Gorillaz: Rise of the Ogre
Harp, November 2006
Gorillaz get almost as much respect for their videos as their music. So, why didn’t the human masterminds behind the cartoon band opt for a video biography? Let’s hope a movie is in the works, because it has to be more entertaining than slogging through the 296-page Gorillaz autobiography.
Translating the story from coffee table book to (computer) screen would be easy enough: Rise of the Ogre reads like a lengthy script. According to the structure, writer Cass Browne transcribed “conversations” with and between bassist/leader Murdoc Niccals, dimwit singer 2D (aka Stuart Pot), guitarist Noodle and drummer Russell Hobbs. Officially, the format is supposed to marry the classic rock ’n’ roll tell-all and graphic novel. But Rise isn’t explained graphically, the Gorillaz legend unfolding via thick blocks of text not always accompanied by illustrations.
Like any other band, we learn Gorillaz suffer from inner traumas and the occasional bloated ego. The band’s over-the-top personalities and reactions to fame reflect real-life creator/Blur frontman Damon Albarn’s original reasons for getting out of the limelight himself. The cult of celebrity can turn any band into a cartoon. Better just to start out that way. And the benefits of an animated band include adventures unbound by life, death or logic: the Gorillaz tell of surviving comas, hanging out on floating islands and frequent encounters with the supernatural.
At least with this group, though, you know which unbelievably insane tales of rock ’n’ roll mayhem are mere myths: All of them.
Gorillaz' leader Murdoc yanks Harp's chain.
HARP: Rise of the Ogre is written like a script. Are there plans for a movie version?
Jeepers! That felt like being hit over the head with a ten-ton fish. Honestly it never occurred to me to do that. You see, we’ve only just finished writing the thing, so the pain’s all still quite er…raw. It was quite a trawl through the old mental back catalog, and obviously the bits I couldn’t remember, well, I just made something up and then chucked in a couple of libelous celebrity names to keep it all nice and spicy. Hilton, Minogue, Lopez, Diaz, Barrymore, Stefani…Oh yeah. I’ve had ’em all, you know.
HARP: Meeting Damon Albarn was a pretty lucky break for the band. Where do you think you’d be without him?
Probably the same place. Possibly bigger, due to the fact that I lose an amazing amount of time answering endless questions about Britpop’s most decorated old-timer. Seriously, it’s lucky for him that he ran into us, otherwise his name probably would have fallen off the tabloid radar around the time of … er… what was Blur’s last album called again?
HARP: Several times in the book the band expresses frustration at being labeled a concept. If Gorillaz aren’t a concept band, who is?
All bands, well, all good bands, are a concept, an expression of an idea refined down to the point where it’s focused and dynamic, the articulation of a definite idea. What I complained about was being called a “gimmick,” which implies that we don’t have a depth to our concept, and our cartoon manifestation is purely a money-spinning exercise without soul or talent. Which, excuse my French, is bollocks. Gorillaz are the greatest, deepest, most hippest, most colorful, entertaining and advanced band to smash their way through your consciousness in two billion years. Even if I do say so myself.
Translating the story from coffee table book to (computer) screen would be easy enough: Rise of the Ogre reads like a lengthy script. According to the structure, writer Cass Browne transcribed “conversations” with and between bassist/leader Murdoc Niccals, dimwit singer 2D (aka Stuart Pot), guitarist Noodle and drummer Russell Hobbs. Officially, the format is supposed to marry the classic rock ’n’ roll tell-all and graphic novel. But Rise isn’t explained graphically, the Gorillaz legend unfolding via thick blocks of text not always accompanied by illustrations.
Like any other band, we learn Gorillaz suffer from inner traumas and the occasional bloated ego. The band’s over-the-top personalities and reactions to fame reflect real-life creator/Blur frontman Damon Albarn’s original reasons for getting out of the limelight himself. The cult of celebrity can turn any band into a cartoon. Better just to start out that way. And the benefits of an animated band include adventures unbound by life, death or logic: the Gorillaz tell of surviving comas, hanging out on floating islands and frequent encounters with the supernatural.
At least with this group, though, you know which unbelievably insane tales of rock ’n’ roll mayhem are mere myths: All of them.
Gorillaz' leader Murdoc yanks Harp's chain.
HARP: Rise of the Ogre is written like a script. Are there plans for a movie version?
Jeepers! That felt like being hit over the head with a ten-ton fish. Honestly it never occurred to me to do that. You see, we’ve only just finished writing the thing, so the pain’s all still quite er…raw. It was quite a trawl through the old mental back catalog, and obviously the bits I couldn’t remember, well, I just made something up and then chucked in a couple of libelous celebrity names to keep it all nice and spicy. Hilton, Minogue, Lopez, Diaz, Barrymore, Stefani…Oh yeah. I’ve had ’em all, you know.
HARP: Meeting Damon Albarn was a pretty lucky break for the band. Where do you think you’d be without him?
Probably the same place. Possibly bigger, due to the fact that I lose an amazing amount of time answering endless questions about Britpop’s most decorated old-timer. Seriously, it’s lucky for him that he ran into us, otherwise his name probably would have fallen off the tabloid radar around the time of … er… what was Blur’s last album called again?
HARP: Several times in the book the band expresses frustration at being labeled a concept. If Gorillaz aren’t a concept band, who is?
All bands, well, all good bands, are a concept, an expression of an idea refined down to the point where it’s focused and dynamic, the articulation of a definite idea. What I complained about was being called a “gimmick,” which implies that we don’t have a depth to our concept, and our cartoon manifestation is purely a money-spinning exercise without soul or talent. Which, excuse my French, is bollocks. Gorillaz are the greatest, deepest, most hippest, most colorful, entertaining and advanced band to smash their way through your consciousness in two billion years. Even if I do say so myself.