3 out of 5

Label: Warner Bros. / Parlophone

Producer: Richard Russell

Fine, I’ve never put much stock in Albarn’s lyrics.  Sometimes silly, sometimes sing-song, most often humming around cynical or sad observations of modern life.  But what’s sold me – the self-titled disc playing on repeat on my high-school CD player – is the moods Albarn’s capable of evoking through his presentation.  It makes those observations not exactly ponderous, but feel more accessible and relevant: you may not be living the life he’s describing, but you understand what it means.

From his latter day work with the Gorillaz and his scattered solo albums, you could feel Albarn – with the Gorillaz collective – retreating more into the backround as a ringleader, of sorts, for others who could work within and help shape some of his more quirky musical concoctions.  The solo stuff, I’ll fully admit, had trouble capturing my attention, but because it always felt sort of hazy.  Excusing Mali Music, which to me always just seemed like a mid-life crisis (though, as with Tod A. of Firewater, once Albarn got bit by the African bug, it’s an influence that seems to have stuck around), Damon’s last couple outings under his own name seemed / sounded more like sketches.  Which was fine.  The dude is madly creative and talented, and thus his scraps can be more rewarding than any given over-produced album by a super artist.

‘Everyday Robots’ is incredibly listenable.  Pleasant.  It’s the first Damon Albarn solo album to feel like an album of cohesive thoughts and concepts, snippets of (mostly) mans struggle with the dehumanizing effects of technology.  As the album swings into its swaying groove with its opening title track and the following ‘hostiles,’ and ‘lonely press play,’ which form an emotional triumvirate of thoughtful, moody, and wistful, ‘Robots’ seems like it will be the bleep and bloop counterpoint to the organic vibe of The Good, The Bad & The Queen.  As noted in the Allmusic review, there’s an ironic juxtaposition of the disc’s themes and the music used to convey them: not a moment on the album sounds untouched or processed.  It’s not electronic by any means, but Russell’s production is very cold, giving the acoustic tinkles metronomic precision to blend seamlessly with the keyboard burbles and samples that are sprinkled throughout.  However, once you’re past those opening tracks (and have excused the somewhat cloying Dave-Matthews-friendly my-mom-would-enjoy-this hand-clappy ‘Mr. Tembo’ – Blur obviously was madly mainstream and my dad enjoys Song 2 but this is the most commercial thing I’ve heard from Albarn), you’ve pretty much heard the album.  Some minute long instrumental cuts don’t do much to fully separate the rest of the material – the album really blends together, and the slumbering tempo can be mistaken for something tepid if you stop paying attention.  I then go back to Albarn’s lyrics, because this stillness to the music (which, again, is part of the production style) can’t fully work in concert with evoked moods because… they stop being evoked.

Though this only matters if you’re going in search of a ‘classic’ Damon sound (and it’s there, briefly, in moments such as the suddenly brash conclusion to ‘you and me’), and to be fair, if his career should teach me anything, it’s that Albarn will pursue his current whims and then move on.  ‘Robots’ is the kind of disc that’s earned after years in the business – a recording that gives the artist plenty of time and space, but the benefit of Warner Bros. level exposure and production qualities.  ‘Mr. Tembo’ can, alas, probably be a single, and individual cuts can have you hoping that this is the sad epic you know exists in Albarn’s darkest dreams.  Not quite.  But, put it on repeat, let it spin all day.  It’s pleasant stuff, if a little too purposefully sterile.