Gorillaz - Cracker Island (LP)

Released in February 2023, Cracker Island finds Gorillaz leaning into a sleek, neon-lit pop vision that still leaves room for oddball left turns. Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett built this band to shapeshift, and that instinct stays alive here, sharpened by the steady hand of producer Greg Kurstin alongside longtime architect Remi Kabaka Jr. The result is tight and bright, full of hooks that slide past on polished synths and low-slung bass rather than brute force.

The title track sets the tone. Thundercat’s bass curls around Albarn’s vocal like a chrome vine, light on its feet but heavy with bounce, and his falsetto harmonies give the chorus a sly lift. “Oil” brings in Stevie Nicks, who slips into the Gorillaz universe with eerie ease. Her voice sits like a lighthouse in the mix, cutting through Kurstin’s glassy keyboards and drum programming. Nicks once said she loved the song’s trancey pull, and you can hear why. It feels like vintage California dreams projected on a Silver Lake wall at 2 a.m.

“New Gold” arrives as the album’s day glo midpoint. Tame Impala’s Kevin Parker leaves fingerprints all over the groove, all shimmering synth smears and soft-focus swagger, while Bootie Brown threads nimble verses that throw it back to the project’s early hip-hop DNA. It is the sort of track that makes you want to drop the needle again right as it fades. On “Silent Running,” Adeleye Omotayo steps forward with a warm, pliable lead that pairs beautifully with Albarn’s sighing melody. Gorillaz have always used collaborators like colors on a palette, but this one feels like a careful duet rather than a cameo.

Albarn’s storytelling pops up in quieter places too. “Baby Queen” is dreamy and weightless, inspired by a surreal moment he talked about in interviews, where a royal superfan from a Blur show drifted back into his subconscious years later. The song floats on gentle arpeggios and synth pads, a postcard from memory. Then “Tormenta” pulls in Bad Bunny, whose easy, unhurried flow melts into a humid rhythm that nods to reggaeton without chasing it. Albarn loves to stand just to the side of the party, and the pair find a sweet middle, rain-slick and nocturnal.

There is also some grit hiding in the corners. “Skinny Ape” begins as a tender lament and then erupts, guitars bucking and drums kicking up dust like the band rerouted a street gig through a satellite dish. It was the track they launched into augmented reality in December 2022, staging wild city-scale performances in Times Square and London’s Piccadilly Circus. That stunt fit the record’s glowstick mysticism, the broader story of the band’s cartoon cult decamping to Los Angeles and bathing everything in purple neon. Hewlett’s art sells it, but the songs carry the mood even if you never watch a single video.

Sequencing does a lot of heavy lifting. “Tarantula” shimmers and cools the room after the title cut’s rush. “The Tired Influencer” pokes at our screen-sick age with a gentle smirk rather than a wagging finger, Albarn sounding resigned and compassionate in equal measure. Closer “Possession Island” pairs him with Beck, soft piano and spare guitar sketching a small morning-after ballad that leaves a bruise. It is a graceful exit, and it underlines how economical the record is. No sprawl, no filler, just crisp ideas executed with confidence.

If you are hunting for Cracker Island vinyl, the album shines on wax. The low end is plush, handclaps snap with a little extra air, and the choruses have that rounded bloom you only get when a stylus does the work. Gorillaz albums on vinyl have always rewarded repeat spins, and this one is built for side A, flip, side B rituals. There were several colored variants when it landed, plus a picture disc for collectors, so if you buy Gorillaz records online you can find a version that suits your shelf and your mood. The cover is a conversation starter in any Melbourne record store, and it sits nicely next to other Gorillaz vinyl for anyone curating a bright, modern corner in a stack of older favorites.

Cracker Island is not trying to rewrite the Gorillaz rulebook. It is a focused snapshot of a band that knows its shape and knows how to bend it just enough. The collaborations feel like friendships, not marketing. The production keeps everything humming without sanding off the personality. If the cartoon lore of cults and purple-lit L.A. apartments pulls you in, great. If you only want the tunes, also great. Either way, it is a late-night keeper, the kind of record that earns its space on the shelf and in the rotation. And if you are browsing for Gorillaz vinyl or comparing Cracker Island vinyl pressings across vinyl records Australia sites, this is one of those rare modern pop albums that rewards the effort, then invites you back for another spin.