Damon Albarn is one of those musicians who had a huge impact on people’s adolescence and their whole lives – just take Blur’s »Song 2« (or, for that matter, any Blur-record) as an example, or »Clint Eastwood« and »Feel Good Inc.« by the Gorillaz, or the complete debut of The Good, The Bad & The Queen. If you’ve got a catalogue as big as Albarn’s, you’re guaranteed an über-life-size monument, anyway. Even without counting his soundtracks to »101 Reykjavik« or »African Express«. Hence, if anyone is already planning to create such a benchmark, a statue or an abstract sculpture, make sure to add »Everyday Robots« to the metal plate at the monument’s bottom. Damon Albarn does not only give us Natasha Khan of Bat For Lashes, Brian Eno and a full choir, but he also combines his 12 tracks by such a delicate thread of melodies that one can’t help but getting lost in his voice and the sounds. »Lonely Press Play«, for example, delivers an answer to the question what there’s to do in the case of loneliness – Albarn’s lyrics are gently climbing on top of the rhythm while a few strings cheekily find their way through the track. Those who have listened to Albarn’s latest projects won’t be surprised by the constitutional relaxedness and the quiet melancholy of »Everyday Robots«. The tempo doesn’t change much. Damon Albarn has arranged every single tone with great caution, has combined them, has added bits of classical music; and still, there’s no need for trying to make out genres. What’s BritPop, what’s indie? And who cares? It’s Damon Albarn, and he’s returned to tell us why modern life is complete nonsense. This record is so very coy that it’s easy to be overheard – and yet, it’s full of life and tension. Damon Albarn himself often remains in the background, the story leaves us slightly confused, fragmented and ambiguous as it is. It’s a record that seems to be hovering above it all. It’s a record to be treasured until the next piece of your own life’s soundtrack comes along.
Everyday Robots
