In this new era of Gorillaz, which ultimately began when the virtual band returned from a seven-year hiatus with the release of Humanz in 2017, the Damon Albarn-led outfit has been more prolific than ever. In the four albums they’ve released post-hiatus, they’ve tapped into the collaborative energy that defined the band while returning to more insular releases that depict the band’s current mindset and reach new levels of vulnerability. All this to say, Gorillaz are far from done evolving, navigating their maturity and the turbulent times with the same child-like whimsy that makes their sonic carnival rides through their innate prowess such memorable, beloved moments in contemporary music.
While Albarn, Jamie Hewlett, and Remi Kabaka Jr. have seemed hellbent on making this new era of Gorillaz something reminiscent yet separate from the band’s earlier years, they return to a familiar formula on The Mountain, their ninth studio album. The warping 15-song LP brings back the feeling of classic Gorillaz, with the band employing familiar and refreshing faces from across the musical spectrum to execute their lofty visions of modern fusion. The Mountain is far from a repeat of similar Gorillaz releases, like Plastic Beach and Humanz. This is not an attempt to recapture old glory, rather a reinvention of the collaborative sonic disposition the band helped coin on the aforementioned albums. The Mountain is even more worldly, inclusive, focused, and overall, a welcome continuation of a discography that already sits among the most diverse and acclaimed in recent memory.
The Mountain may seem like a sprawling collection of songs tied together loosely by a hidden theme, but that is only on the surface level. These 15 songs fly by before you even know it, but the proof is in the air, as Gorillaz dance with the ethereal while proving to be stubbornly aware of their presence in music. This is a band with nothing left to prove, showcasing a hunger for new ground, and the terrain they landed on is as immersive as it gets from the opening psychedelia of the title track and album opener, to the angelic harmonies that close out the LP on “The Sad God,” Gorillaz piece together this head-spinning puzzle to showcase a portrait of wild risks that yield greater rewards.
At this point in their career, Gorillaz have their pick of A-list stars to bring into their fold, but that would detract from what makes The Mountain feel so special. Flutist Ajay Prasanna, sitar specialist and multi-instrumentalist Anoushka Shankar, and Hip-hop hero Black Thought become the unofficial main characters, popping up on multiple tracks and aiding in the cohesion that is miraculously maintained throughout this tracklist. Shankar’s sitar is the psychedelic force behind highlights like the pop-tinted “Orange County” and the slow-burning grace of “The Sweet Prince.” These two moments also introduce the more introspective side of The Mountain, including the lush “The Empty Dream Machine” and the cinematic “Casablanca,” featuring Johnny Marr and Paul Simonon.
While these moments of deep thought lend The Mountain a spiritual quality, they are broken up by electronic, danceable tunes. The Mark E. Smith-assisted “Delirium” is electro-dance bliss with hectic synth work. “The Manifesto,” featuring up-and-coming Argentinian rapper Trueno and the late, great Detroit Hip-hop star Proof, is a lively, growing onslaught that bridges generations. At the same time, Yasiin Bey and Omar Souleyman bring new colors to the jumpy “Damascus.”
The Mountain is quick to juxtapose the same mood it established only a few songs ago, but that unpredictability is exactly where Gorillaz thrive. These 15 songs are more than a collection of ideas; they are a breathing testament to restless creativity, an ode to looking back long enough to remember while snapping back to the present, keeping an eye on the future. The Mountain successfully captures Gorillaz’ individuality without repeating it, pushing the band even further into this new era of experimentation with some of their most daring yet honed music in years.
