As a child, there was one common belief that every “fake” band had a limited shelf life. You’d pop on a film or TV show, and there would be someone who existed within the context of a fictional world. Outside of possibly The Monkees, you were likely to see them through a prism of quick and disposable gimmickry. At the turn of the century, nobody reflected this better than The Archies, who, despite symbolizing a comic strip that spanned decades, never had more than one hit with “Sugar Sugar,” which was mostly lampooned as a vapid offshoot of late 60s free love by the time that I came of age.
It may be difficult to perceive Gorillaz sharing any DNA with this line of thought now, but the story was much different in March 2001. Damon Albarn of Blur was setting out to do one of the most self-indulgent side projects of his generation with assistance from Tank Girl animator Jamie Hewlett. At the time, I believed it to mostly be a funnel for silly-looking music videos, but the vision would come into scope within the band’s first decade of “existence.” Never mind that, as a middle schooler, listening to the first record with friends felt closer to being trolled than an expansion of the timeless “Clint Eastwood” track. This wasn’t the Top 40 for the preteen set. What child was into a fusion of world music with a hip-hop backing? It might be a Millennial touchstone now, but most of the love the album received was acquired over time, at least by me.
Even as “19-2000” received the superior Soulchild remix, it was hard to argue that the band would stick around. Even still, something was amazing about being able to turn on MTV in the afternoon to see “Clint Eastwood” as these characters fought zombie gorillas. It made you want to invest in this world, at times a defiant and avant-garde alternative to the hit makers. They were more transgressive than The Archies. They, at times, embodied the nihilism and violence of the edgy youth culture. Here was a fictional band that literally kicked ass. Not only that, but they all had names and lore, meaning this would at least serve as a short-term multimedia feast.
A major reason I’ve thought a lot about Gorillaz lately is because of how early perception clashes with the current one. We are only a few weeks removed from the release of “The Mountain,” which is in its own right a surreal addition to the canon. The Archies never got to evolve into some sincere exploration of mortality. There was no need to experiment with transcendental music and incorporate arguably some of the most inspired posthumous audio onto a gut-wrenching album. In 2026, Gorillaz is asking a lot from their audience, and I think they’ve rightly earned it thanks to 25 years of constant surprise. Well, that, and having a roster of collaborators that would put most other “real” bands in the same window to shame.
Nowadays, it’s easy to see the divisions starting to fade. In a recent Saturday Night Live performance, Albarn and his collaborators took to the stage while projecting music videos to a backdrop. It’s by no means the worst presentation, but it took away some of the allure that drew me to them initially, specifically around the time of “Demon Days” when they had not only garnered the rare second (and bigger) hit with “Feel Good Inc.,” but appeared as holograms at awards shows that made them feel more dimensional. Growing up, I enjoyed fantasizing about what a Gorillaz performance would be, like if they were behind the curtains just singing to monitors. I’ll say it was far more ambitious than a quick changeover could produce, but you want to believe it’s very much an art show that matched their growing output, which now included interactive websites and books like “Rise of the Ogre.” For a fake band, they were a playful one that was proving to have more permanence.
And yet to suggest that early Gorillaz was only ever a joke would be to misunderstand what Albarn and Hewlett were doing. While I look at “The Mountain” as supreme growth in confidence, it doesn’t come without a ton of risk-taking. Albums like “Plastic Beach” created sonic landscapes that satirized consumerism with faux TV jingles. There was an expansiveness that played with the best of concept albums without losing the musicality that Albarn was known for. Maybe it was because deep down his avatar, 2-D, lived in a “melancholy town where we never smile.” He may have adored pop structure, but he sang some depressing numbers. Even in the few moments of elation, stuff like “Cracker Island” quickly pivoted back to the strange introspection that drew from the greater question of whether a cartoon could be alive if it didn’t have sentience. Also, as of recent interviews, there’s a debate on whether Gorillaz as a product could “last forever,” which in some ways is the only way it can outrun The Simpsons at this point.
Because of all this, Gorillaz as a concept is just as interesting as the band. I’m personally not someone who digested the lore in between album cycles. In fact, I missed out on the band’s 2010 albums solely because I assumed they were less… engaging. However, there is something great about being a band with nothing to prove. In the right anxious mindset, that means you can do anything and see what sticks. Want to add Bad Bunny for some Spanish flavor? Go nuts! Want to have the late Dennis Hopper narrate your opening track? I’d like to see you try. Given that the mopey singing exists alongside videos detailing hijinks that sound like a fever dream, it creates this baffling contrast of tone that is nonetheless entertaining.
This is a band that asks what it is about art that matters. Whereas I tuned into “Gorillaz” for the absurdity of the piece, there was something even crazier about “Demon Days.” It wasn’t a retread, save for the fact that it featured an array of hip-hop influences competing with more atmospheric and now operatic touches alongside the dance floor beats. If the first go-around could be assessed as a collection of oddities, this is what the band could sound like when focused, producing one of the darkest pop records of the time, where its biggest singles were steeped in depressive lyricism and featured wartime imagery that felt fitting for the Bush administration. It’s a record that felt more urgent, like Albarn cared to focus everything down to a spoken word piece detailing what amounts to happy folk living by a mountain watching their resources be stolen. It’s a haunting piece alongside a record that asks, “Are we the last living souls,” and the danger of “kids with guns.” Suddenly, there was a point, and the sound’s growth made sense.
Listening to “Demon Days” in the wake of “The Mountain,” I notice that there was always that soul searching going on. It’s only become more esoteric in the decades in between, where loneliness is more reflected in the pop culture, and the push to lose oneself in artistry has become a whole personality. Whereas I listen to “Demon Days” and mostly am in awe of the exploration of themes, “The Mountain” at least builds to a surreal touch of otherworldliness that only a cartoon could get away with. Not every band could finish an album about grief with a song from God’s perspective. Not only that, but having it be one of the most beautifully remorseful songs of the year only makes it pack more of a punch, causing one to question the actions they’ve done on Earth in their short lifespan.
More than appreciation of the sound, Gorillaz works as an affirmation of what it means to be alive. While at times closer to satire, they have a genuine desire to push fans to challenge themselves to not give in to boring complacency. If I remember one complaint lobbed at “Cracker Island,” it was the lack of surprises it presented, mostly sounding like an attempted pop album. In my mind, I don’t see the harm in that, especially with its themes of how shallow influencer culture can still pop up every few minutes. However, it’s the argument people have used against debates like A.I., where the effort speaks for itself. This 25-year flagship wouldn’t have lasted if it stuck to the script. It needed to constantly reinvent itself, and that may be why they have been around for a quarter of a century.
Maybe that’s why I think about 2001 and reading The Los Angeles Times while feeling a bit confused by them. At the time, it was easy to think that it would be short-lived, a flash in the pan that was closer to a cult favorite than anything more meaningful. Before debates around whether animation could be a more lucrative art form for adults, Gorillaz was challenging the notion of what it could be. Gone were the days of The Archies. Huntryx has yet to prove if they have much of a shelf life. The only one that has proven that cartoon bands could have any weight was Gorillaz. Not bad for a band that I originally misconstrued in print as featuring a bunch of young kids who used a lot of profanity.
Then again, maybe this is all nostalgia popping through. I’ve had it with a few bands in recent years where I go back through and dwell in their catalog for deeper affection. I’ll be honest, part of the appeal at revisiting them now is that “Gorillaz” reminds me of where pop culture was at the turn of the century, where the trip-hop influences were still running deep. Even if it would be until my teen years that I fell in love with Blur, I at least got to see his side project employ tactics that made popular art seem cool again. By “Demon Days,” they proved how endless their potential was. The fact that it’s rarely gone too far is also a major achievement.
So yes, part of listening to “The Mountain” is recognizing the passage of time. It’s beautiful but also heartbreaking. For all of the strange memories I’ve made since 2001, there’s still something profound about looking back on them and appreciating the journey not of the great “what-ifs,” but of the successes and failures. Sure, I wouldn’t call myself the number one fan of their latest, or even someone who has actively scrutinized its larger themes. However, there is a strange peace in watching a cartoon age alongside you, allowing itself to embrace mortality and attempt to understand what that means. The Archies never did that. The Simpsons definitely didn’t. Maybe that’s why Gorillaz were able to be taken seriously. They may not be for everyone anymore, but at least what they’re selling is something most artists strive for but could never achieve. They feel real.
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