Gorillaz
Co-op Live, Manchester
March 20th 2026
From their Point Nemo headquarters situated at Plastic Beach, to peeking into the padded cells in the lunatic asylums on the boulevards of Cracker Island, and now to the top of the Mountain with a view of India below and the afterlife ahead, Gorillaz reach new peaks of what sound and vision; their sound, and their vision can accomplish as a cohesive, multisensory spectacle on the first of two dates in Manchester. By Ryan-Lewis Walker.
This is the first of two Gorillaz shows in Manchester as part of their Mountain tour. Named after their recently released new record. The album is inspired by Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett’s personal experiences of India (after Hewlett initially spent some time there with his wife in Jaipur who’s mother suffered a stroke, then both of them faced with the death of both their fathers, ten days apart no less, adding a certain potency to the album as a tribute to the psychedelic wildness of spiritual transition) and its attitude towards death as something to celebrate, embrace and accept.
This perspective of not fearing the unknown stands antithetical to our own Western obsessions with keeping the occasion as bitchy, morose, materialistic, black-clad, taboo-free and cost-effective as possible. No such tropes are in sight tonight. Twenty-five years after their debut album, which didn’t so much surpass the curve so much as both reimagine and invent the arc the curve bends into, Gorillaz succeed in showcasing what laughing in the face of the unknown, of looking into its wardrobe, can get away with.
For the collective summit of this goliath incline takes us on an LSD-soaked tapestry throughout the ages of this once veiled group- the masterminds somewhat anonymous, hidden behind screens, the avatars of which, took fascinating precedence- a premonition of celebrity culture soon to saturate our insipid, cultural chart systems, whilst also a thumbnail-throbbing note about where technology has taken us, and just what it has turned us into, as humans and consumers.
The relationship between physical band and our cartoon heroes along the years has always coexisted in states of harmony. Yet across the decades, the balance between animation and Albarn, the images and the songs to soundtrack the scenes they conceptually roll through, has been rocky.
Balance, as 2026 sees i,t would find safety in the claim that where the cartoons go, the flesh and blood must follow (and vice versa). And that’s a highly fruitful place to be. Stopping at stations signposted Damascus (with Omar Souleyman), the dancefloors of Andromeda, and racing right through to Casablanca, the set itself showcases the new album, as any band should when new gems have been cut out from the earth.
Following an edit of their recent short film- The Mountain and the Moon Cave, whereby Gorillaz briefly teleports the expeditions of Mowgli and his Jungle Book brethren, those hand-drawn and hand-painted backgrounds a vital landscape for our travelling gang to show everyone the latest adventure in a long line of adventures they have been on, The Happy Dictator is a delightful bombast of engine-melting pop power, packing so much so little, as Sparks are the rightful kings of.
And although the vicious prowler of The God of Lying with Jo Talbot of IDLES is cool enough tune to an imaginary Guy Ritchie film, with The Empty Dream Machine’s heart-knotting melancholia soon dissolving into a sweet lullaby of inescapable ear-wormery, it’s in the likes of Delirium and The Hardest Thing/Orange County (with Kara Jackson) that hit the shoots holes through the soft spots of our nationwide concepts of death.
Why?
In the case of the former- Manchester’s own Mark E. Smith appears from elsewhere. A cackle from behind the curtains, a phantom cracking whips from behind the wings of the North. It punches in a way that Glitter Freeze punched (which is played on the Saturday). It has a hysterical, acidic clatter to it- a warbling, intestine-obliterating chug. But it’s beautiful. He overlooks everyone. We are fed into his eye. A full album of this sort of thing would have been amazing. And although Gorillaz have featured a different tangent species of street-shaman into their works before, Shaun Ryder doesn’t emerge from the grids in the ground in a puff of green white smoke, and DARE is left alone.
In the latter case, featuring Tony Allen, the Hardest Thing wraps us around its finger with its whistled melody- the melody that accompanies farmers, or bored landlords, or milk men, or art teachers- the stumbled-upon melody to dip into hot tea, to stir in the signals of the ethers. Allen’s voice mumbles mesmerising spells from a box only he can stand on. Yet the whistle ensures we are temporarily connected to the same nexus. Elsewhere, Yasiin Bey (FKA Mos Def) harnesses the otherworldly, outback energy of Bobby Womack- a colossal force of nature beamed in from studios we cannot see. A transmission that Stylo sees to it we all receive loud and clear: overload. And lots of it. It bubbles with fist-licking pulses of burning-rubber rhythms and high-voltage bites of electro bass. It climaxes and cruises along neon roads, paved for an eternity. Womack is the voice on the radio. Gorillaz escape with their lives, but only just.
New tunes aside, the floor is flattened by fans who, as initially intended- look at their lives through the eyes of either 2D, Murdoc, Noodle and Russel. They rejoice as the band reach back to the start of the first strip of film. The melodica of Tomorrow Comes Today, the wiry, garage jerk of 19/2000 with New Genius (Soul Brother) being an oddity for some who solely came here to hear the still bizarre Dirty Harry or the thud of Feel Good. The haunting El Manana from Demon Days is one of the finest tunes Albarn has ever written. And the video to Stylo is one of the finest pieces of visuals that Hewlett has ever produced. The whiplash force of Tranz and the tantalising, Japanese school blazer techno of Rhinestone Eyes sustains energy with near-nuclear levels of bass.
Across a career that surpassed their own and everyone else’s expectations, as envelope-pushing pioneers intrigued by the insatiable pursuit of what a band can be- in this life, or another- Gorillaz is a circus that everyone can join.
Where they go next is anyone’s guess. They’ve existed in states of international exile at the farthest reaches of the globe, and now, having climbed to the top of The Mountain, can kiss the sky and dissolve into the drift of clouds below them.
But as the announcement to start (and end) all announcements has always proclaimed, as introduced by the very same melodica that summoned up an army of monkey zombies and Del Tha Ghost Rapper via its infectious, clarion spell – the future, according to how Clint Eastwood sees it- is coming on.
It always has been, but for how much longer – perhaps only those departed from the concrete and mud of this mortal coil held all the answers.
Just where the fuck IS North from here?
~
Words by Ryan-Lewis Walker
Photos provided by | Luke Dyson ©
A Plea From Louder Than War
Louder Than War is run by a small but dedicated independent team, and we rely on the small amount of money we generate to keep the site running smoothly. Any money we do get is not lining the pockets of oligarchs or mad-cap billionaires dictating what our journalists are allowed to think and write, or hungry shareholders. We know times are tough, and we want to continue bringing you news on the most interesting releases, the latest gigs and anything else that tickles our fancy. We are not driven by profit, just pure enthusiasm for a scene that each and every one of us is passionate about.
To us, music and culture are eveything, without them, our very souls shrivel and die. We do not charge artists for the exposure we give them and to many, what we do is absolutely vital. Subscribing to one of our paid tiers takes just a minute, and each sign-up makes a huge impact, helping to keep the flame of independent music burning! Please click the button below to help.
John Robb – Editor in Chief
