The Finesse of The Fall
Now the talking Semen will preach to us
The Fall is the greatest album ever made. Better than Dark Side of the Moon, better than Seargant Peppers Lonely Hearts Club, and, at risk of alienating those who love me most, better than – yes – Let’s All Sing With The Chipmunks. To so much as mention these plebeian creations while discussing The Fall is an offense to its very name.
Putting aside the wacky ol’ Semendayz persona, I’ve always had an odd affinity for The Fall; The final Gorillaz album I decided to devote my attention to, and, for some time, the album many assumed would be the last in Gorillaz’ discography. Compared to its fellow albums, Fall immediately stood out as – for lack of better word – distant. Where you may expect another groovy Clint Eastwood, happy-go-lucky DARE, or tense Stylo, Fall instead offers a haunting oddity such as the droning Shytown, or the otherworldly Aspen Forest. It makes almost no attempts whatsoever to adhere to the accessible grounding present through most of Gorillaz’ history; standing as an experiment in and of itself.
The Fall’s difference stems from it’s very inspiration – an obsessive attitude toward loneliness and modern-day confusion that has painted most of Albarn’s post-2010 works. Fall’s notably more personal nature brings us closer to the core musical concept of “Gorillaz” than ever before – allowing us to peer into the unrestrained creativity of Albarn’s mind, hidden by the avatar of 2-D. Through each track, we drown in the buzzing, unconscious mind of a man lost between the many stresses of the world; death, separation, love, and the always impending pressures of eternity. As it searches for peace across the cultural wastelands of America, it blends into an almost Dub-like slog; glancing from city to city, lifestyle to lifestyle, human to human. Detroit shows us the joyous, colorful bliss of positivity – finding a childish levity in what ought to be an intimidating atmosphere. Hillbilly Man dives into the sticky leather seats of a smoky club, drinking the pain away as the music pounds into your skull. Shytown acquiesces to a suppressed anxiety – huddling, terrified, aching for escape. Bobby in Phoenix, conversely, pats us on the back; the world is as wide as it is frightening, but in the end, that anomalous nature is the very beauty of living.
The Fall is, to my eyes, Albarn’s most “raw” album – Democrazy’s sincerity, with Everyday Robot’s emotional build. As we see the world through 2-D’s bleached eyes, we reflect it within the mind of an overworked, overdrawn Albarn; bringing us closer to his beloved “Demon Days” than ever before. If Humanz is the beginning of an apocalypse, The Fall is the bleak end; the acceptance of fate, and fear of death. And what better way to represent death itself, than with a toy pickle?