to purge my soul of all things Gorillaz. Demon Days had been a long haul for all of us. I mean, no other band really has to experience the kind of mind-numbing antics we go through. Possessions, assassination attempts, Grim Reapers, Madonna collaborations, floating islands, Black Clouds, especially that idiot 2D.
With you being MIA, though, your bandmates have been going through it. Have you been keeping in touch with them?
Murdoc: The last time I saw Noodle she was being shot at by helicopters as she parachuted off the floating island in the "El Mañana" video—KABOOM! The whole thing just crashed into the ground and exploded. Turns out she was dragged to Hades after that, in a terrible case of mistaken identity. Still...great video.
So that's Noodle. What about the others?
Murdoc: 2D? Well, I don't know or care what he got up to. He's not much use as a sidekick, to be honest. He's a few bananas short of a bunch—but a great singer, lovely voice box. That's why I had to get him back on the new record.
That just leaves Russel. What's up with the big man?
Murdoc: Russel's no stranger to mental health problems, clearly. After the first Gorillaz record, he started seeing demons shooting out of the speakers and ended up living in Ike Turner's basement—I thought that was a euphemism for something else, until Ike Turner turned up to play on Demon Days. So Russel, yeah, we only just managed to put him back together for the last album. I was in no hurry to hang around with him much more, once we'd done those Apollo shows. But you know all of this—you're a journalist, you must've researched our back story via our autobiography, Rise of the Ogre.
Yeeeeeeah. To be honest, that really seemed like a lot of words.
Murdoc: And some of them are even in the right order! Which is a major achievement when you've taken as much speed as I have.
Do you have any regrets about revealing so much? Most bands don't get that kind of forensic treatment until after their career is over.
Murdoc: I have no secrets from my pubic—sorry, public. Or do I? I'm not afraid of the truth. The Gorillaz story is long, tangled, impenetrable, and absolutely fascinating. Rise of the Ogre was just part one. Plastic Beach is the third, most glorious part of the Gorillaz triptych. And it's a long story.
Don't worry, I'm comfortable.
Murdoc: [Sighs.] So after the Apollo shows, Gorillaz-wise, that was it. There was talk of making a movie or something, but that's all it usually is—just talk. The only way to keep things moving in some parts of that world is to make sure nothing gets finished. It's like war: just keep everything ticking along with no conclusions. What I really needed wasn't talk, but cash—and lots of it. I had a few unsavory types after me, some looking for money and some for blood.
You can't mean that literally.
Murdoc: Well, the Demon Days stuff had been expensive, and I'd invested in some stupid mobile phone companies and pyramid schemes. Actual pyramid schemes: I bought a load of pyramids in Giza over in Egypt! But it turned out this guy who sold them to me—Bernie Madoff, he was called—was a crook, and the contracts weren't worth the parchment they were written on. Bernie just...made off with the money. Ha! So I tried my hand at amateur arms dealing. That's good fun—it did backfire a bit, though. An underground network of pirates called the Black Clouds were unhappy that I'd sold them duds; I was just trying to do my bit for world peace by giving them guns that didn't work, but they've been after me ever since.
So you can mean literally. Yikes.
Murdoc: The only thing I could do was get far away, and fast. I tried to sell our studio complex, Kong, but even after putting it on www.giganticdisusedhauntedstudiosinthemiddleofnowhere.com, I didn't have any takers. It had to go, so I torched it and claimed the insurance. Sometimes you've got to burn the past to make a new future! Out the ashes of Kong Studios, Plastic Beach rose like a big dirty swan.
So how did you find Plastic Beach, and how did the new studio affect the recording of the album? It's obviously been an important move for you if you're naming the record after the place it was made.
Murdoc: I hauled one of the helicopters from the "Feelgood Inc." video out of storage and just scouted the globe: Arctic tundra, Amazon jungle, down the back of the sofa. I searched on maps, visited secret locations, until finally I found it: Point Nemo. No Man's Land! The place furthest from any other landmass on the planet. No one would dream of looking for me there, and you can make as much noise as you want.
Sounds like the island from Lost.
Murdoc: Except it was just a giant piece of rotten plastic in the middle of nowhere. The funny thing was that it looked idyllic from far away—through the binoculars, it was a floating paradise! But once you got closer you could see it was just landfill: grease, garbage, destruction, rusty old pipes, and dumped bits of plastic. The first thing I did was build my very own Playboy Mansion, right on top of this Plastic Beach. It houses everything from my state-of-the-art recording studio to lavish boudoirs to glass-bottomed basement rooms, secret rooms, lighthouse towers...
All well and good, but you're still thousands of miles from anywhere. How did you get the band and guests together to record the album?
Murdoc: Various methods. Kidnapping, for one. I knew I couldn't make a Gorillaz record without 2D's voice, only he wasn't keen, so I just gassed him and had him freighted over to Plastic Beach. Noodle was trickier. I spent a good few months down in the underworld looking for her, but nothing. Luckily, I'd scraped up some of her DNA from the "El Mañana" crash site and was able to construct a cyborg replica which had all of her guitar skills.
That's the band, but you guys are known for your special guests as well.
Murdoc: I sent out a whole load of "Golden Tickets" to them; sparkly invites with our secret Plastic Beach location embossed on them. It had the map details, dress code, and the meeting place watermarked on there, so the guests would know what was up. But it wasn't all plain sailing. A couple of them refused, so I had to use Plan B: chloroform and Rohypnol. But as long as I got what I needed, I was fine. So who's on the rack this time? Oh, just a few people named Lou Reed, Mos Def, Bobby Womack, Kano & Bashy, Little Dragon, Mark E. Smith, and Snoop Dogg. And some exotic orchestras and bazooka players.
So how does it compare to the rest of your oeuvre?
Murdoc: I, like the world, am a work in progress: teetering, twittering, on the tightrope of evolution, bolstered by rum and tinctures, easing my way into an early grave, and trying to wring as much fun out of the present sunshine as possible, like anybody else. But the headstone should read well.
Wow, monomania much? What about the album?
Murdoc: I'll tell you what Plastic Beach is: It's a four-dimensional postcard.
A what now?
Murdoc: A postcard from the edge...but a postcard that comes to life. A Technicolor snapshot of an alternate land.
You're losing me.
Murdoc: Look, on a less abstract tip, as communication distances get shorter and quicker, you can really put incredible things together, given the right vision. Now we've got Skype, ISDN lines, emails, file sharing...you can get whole groups of people to sit together in the right places at the right time. If you're gonna use all these tools for something—anything—why not do it this way? Getting all the brilliant people together and make a positive statement? Something a bit fun! SOMETHING A BIT MUSICAAAAAL! Like Plastic Beach!
Ooooookay. And you're playing Coachella – what can we expect from you?
Murdoc: Ooooh, have I got something special for you. I'm going to explode! Explode! I've planned a reunion of not one, not two, but maybe even all THREE of the Gorillaz albums to be performed live... LIVE! Can you imagine? I'm not really prone to excitement, due to all the medication and everything, but this is really something! Something unbelievable. Something that we may even tour until we're skeletons... If my plans come together, these shows will go down in history for the sheer weight of icons, legends, and music genii on stage at one time!!! And that's just me and Russel—if I can find him. But seriously, I've heard nothing but good things about Coachella. I don't normally play festivals due to the fact that I like a toilet that can cope with solids and I need access to ice at all times. But I'm told that Palm Springs is where it's at: the women are all super-hot cougars and the golfing's good, so here we come!
Well, I think that covers almost everything—I just have a couple of questions for 2D, then I'll be out of your hair.
Murdoc: 2D? You don't want to speak to him. I'm Gorillaz!
Yeah, I just wanted to ask him about some of his vocal influences.
Murdoc: Oh I can cover that: Phil Oakey, Kate Bush, Damon Albarn. NEXT!
Thanks, but I'd really like to talk directly to him...
Murdoc: Sorry, you're breaking up...what's that you say?... HELLO? HELLO??? [Phone hangs up.]
Well, that's just fucking great.
