You only get one chance to convince someone you’re real. Gorillaz did the opposite.
In 2001, they asked people to believe in a band that didn’t exist. Four animated musicians stared back from the album cover while the real people stayed hidden in the credits. It sounded ridiculous. Critics questioned it, music fans argued over it, and plenty of people expected the whole thing to disappear after the novelty wore off.
They got one part right.
Nobody had heard anything quite like it.
The cartoons were loud, but the music never tried to compete with them. Instead, it quietly built its own reputation. Every strange production choice, every unexpected guest appearance and every refusal to settle into one genre gave the album another reason to survive long after the headlines had moved on.
That’s why this record is still worth talking about.
Not because it introduced Murdoc, 2-D, Noodle and Russel.
Not because Damon Albarn was hiding behind an animated singer.
Because beneath all of that sits an album that still feels curious. It doesn’t chase trends, it doesn’t explain itself and it never sounds desperate to impress you. It simply invites you into its world and trusts that you’ll stay.
More than twenty five years later, millions still do.
A Band That Shouldn’t Have Worked
By the end of the 1990s, Britpop had lost its momentum. Blur was still involved in a headline battle with Oasis, but Damon Albarn had grown tired of being boxed into a scene that was beginning to repeat itself. He wasn’t interested in writing another Blur record that sounded comfortable. He wanted distance from everything people expected him to make.
Around the same time, comic artist Jamie Hewlett wasn’t looking for a traditional music project either. The creator of Tank Girl had built a reputation through bold, chaotic artwork that refused to look polished. After the pair became friends, the idea slowly took shape. Instead of forming another band, they would invent one.
That decision changed everything.
Murdoc Niccals, 2-D, Noodle and Russel Hobbs weren’t mascots designed to decorate an album cover after the music had been recorded. They had personalities, histories and flaws. Music videos, interviews and artwork were all presented through the fictional band rather than the people behind it. Long before social media blurred the line between artists and characters, Gorillaz were building an entire universe around their songs.
It was a risk.
The music industry has never been short of gimmicks, and on paper Gorillaz sounded dangerously close to becoming one. A cartoon band fronted by the singer of Blur could easily have been remembered as a clever marketing campaign instead of a serious musical project.
The only way to avoid that fate was to make the music impossible to dismiss.
That’s exactly what happened.
Rather than surrounding himself with familiar names, Albarn brought together musicians from completely different backgrounds. Dan the Automator produced most of the record, bringing experience from hip-hop that immediately separated the album from the polished rock dominating British radio. Del the Funky Homosapien delivered one of the album’s defining performances on Clint Eastwood and Rock the House. Miho Hatori added an unmistakable voice to 19-2000 and Latin Simone. Cuban singer Ibrahim Ferrer, already a legend through the Buena Vista Social Club, appeared on the Spanish version of Latin Simone, giving the album another unexpected turn.
None of these collaborations feel forced because nobody sounds as though they’re visiting somebody else’s record. Every guest becomes part of the identity of Gorillaz itself.
The timing mattered too.
The internet was beginning to change how music travelled. Napster had shaken the record industry, MTV still had enormous influence, and music videos remained one of the most powerful ways to introduce a new act. Gorillaz took advantage of all of it. Videos for Clint Eastwood, 19-2000 and Tomorrow Comes Today weren’t simply advertisements for singles; they were introductions to a fictional world that people wanted to explore.
Without the songs, that world would have collapsed.
Without the world, the songs would never have attracted the same curiosity.
The success of Gorillaz came from balancing both. One never existed just to support the other, and that’s why the project survived after the novelty disappeared. Many artists have tried to build fictional bands since 2001. Very few have understood the lesson this album taught.
The characters got people through the door.
The music gave them a reason to stay.
The Songs
The easiest mistake to make with Gorillaz is treating it as a collection of singles with a few extra tracks filling the gaps. It isn’t built that way. The sequencing has real purpose. The album constantly changes direction without losing its identity, so every track feels as though it belongs to the same world even when the influences couldn’t be further apart.
It opens with Re-Hash, a loose, sun soaked introduction that eases the listener into the record rather than throwing everything onto the table at once. Damon Albarn’s vocal is relaxed, almost conversational, setting the tone for an album that never feels rushed.
Then comes 5/4, one of the record’s most overlooked moments. The distorted guitars push closer to alternative rock than anything else here, while the off kilter groove keeps it from sounding conventional. It’s messy in exactly the right way.
Tomorrow Comes Today strips everything back. The beat barely raises its voice, the harmonica quietly hangs over the mix and Albarn delivers one of his most restrained performances. It’s a reminder that atmosphere can carry a song just as effectively as a huge chorus.
Then the album reaches its defining moment.
Clint Eastwood is one of the great singles of the 2000s because it trusts its own pace. The melodica hook is instantly recognisable, yet it never dominates the song. Del the Funky Homosapien steals the spotlight with a verse that feels effortless rather than theatrical, while Albarn stays almost completely in the background. Every element knows exactly how much space it needs.
Most artists would have struggled to follow it.
Gorillaz answer with Man Research (Clapper), perhaps the album’s most divisive track. It’s abrasive, fragmented and deliberately uncomfortable. Some listeners will skip it. Others will appreciate that the album refuses to become predictable after delivering its biggest hit.
Punk lasts barely two minutes but serves a purpose. Its raw energy cuts through the slower pacing of the surrounding songs, acting as a sharp interruption before the record settles again. It isn’t one of the strongest songs here, though the album would feel slightly safer without it.
Sound Check (Gravity) deserves far more attention than it usually receives. The bassline quietly carries the song while layers of keyboards drift in and out of the background. Nothing demands attention, yet the atmosphere becomes impossible to ignore.
The second half continues to reward patience.
Double Bass almost feels hypnotic, proving how much can be achieved with restraint. Rock the House then breaks that spell completely, bursting into life through Del’s return and a brass section that gives the track its swagger without tipping into self parody.
19-2000 remains one of the band’s most inventive singles. Every instrument has room to breathe, the groove never sits still for long and Miho Hatori’s contributions add another layer of personality. It captures the playful side of Gorillaz without ever becoming childish.
Latin Simone (Que Pasa Contigo) changes the mood once again. Ibrahim Ferrer’s voice brings genuine warmth to the record, offering one of its most emotional performances without relying on dramatic production. It’s a track that becomes more rewarding with every listen.
By the time Starshine, Slow Country and M1 A1 close the album, Gorillaz have already proven their point. The final stretch doesn’t chase another radio hit. Instead, it expands the world the album has spent forty minutes building. M1 A1 in particular is a fitting conclusion, beginning with eerie restraint before exploding into controlled chaos.
Not every experiment succeeds equally. A handful of tracks feel stronger as pieces of the album than they do on their own. Yet that’s also one of the record’s greatest strengths. Gorillaz was never designed to be consumed one song at a time. It rewards listeners who experience it from beginning to end, where every unexpected turn makes the next one feel possible.
The Artwork
Take the music away for a moment and the cover still demands your attention.
Murdoc slouches behind the wheel, 2-D stares ahead with vacant blue eyes, Russel sits in silence and Noodle watches from the back seat. It’s an image that tells you almost nothing, yet it makes you want to know everything. Before the first song begins, Jamie Hewlett has already created a band that feels as though it has existed for years.
That visual identity became one of the album’s greatest strengths. Every single, poster, interview and music video expanded the same fictional world instead of simply promoting a record. Gorillaz didn’t separate the music from the artwork; both grew together. The animated videos for Clint Eastwood, 19-2000 and Rock the House gave each character their own personality, making them instantly recognisable without ever overshadowing the songs themselves.
What’s most impressive is how well the artwork has aged. Early 2000s digital design often feels trapped in its own era, yet Hewlett’s illustrations still look distinctive because they were driven by strong character design rather than visual trends. You don’t need to know anything about Gorillaz to recognise Murdoc’s grin or 2-D’s expressionless stare.
The artwork isn’t an extra feature attached to a great album.
It’s one of the reasons the album became unforgettable.
Looking Back
The real test of any album comes years after the reviews have been written.
With Gorillaz, the answer has become clearer with time.
The record no longer needs the novelty of being “the cartoon band.” That conversation faded years ago. What remains is an album that still feels adventurous without sounding dated. Its mix of hip-hop, dub, alternative rock, electronica and pop doesn’t feel stitched together for the sake of experimentation. It feels natural, which is far harder to achieve.
Its influence reaches further than sales figures or chart positions. Gorillaz proved that a virtual band could be taken seriously if the music justified the concept. Later digital artists, virtual performers and multimedia projects all arrived in a world where Gorillaz had already shown that audiences were willing to invest in fictional musicians, provided they were backed by genuine creativity.
More importantly, the album still attracts new listeners. That’s unusual for a record released in 2001. Younger fans continue to discover Clint Eastwood through playlists, videos and recommendations, only to realise the rest of the album offers far more than its biggest hit. Few debut albums continue to find fresh audiences without relying entirely on nostalgia.
Looking back now, Gorillaz feels less like a product of its time and more like the beginning of an idea that the music industry is still exploring. It didn’t predict the future perfectly, but it asked questions that artists are still answering today.
That’s a rare achievement for any debut album.
Verdict
I don’t think Gorillaz has a perfect song.
I also don’t think it needs one.
The best moments on this record come from ideas that easily could have gone wrong. Clint Eastwood shouldn’t be as laid back as it is. 19-2000 throws strange sounds into the mix that would have buried a weaker song. Tomorrow Comes Today barely raises its voice, yet it stays with you long after louder tracks have disappeared.
That’s what I keep coming back to.
Nothing here feels safe.
Even the songs that don’t quite land tell you something about the people making the album. They’d rather leave an odd idea on the record than replace it with a predictable one. I can respect that far more than an album that never takes a risk.
You can hear Damon Albarn searching for something outside of Blur, but this never feels like a solo project in disguise. Dan the Automator’s production, Del’s verses, Miho Hatori, Ibrahim Ferrer and Jamie Hewlett all leave fingerprints on the finished record. Take any one of them away and Gorillaz becomes a different album.
Twenty five years later, people still argue over the best song, the weakest track and whether Demon Days eventually surpassed it.
That’s probably the strongest compliment this debut could ask for.
People aren’t talking about whether it mattered.
They’re still talking about the music.
Rating: 9.5 / 10
To read more of my album reviews read here.
