Waiting By The Mailbox, By The Train
I know that I wrote about Gorillaz before Plastic Beach came out, but this album was genuinely one of maybe three good things that happened last week, and this song in particular something that I kept listening to, over and over again like a musical talisman. It reminds me of the “old” Damon Albarn, somehow – There’s something less affected, less distant about the song (The bit where he says, “And I just have to tell you that/I love you so much these days/I just have to tell you that/I love you so much these days/It’s true,” in particular, makes my eyes heavy and my heart swell with its bluntness and artlessness), but it’s not just that, it’s the mix of melancholy, optimism and, amongst it all, surrender that gets me. This song makes me want an album of duets between Albarn and Little Dragon singer Yukimi Nagano.
They Got Locks On The Gates
With all the buzz surrounding Gorillaz’ new album, Plastic Beach – buzz that I shamelessly added to over at io9 – it should probably come as no surprise that I’ve been listening to a lot of their old stuff (as well as their new; that NPR stream of Plastic Beach reveals that it’s another great one, and maybe one I like even more than Demon Days). While I liked the first album well enough, it was the second that made the project seem like something other than a half-baked Blur-a-like (The singles aside, Gorillaz is surprisingly light, I think). It was with Demon Days that the mix of pop, hip-hop and melancholy really came together to create something special, and on first listens, Plastic Beach does the same thing. It’s the last of those ingredients, the sadness and longing and (despite everything) hope that comes from the songs on the latter albums, that feels most important, most necessary to their Gorillaz-ness, for want of a better way of putting it.
I remember listening to Demon Days almost non-stop on the way to and from work, back when it came out. It was one of those albums that existed as a whole thing, not a collection of songs but something that started at the beginning and had to be listened to all the way through to the end (or, until I got off the N Judah; whichever came first). One of the reasons was that, hey, I was still listening to CDs for the most part back then and that’s how they worked, but it’s also because Days ends with a three-song-cycle that not only has to be heard altogether, but redeems the sadness and hopelessness of what came before; it’s impossible for me to get to “Demon Days” (the song) and not feel uplifted by the choir singing “To the sun” at the end, and there was something about that that brought closure to the listening experience.
Like Elliott Smith, Gorillaz’ music is the kind of thing I can listen to when I’m feeling down, and somehow feel better because of. It’s something I can’t explain, but am continually grateful for, especially when said music seems to appear at exactly the times when it’s needed.
