The thing about a greatest hits collection is that it’s structurally similar to a live show. Granted, the Gorillaz one is called a “Singles Collection,” but you might say that with this band we’re not exactly talking about Califone, let alone the Mahavishnu Orchestra or Bela Fleck and the Flecktones. Gorillaz’ m.o. is to be catchy, using the most chic, streamlined devices. Hence, for them, the stage act would seem fairly waxable, if you will.
Somewhere along the line it became proper to make satiric the album title. They say black people invented sarcasm in the ’60’s, I believe it. Tricky’s new album is called False Idols, a satire that isn’t exactly sarcastic, though indeed proving a point.
Gorillaz strike me as the kind of band that demands your idolatry. They’re not for iconoclasts. Blur, to me, is like ancient scripture, so it’s an incredible act of temperance on the part of Damon Albarn to essentially succumb to the “image” of Gorillaz. To a certain extent, as well, this has happened musically, as with the unfortunate album lead-in “Last Living Souls,” which is basically the four-minute reason why I’ve detested Gorillaz for eight plus years. Also, if we’re living in “demon days,” why should it matter if kids have guns? Wouldn’t they just be shooting demons, anyway?
Anyway, “Last Living Souls” is absent from this collection, nicely done. Just to see how it would sound, I turned straight to “Kids with Guns,” and it does SO much better on an anticlimactic greatest hits wad.
Also at some point I turned straight to a song in the middle I’d never heard, #10 “Stylo,” boom, style. Now we’re rippin’, and now their irreverent loony-faced, histrionics-laden cartoon character shtick actually seems appropriate. Realizing they didn’t actually have to make a statement, they’ve refreshingly stopped even trying. Good for them, and good for us.