Gorillaz are a group that truly need no introduction: the Damon Albarn side project has grown into enough of a cultural juggernaut to overshadow Blur, a feat that would’ve sounded ludicrous at the turn of the millenium. The animated gang’s biggest hits— namely those from 2005’s ‘Demon Days’ and 2010’s ‘Plastic Beach’— are simply iconic at this point, though the band’s output in the last decade hasn’t reached quite the same status. 2026’s ‘The Mountain’ seeks to fix that: this is Albarn’s best work is a long time.

In many ways, the newest Gorillaz album isn’t so far removed from ‘Plastic Beach,’ so long as you trade in that sunny seaside aesthetic for a more ethereal and meditative atmosphere. ‘The Mountain’ is an ambitious project, regularly defined by the extreme range of guest appearances and genre switch-ups it employs across its fifteen tracks: the trip to India that Albarn and Hewlett took during the album’s creation is reflected in the final product, which feels sprawling and adventurous at every turn. Gorillaz have never been your conventional pop act, but even by their standards, the twists and turns of this mountainous path are extravagant. The record’s opening title track is a love letter to traditional Indian music, setting the project up to be entirely mystical via its floating melodic lines and delightful instrumentation courtesy of the Hindu Jea Band Jaipur— it’s not until the funky beat and Black Thought feature of ‘The Moon Cave’ that ‘The Mountain’ starts to deliver Gorillaz’ trademark style of alternative pop.

The record does its absolute damndest to juggle whimsicality, sincerity and spirituality, and with so much material to traverse here, Albarn and company more-or-less succeed in that task: the extreme range of sounds and artists at play is far-and-away the album’s greatest strength. Lead single ‘The Happy Dictator’ (inspired by a visit to Turkmenistan) is a bright and bubbly sing-along that falls in line with the likes of ‘On Melancholy Hill,’ albeit with a slightly darker undertone— the following ‘The Hardest Thing/Orange County’ dips into a similarly conflicting mood, pairing carefree whistles and upbeat percussion against lyrics that deal directly in the recent losses of Albarn and Hewlett’s fathers. Grief is a constant theme throughout ‘The Mountain,’ marking this as perhaps the most serious and thoughtful record in the Gorillaz catalogue. Even then, though, it’s hardly a project full of mournful piano ballads and teary-eyed confessions: the album cloaks itself in a shimmering pop aesthetic at all times, trusting the listener to parcel out the meaning from its understated lyrical motifs.

“I don't know if I can take this anymore

So why you trying to break me?

You know the hardest thing

Is to say goodbye to someone you love”

Gorillaz have a long history behind them at this point, and you can feel them drawing upon it constantly for their 9th outing— only they could pair the pained synths of ‘The Empty Dream Machine’ against the explosive hip-hop of single ‘The Manifesto’ and have both work so successfully. Those two are arguably the strongest cuts on the record, no doubt spurred on by standout verses from Black Thought, Trueso and a posthumous effort from Proof: any fans who were worried that ‘The Happy Dictator’ saw Albarn playing things too safe this time around should rest assured in the face of the former’s eery vocal effects and suffocating atmosphere, and should rejoice to hear the bombastic beat switches of the latter. Proof isn’t the only deceased artist to make the record (indeed, reincarnation is not only a lyrical theme on ‘The Mountain’), as The Fall’s Mark E. Smith brings his larger-than-life character to the pulsing dance music of ‘Delirium.’ It’s in moments like the boundless energy of ‘Damascus’ and the cheery chorus of ‘The Plastic Guru’ that Gorillaz sound most like themselves.

It’s in its slower passages that the record begins to suffer under the weight of its own baggage— the band may have filled this 66-minute album with quality material, but the record’s length can be felt regardless. Damon Albarn has never been a noteworthy vocalist as part of either of his show-stopping acts, but ‘The Mountain’ sees him at his lowest point yet: the crackling vocal filter that once felt stylish and unique is becoming more and more of a crutch, distracting from the emotion at the heart of ‘The Shadowy Light’ or ‘The Hardest Thing.’ Gorillaz bring their 9th studio album to an uncharacteristically lethargic conclusion, reserving the last four tracks for nought but reflective moods and traditional instrumental arrangements— the comments of death that pervade ‘The Sweet Prince’ are absolutely beautiful, no doubt, but rest more on the song’s lyrical choices than on true musical intrigue. Once ‘The Sad God’ concludes the entire project, it’s more likely to be the energy of ‘The Manifesto’ and ‘Delirium’ that will be stuck in your head.

“Sweet prince, don't be sad

You were never meant to be here

And the sword you hold in your hand

Well, its mighty blow will set you

On your patterned path, into the next life”

The undertaking Albarn and Hewlett have committed themselves to here— to make a record in-line with something like ‘Plastic Beach,’ yet also to throw elements of traditional Indian music and spirituality into the mix— is a remarkably ambitious one: perhaps the greatest credit owed to ‘The Mountain’ is that it manages to be the greatest Gorillaz album in more than a decade, all while transcending the group’s typical sound. Even if the sheer number of guest features and thematic turning points on offer here is a little overwhelming, there are more than enough highlights across this vast tracklist to keep things grounded in good, solid music. Albarn and Hewlett’s fathers must be very proud indeed.