You sometimes forget how popular Gorillaz are. Then you hear the screams and applause when the animated band members first show up in the introductory video, and you realise itâs way more than you anticipated. It makes sense; theyâre kind of a phenomenon in popular music to this day, still helming a creativity thatâs theirs and theirs alone. The prevailing profile of Damon Albarn doesnât hurt, but recent years have framed Gorillaz as more than just him and Jamie Hewlettâs avatars. This tour, in which a core ensemble of 13 performers plus numerous guest slots represents the boundless breadth of this projectâs reach, makes that perfectly clear.
Thus, the anticipation and excitement really begin to crystallise. An eclectic musical palette accompanies whatâs ultimately closer to audiovisual art than a âtraditionalâ concert, a true Show from an act thatâs far from prolific. Thereâs also the fact that itâs in support of The Mountain, the most evocative release sporting Gorillazâ name in a long time. And it doesnât take long at all for that to manifest. That opening title track is such a gorgeous introduction to the whole experience, and hearing it an arena setting with its accompanying short filmâhand-animated, in direct opposition to AIâs noxious hazeâis immediately spellbinding.
Before that, however, is Trueno, arguably the single most perfect opener for Gorillaz in 2026. If you were to boil down the necessities of Albarn and Hewlettâs workâculturally explorative; diverse in sound; conscious of a fracturing world but celebratory within itâthatâs Trueno to a T. You donât even need his music to see that; an opening and interluding video about the love of his Argentine heritage and Latin American culture nail down his vibe. And yet, if his appearance on Gorillazâ The Manifesto is where your familiarity begins and ends, that isnât even touching on exactly what Trueno can bring. Hell, even on record, itâs not quite there. Fuck El Policeâs studio counterpart isnât the Rage Against The Machine impression kicked out as an opening salvo.
With the full rock en español outfit, Trueno blows right past the limits of âLatin rapperâ. Heâs still great at thatâas an English speaker, itâs always exciting to hear familiar genres reinterpreted in different languagesâbut at no point is he stuck to it. The full band is the lynchpin factor, particularly when Santana-esque guitar solos are being pulled out as an indisputable elevating presence. Even if Fuck El Policeâs punch fluctuates, thereâs still a bevy of sounds explored in Latin pop, funk, hip-hop, reggaeton and even thumping house and pseudo-dubstep towards the end. All of that is in service to a real talent, the sort of artist whose limits might apparent, but then get redefined in real time.
Itâs also not the end of Truenoâs tenure here, either, as he returns much later on to reprise his role on The Manifesto. The performance is great and energetic as you might expect, and then, when Proofâs verse plays on the arena screens, he and Albarn stand stock-still, heads bowed in respect as this posthumous collaboration unfolds. Thatâs one of the noteworthy things about Gorillaz tonightâas sprawling and all-encompassing as their universe has become, thereâs reverence for every corner of it. Seldom does Albarn feel like a âfrontmanâ, as much as another player in the unit, just stood a bit further forward than some of the others. Everyone has an intrinsic role, and the fact it feels that way so consistently really keeps this whole thing alive. Obviously guitarist Jeff Wootton and bassist Seye Adelekan have greater visibility (their loose, lively interplay on 19-2000 is really good), but it really is everyone who impresses. The quartet of backing singers wonderfully fill out El Mañana and The Dream Machine; even flautist Ajay Prasanna gets his moment with The Sad Godâs beautiful work.
Live, Gorillaz feels like a living, metastasising organism unto itself. Again, the performance aspect really canât be downplayed, not when visuals are so innate. Thatâs sometimes little more than a song backed by its associated music video, but the characters are just as important as those giving their work life. Itâs likely why their coming together in The Mountainâs video warrants the reaction it gets, and why On Melancholy Hill or Stylo feel as elevated by their presentation as they are. The former is a light, delicate wash where even the synth twinkles get their own singalong; the latter is a synth-funk banger, lifted further by an appearance from Yasiin Bey who looks like heâs having the time of his life.
Itâs the frequency with which guests come to reprise their roles or add new pieces of inspo that similarly makes Gorillaz feel big and important. Bey is the only one who appears in person more than once, too; the interconnectivity of this network is just strong enough to bring these people back. (âIn personâ is solely used because Black Thought makes a handful of appearances on video, and early enough to be trepidatious about whether these much-publicised guest performers will show up tonight or not.) The least effective is Kara Jackson on Orange County, a husky vocal presence that canât assuage how she and Albarn stand there like spare parts, the awkwardness of which is only amplified by the songâs placid, chipper whistles. At best, though, thereâs the uncoiled spring Bootie Brown and his full rap-rock turn on Dirty Harry, and De La Soulâs Posdnuos, whose relish in leading Feel Good Inc. would have you believe heâs been a permanent fixture.
For as easily as this could crumble into disparate parts with no sticking cohesion, it never does. Obviously thereâs a visionary creative team making this all work, but you canât deny the exuberance of it all and how positively that swings. In terms of new material, itâs grown and fleshed out so well for a stage like this. The Moon Cave leans into rocked-up psychedelia; The Empty Dream Machine explores how lovely its swirling space is; Deliriumâs phenomenal bass thrusts it into this mystically-charged dance-rock zone. Itâs so impressive, and so full of life in how itâs done.
On the flipside, youâve got the moments that concentrate on the fun that Gorillaz can bring, an aspect that doesnât tend to get the same play in these newer phases. Thereâs not no crossover, as seen on Andromeda in which a big button is wheeled out by aâŠcreature (imagine Beaker from The Muppets if heâd fallen on extremely hard times), getting so little acknowledgment that you start to wonder if it actually happened at all. But thereâs also no contest when 19-2000 gets such a huge reaction, or how Kids With Guns and Dirty Harry unleash something so instinctively primal among the crossover-indie faithful. Even Albarn canât resist the former, the relative stoicism heâs shown up to now fully breaking as he unequivocally loves what he sees.
And, of course, Clint Eastwood ends, because what else would? As esteemed and artisanal as the decades have seen Gorillaz become, even theyâre not too good for a big, cheap pop, as the elephantine bass lumbers along and Albarnâs hook proves as memetic as ever. Stuck onto the end is an appearance from Sweetie Irie to lead a garage remix, an interesting idea for a last burst of energy but one that goes on a bit too much for its intended purpose. It winds up more as another idea for the pile than anything with true significance, but if youâre letting that spoil one of the crossover indie hits of the 2000s, youâre quite frankly just looking for nits to pick. Plus, itâs not like a misstep has been a common occurrence for Gorillaz tonight. Between the music, staging, visuals and marriage between all three, thereâs very little in the arena space as unique in its greatness as this. Itâs a flooring display, the kind of thing worth sticking around for time and time again.
Words by Luke Nuttall
