MURDOC NICCALS
The snaggle toothed svengali of Gorillaz, his flop fringe disguises a mind like a rusty steel trap. Self-taught bassist, wannabe frontman, he's the band's warped back seat driver who knows that good tunes aren't enough to succeed. You need good looks - which he hasn't got - and a twisted mind - which he has. Murdoc likes to dominate interviews, a rent-a-quote misogynist who speaks without a taste filter. Ex-speed freak. Personal hygiene problem. Kiddie frightener. Shoplifter. Heavy smoker. Max power subscriber. Used to set fire to cats. Born: 6/6/66 in Stoke-on-Trent. Influences: Sabbath, Dub, J Andrew Anderson, Dennis Wilson, Satan. Hobbie: Punching 2D.
Vital Statistics: 5'9", chronically caucasian, false thumb, green teeth. What a catch! Physique of a man in his nineties. A man so eager for rock star recognition he doesn't even realise that he's made it. Strangely this foul smelling fella has an animal magnetism that girls find irrrrrresistible! Despite having the opportunity to vent his rotten spleen in every magazine worldwide over the last year, he's still brimming with disgruntled venom. Success has proven him right. Good music rules, you're all suckers, and the world belongs to a smelly man from Stoke with a battered bass. With a view on spreading his disease he gave us this: "The first album was just a bunch of my old demos, the second is gonna melt your brain!" Future projects: Completion of his solo death metal album and finally paying his last installment to becoming a card carrying member of the Church of Satan, possibly. "I might try and get the Old Fella to do a guest vocal on my solo album." What next? Murdoc in "Bigger Than Satan" shocker?
Fire Coming Out Of The Monkeys Head
Our charismatic leader and bass-playing lethargio decided to head south to Mexico, for a little sun, warm tequila and cheap senoritas. However, when his money ran out, he gets caught red-handed slipping dud cheques to the 'Tijuana Brass' down at the local brothel "The Chicken Choker". Murdoc was thrown in jail. As Murdoc soon learnt... 'YOU NEVER STIFF A WHORE IN MEXICO!'
Murdoc bides his time in jail usefully, or so he thinks, by taking a Mexican Open University course in the 'Amateur Administration of Pharmaceutical Medicines'. Christ! Really? 'Dr.Murdoc'?! 'Legally entitled to experiment on monkeys'!?! No!!
However, when some of the inmates took a shine to him, Murdoc had to make some new friends. Fast. Murdoc the 'Mexican Arse-Bandito?' Not a good look. Enter Pedro 'Shitbag' Lapetzo and Carlos Benito. These two greasy bastards not only stopped Murdoc becoming the prison 'bike', they also taught him a little 'Mexican Black Magic'. So he owes them plenty. 'Eh? My Friend!'
Whilst languishing in the slammer Murdoc makes a friend of the feathered variety. 'Cortez the Raven' used to bring Murdoc little berries stright to the prison window. (Causing him to suffer the worst prison stomach bug known to man, but whatever). None of the other inmates would even look at this raven, a 'Jailbird' with a chilling reputation. Legend has it that the creature was 'born in the folds of the Grim Reaper's cloak'. And his fucking squawk sounds like some idiot letting off a fire alarm in a library.
TIME'S UP! After eighteen months and with no sign of parole in sight Murdoc decides to bust out of jail! EMI want a new album and Murdoc wants his new advance! After one more lightning visit to 'The Chicken Choker', Murdoc was on a plane back to the belly of his beloved Kong Studios! Of course with his Raven and new Mexican pals in tow, ready to shake their stupid maracas all over the next record.
With his bad boy credentials now complete, arthritic booze-monkey Murdoc has attained an even higher level of repulsiveness.
Look out softies! Murdoc's back... with an even bigger ballsack!
Murdoc bides his time in jail usefully, or so he thinks, by taking a Mexican Open University course in the 'Amateur Administration of Pharmaceutical Medicines'. Christ! Really? 'Dr.Murdoc'?! 'Legally entitled to experiment on monkeys'!?! No!!
However, when some of the inmates took a shine to him, Murdoc had to make some new friends. Fast. Murdoc the 'Mexican Arse-Bandito?' Not a good look. Enter Pedro 'Shitbag' Lapetzo and Carlos Benito. These two greasy bastards not only stopped Murdoc becoming the prison 'bike', they also taught him a little 'Mexican Black Magic'. So he owes them plenty. 'Eh? My Friend!'
Whilst languishing in the slammer Murdoc makes a friend of the feathered variety. 'Cortez the Raven' used to bring Murdoc little berries stright to the prison window. (Causing him to suffer the worst prison stomach bug known to man, but whatever). None of the other inmates would even look at this raven, a 'Jailbird' with a chilling reputation. Legend has it that the creature was 'born in the folds of the Grim Reaper's cloak'. And his fucking squawk sounds like some idiot letting off a fire alarm in a library.
TIME'S UP! After eighteen months and with no sign of parole in sight Murdoc decides to bust out of jail! EMI want a new album and Murdoc wants his new advance! After one more lightning visit to 'The Chicken Choker', Murdoc was on a plane back to the belly of his beloved Kong Studios! Of course with his Raven and new Mexican pals in tow, ready to shake their stupid maracas all over the next record.
With his bad boy credentials now complete, arthritic booze-monkey Murdoc has attained an even higher level of repulsiveness.
Look out softies! Murdoc's back... with an even bigger ballsack!
The Return 05.24.05
Our charismatic leader and bass-playing lethargio decided to head south to Mexico, for a little sun, warm tequila and cheap senoritas. However he got himself caught red-handed slipping dud cheques to girls down at the local brothel. Murdoc was thrown in jail. Cheapskate.
However, after eighteen months and some pretty lengthy negotiations held in Murdoc's new offices..er.. the prison showers, our legendary Gorillaz superstar decided enough was enough. 'TIME'S UP!'
With no sign of parole in sight Murdoc got himself bust out of jail! EMI wanted a new album and Murdoc wants his fat new advance cheque! So now with his bad boy credentials complete, arthritic booze-monkey Murdoc has elevated his repulsiveness into uncharted regions.
Lock your drinks cabinet and hide your daughters! Murdoc's back, folks... and he's really thirsty!!
However, after eighteen months and some pretty lengthy negotiations held in Murdoc's new offices..er.. the prison showers, our legendary Gorillaz superstar decided enough was enough. 'TIME'S UP!'
With no sign of parole in sight Murdoc got himself bust out of jail! EMI wanted a new album and Murdoc wants his fat new advance cheque! So now with his bad boy credentials complete, arthritic booze-monkey Murdoc has elevated his repulsiveness into uncharted regions.
Lock your drinks cabinet and hide your daughters! Murdoc's back, folks... and he's really thirsty!!
Murdoc Nicalls: BassPlayer
Jailbird, Satanist & Mastermind of Gorillaz
Height: 5 ft 7"
Date of Birth: 6/6/66
Jailbird, Satanist & Mastermind of Gorillaz
Height: 5 ft 7"
Date of Birth: 6/6/66
Full Name: Murdoc Alphonse Niccals, Esq.
Alias/Aliases: Murdoc Faust Niccals/Pinocchio/Muds
Height: 5'4" in his Cuban heels.
Weight: 5LBS Less
Age: 44
Instrument: Bass
Currently Resides In: The Imperial Republic of Plastic Beach
Vices: Many, Varied, Debilitating
Phobias: Soap, Salad, Obscurity
Psychological Profile: Self-styled svengali with sociopathic tendencies and an addiction problem. Avoid at all costs.
Alias/Aliases: Murdoc Faust Niccals/Pinocchio/Muds
Height: 5'4" in his Cuban heels.
Weight: 5LBS Less
Age: 44
Instrument: Bass
Currently Resides In: The Imperial Republic of Plastic Beach
Vices: Many, Varied, Debilitating
Phobias: Soap, Salad, Obscurity
Psychological Profile: Self-styled svengali with sociopathic tendencies and an addiction problem. Avoid at all costs.
Drum roll...Fluttering Union Jack, overlaid with the two best words in the English language: MURDOC NICCALS. Cue pyrotechnics. Begin voiceover.
Murdoc Niccals is the creative genius behind Gorillaz. But actually, he’s way more than that. He’s a living legend, bigger than Mozart and the sex idol of billions. But how did he get there? Let’s start at the beginning.
The greatest achievement of my life is the time I managed to squeeze my entire body through a woman - my mum. Sadly, that was the only time we met, but her work was done: a musical messiah had cometh.
Like Jesus of Nazareth, Murdoc of Stoke-on-Trent was a miracle baby. By age two I got my first pubes. By age nine I’d written my first song, “Sex Hoof”. (Years ahead of its time, trust me).
But growing up in Thatcher’s Britain was bleak. Like thousands I got hooked on space dust, one of the most destructive sweets in the playground. I moved on to harder gear - fizz-wiz, flying saucers - and realised that by prising open the dark recesses of my mind, I could write songs that were almost unintelligible in their horrible beauty.
The more whammed I got, the more the songs poured out of me, until I was literally dripping with musical genius. It was clear to me then that Murdoc Niccals was destined for greatness.
Right. That’s the formative stuff. Intermission. I’m going for a smoke.
Where was I?
Ah yeah. Hitting the big time. The worst thing about being me is I’m only one man. And scientists are taking their sweet time with cloning. So I had to accept that even I couldn’t play four instruments at once. I needed a band, so I kidnapped Russel from the record shop where he worked, “hired” 2D with a crafty hit-and-run in my Vauxhall Astra, and took out an ad in the NME, which led to Noodle turning up in the mail. Game on Gorillaz.
It was always my intention that the world idolize Murdoc Niccals for his music and not just his trouser dragon, which is why I stepped back from the limelight to play bass and made 2D the Gorillaz frontman. The ungrateful moron still hasn’t thanked me. None of them have, despite twice daily email reminders.
Our debut record Gorillaz was a UK smash. The follow-up, Demon Days, literally shafted America right up its Grand Canyon. Some people tried to claim I’d sold my soul to the devil in exchange for success. To all you people, I can only say I can’t be held accountable for every nut-job fan that wants a piece of Murdoc, even the dark lord himself.
Anyway, he didn’t step in when I was in prison, did he? I went AWOL after Plastic Beach, our third album, so EMI sent a bloody battleship after me for breach of contract. Did four years hard time in Dungeon Abbey after that, a secret prison underneath London’s Abbey Road studios.
But you can’t cage this beast for long. And now, finally, I’m back. The fourth coming of Murdoc. Even more explosive than the other three times. The world better be ready for some painful truths, cos this time I’m fucking furious.
OK, that’ll do. Who’s a bloke got to shaft to get a skinny latte around here?
Murdoc Niccals is the creative genius behind Gorillaz. But actually, he’s way more than that. He’s a living legend, bigger than Mozart and the sex idol of billions. But how did he get there? Let’s start at the beginning.
The greatest achievement of my life is the time I managed to squeeze my entire body through a woman - my mum. Sadly, that was the only time we met, but her work was done: a musical messiah had cometh.
Like Jesus of Nazareth, Murdoc of Stoke-on-Trent was a miracle baby. By age two I got my first pubes. By age nine I’d written my first song, “Sex Hoof”. (Years ahead of its time, trust me).
But growing up in Thatcher’s Britain was bleak. Like thousands I got hooked on space dust, one of the most destructive sweets in the playground. I moved on to harder gear - fizz-wiz, flying saucers - and realised that by prising open the dark recesses of my mind, I could write songs that were almost unintelligible in their horrible beauty.
The more whammed I got, the more the songs poured out of me, until I was literally dripping with musical genius. It was clear to me then that Murdoc Niccals was destined for greatness.
Right. That’s the formative stuff. Intermission. I’m going for a smoke.
Where was I?
Ah yeah. Hitting the big time. The worst thing about being me is I’m only one man. And scientists are taking their sweet time with cloning. So I had to accept that even I couldn’t play four instruments at once. I needed a band, so I kidnapped Russel from the record shop where he worked, “hired” 2D with a crafty hit-and-run in my Vauxhall Astra, and took out an ad in the NME, which led to Noodle turning up in the mail. Game on Gorillaz.
It was always my intention that the world idolize Murdoc Niccals for his music and not just his trouser dragon, which is why I stepped back from the limelight to play bass and made 2D the Gorillaz frontman. The ungrateful moron still hasn’t thanked me. None of them have, despite twice daily email reminders.
Our debut record Gorillaz was a UK smash. The follow-up, Demon Days, literally shafted America right up its Grand Canyon. Some people tried to claim I’d sold my soul to the devil in exchange for success. To all you people, I can only say I can’t be held accountable for every nut-job fan that wants a piece of Murdoc, even the dark lord himself.
Anyway, he didn’t step in when I was in prison, did he? I went AWOL after Plastic Beach, our third album, so EMI sent a bloody battleship after me for breach of contract. Did four years hard time in Dungeon Abbey after that, a secret prison underneath London’s Abbey Road studios.
But you can’t cage this beast for long. And now, finally, I’m back. The fourth coming of Murdoc. Even more explosive than the other three times. The world better be ready for some painful truths, cos this time I’m fucking furious.
OK, that’ll do. Who’s a bloke got to shaft to get a skinny latte around here?