

For many music critics at the time, this seemed to be the inevitable course for Gorillaz.īut maybe the world turned just slightly off its axis one day. It could have remained a cult classic, like Hewlett’s other pieces. It could have been just another notch in what would be a near endless line of Albarn’s fun but frivolous side work. And, for that reason, it would have been easy to predict that the whole thing would never even be of consequence. The answer to all of these at the time seemed to be little more than a shrug and an “I dunno.” There was great concept behind Albarn’s and Hewlett’s pet project, but not much direction. How would a cartoon band fronted by Damon Albarn – the most famous British musician of the ‘90s – possibly be able to step outside of his shadow? How would the band make a statement on celebrity and consumerism? Just by existing? If they could make a statement, what would that statement even be? When someone in the distant future digs up the ancient artifacts that detail the history of Gorillaz, here’s where their questions will come in.

They would create a cartoon band, one that would let them explore the outer limits of their crafts (pop music and visual art, respectively) while holding up a mirror to the caricatures that pervaded mainstream music. In 1998 collaborators and roommates Damon Albarn (of Blur fame) and Jamie Hewlett (of Tank Girl semi-fame) hatched a half-baked idea to make a statement about the lack of substance in the pop music they saw on MTV.

There’s a world where Gorillaz never mattered.
