At 145°W, 38°N, the Pacific Garbage Patch lies glistening in the world’s largest ocean. A collection of man-made cast-offs brought together via currents and weather conditions, this drifting mass of discarded debris is indicative of our disposable society.

Five years on from second Gorillaz album Demon Days, Plastic Beach is also a wash of detritus coming together in une jolie-laide fashion.

After pushing pop boundaries on their first two CDs, this is a more conceited creation from Damon Albarn and his visual collaborator Jamie Hewlett. Following on from their operatic Monkey foray, the third and final Gorillaz record is conceptually based around a synthetic floating isle where guests vacation with unlikely collaborators.

Albarn’s black book of contacts is flung open like Pandora’s Box for Plastic Beach, with transatlantic recalcitrants Mark E Smith and Lou Reed among the unlikely visitors. Smith’s ‘Where’s north from here?’ aside and his delirious cackle meld neatly with the Add N To (X) paranoia of Glitter Freeze, reminiscent of Demon Days’ similarly mad Manc additions by Dare guest Shaun Ryder.

Unfortunately the novelty of an impressive ensemble cast fades when the rotating vocalists prove unable to focus this flight of fancy. Bobby Womack, Snoop Dogg and Mos Def drift in and out like aquatic flotsam, while the De La Soul reprise Superfast Jellyfish is a feeble rehash of Z-Trip’s Breakfast Club cereal folly (right down to the indulgent 1986 US ad sample).

Perversely, it’s only on the tracks free of interlopers that Gorillaz really prove their worth. When Albarn’s Gorillaz alter-ego 2D takes the vocal reins on the loping Rhinestone Eyes, blissful On Melancholy Hill and dreamy Pirate Jet, it finally allows Plastic Beach a chance to breathe rather than weighed down by interlopers.

Living up to its source material, sadly too much of Plastic Beach is a monstrous throwaway mess.

Scott McLennan

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