The premise of Gorillaz, André 3000 and James Murphy’s 2012 collaboration, “DoYaThing“, was based on a thirty-second encounter Damon Albarn had with Brian Eno. Somehow, this is stretched to fill a thirteen-minute wig-out in which André 3000 repeatedly yells, “I’m the shit!” in tones alternating between satisfaction, hyperactivity, frustration, and incredulity. The encounter in question (Albarn asked Eno, “How’s it going Brian?”; the professorial Eno replied, “Everything I’m working on is coming out great,” with a surprising amount of hubris and breeziness) is a stand-in for the wider social trends of self-publicising, self-aggrandising, and under-thinking. Continue reading The cruel wisdom of Steve Albini
Call it a cynical, money-grabbing move with artistic payoffs: Damon Albarn and Jamie Hewlett were moved to collaborate with André 3000 of OutKast and James Murphy (formerly of LCD Soundsystem) to help sell Converse sneakers. The most high-profile of the “Three Artists. One Song” series, this unholy troika pulled off a marathon stint in a recording studio to come up with “DoYaThing”, a glitchy electro number.
In its released state, it’s four-and-a-half minutes of nonsensical whimsy, with Albarn and André 3000 taking turns to spout non-sequiturs. Murphy crops up too, on the low-key falsetto chorus, doing battle with a misfiring analog synth. The beat is not dissimilar from the similarly standalone Gorillaz song “Doncamatic“. Whereas Albarn’s rapping shows him up as an amateur (his phrasing comes straight out of “Feel Good Inc.“), André’s contribution is typically spontaneous and naturalistic, showcasing the verbiage and rhyming that helped make hits like “Hey Ya!” stay classic.
“DoYaThing” is a song that grows on you: initially, I tweeted that it was somehow less than the sum of its parts. But the neat instrumental and production tricks win you over eventually—like the growly distorted vocals that bring André’s rap to a close, and the parps of brass that punctuate the verses.
The accompanying video (see above) is characteristic of the Hewlett œuvre: a grimy household populated by larger-than-life characters, through which the music weaves in and out.
As if this wasn’t enough of a media overload, there is also a thirteen-minute long version of the song, from which the released edit derives. I’m not going to talk about that; it’s best left to your own ears.