Gorillaz return with b-sidez

By Kelsey Whipple

Published Nov. 27, 2007

Say what you want about Damon Albarn, but the man knows how to write a pop song. Thanks to cheeky mockney lyrics and a certain "Woo-hoo" anthem, the 39-year-old rose from the ashes of Blur to earn an early spot in the fraternity of Britrock's elder statesmen — a balding, tweed-clad clique of reformed Brit-poppers from bands with unfortunate singer-guitarist track records. It's further proof of his musical Midas touch that, unlike his paunchy peers, Albarn broke away from the nostalgic credo that 1994 was rock's year zero. (Woo-hoo.)

In fact, the last we saw of Albarn was, well, yesterday. This past year alone found him assembling a super group, debating both sides of a Blur reunion, penning a Chinese opera and most recently, delving into his erstwhile side project's back catalog — all the while convincing even the fiercest of Albarn haters that being music's busiest frontman is uncomfortably close to being its best.

It's too bad he doesn't know what a b-side is. D-Sides, the second round of remixes and b-sides from Albarn's wildly popular, curiously unhygienic virtual band Gorillaz, is not what you'd expect from b-sides — which is to say, not crap. The double album is a surprisingly worthwhile rummage through songs the cartoon foursome left on the cutting room floor during Demon Days. It's full of Albarn's foppish croons as 2D and the band's subterranean manipulation of art rock and hip-hop.

Gorillaz has always been a project less stated in what it is than implied in what it isn't. Start a cartoon band, substitute irony for reality, add a 'z' and voila: the Blur man's most interesting hobby. For a band whose technical existence is questionable, this level of experimentation seems almost too easy. "People," all funky rhythm and pulse at its core, confirms early on that the Brit-popper turned hip-hopper has one of the best editing sensibilities of his time.

This is later reinforced by the appearance of the understandable leftover "Stop the Dams," a protest song for Albarn's beloved Iceland. The shy bells, mixed with Albarn's singsong, are more exquisite for not having been shoehorned into Demon Days. With lyrics like "This land is a young land, let it stay that way/Its pollution only turns it into/Something you don't wanna see ever grow up," the song is saturated in a weary political agenda best left for a compilation album. This isn't "Josie and the Pussycats."

Early in the album, the Asian-inspired standout "Hong Kong" betrays the telltale signs of a thinly veiled Albarn solo project: peculiar lyrics ("I'm a pill on your tongue"), epic length (more than seven minutes), identifiably British vocals and instruments only played in films with subtitles. It's a modus operandi he's gotten big mileage out of, and it pays off in an ethereal ebb and flow reminiscent of Blur's "Sing."

Disc two provides the compilation's flotsam and jetsam, a mix of mostly unnecessary remixes that only überfans will be interested in. DFA's metronomic overhaul of "DARE" is rather embarrassingly paired with Jamie T's "Kids With Guns" hiccup. Hot Chip later makes good on a second remix of the song, but the tracks straight from Albarn and co. are the real gems — if you can call anything a fake band does real. Whether you love Albarn or hate him, you've got to hand it to him. This is good stuff — again.