Murdoc Niccals In His Own Words
Drum roll…Fluttering Union Jack, overlaid with the two best words in the English language: MURDOC NICCALS. Cue pyrotechnics. Begin voiceover.
Murdoc Niccals is the creative genius behind Gorillaz. But actually, he’s way more than that. He’s a living legend, bigger than Mozart and the sex idol of billions. But how did he get there? Let’s start at the beginning.
The greatest achievement of my life is the time I managed to squeeze my entire body through a woman—my mum. Sadly, that was the only time we met, but her work was done: a musical messiah had cometh.
Like Jesus of Nazareth, Murdoc of Stoke-on-Trent was a miracle baby. By age two I got my first pubes. By age nine I’d written my first song, “Sex Hoof”. (Years ahead of its time, trust me).
But growing up in Thatcher’s Britain was bleak. Like thousands I got hooked on space dust, one of the most destructive sweets in the playground. I moved on to harder gear—fizz-wiz, flying saucers—and realised that by prising open the dark recesses of my mind, I could write songs that were almost unintelligible in their horrible beauty.
The more whammed I got, the more the songs poured out of me, until I was literally dripping with musical genius. It was clear to me then that Murdoc Niccals was destined for greatness.
Right. That’s the formative stuff. Intermission. I’m going for a smoke.
1.Where was I?
Ah yeah. Hitting the big time. The worst thing about being me is I’m only one man. And scientists are taking their sweet time with cloning. So I had to accept that even I couldn’t play four instruments at once. I needed a band, so I kidnapped Russel from the record shop where he worked, “hired” 2D with a crafty hit-and-run in my Vauxhall Astra, and took out an ad in the NME, which led to Noodle turning up in the mail. Game on Gorillaz.
It was always my intention that the world idolize Murdoc Niccals for his music and not just his trouser dragon, which is why I stepped back from the limelight to play bass and made 2D the Gorillaz frontman. The ungrateful moron still hasn’t thanked me. None of them have, despite twice daily email reminders.
Our debut record Gorillaz was a UK smash. The follow-up, Demon Days, literally shafted America right up its Grand Canyon. Some people tried to claim I’d sold my soul to the devil in exchange for success. To all you people, I can only say I can’t be held accountable for every nut-job fan that wants a piece of Murdoc, even the dark lord himself.
Anyway, he didn’t step in when I was in prison, did he? I went AWOL after Plastic Beach, our third album, so EMI sent a bloody battleship after me for breach of contract. Did four years hard time in Dungeon Abbey after that, a secret prison underneath London’s Abbey Road studios.
But you can’t cage this beast for long. And now, finally, I’m back. The fourth coming of Murdoc. Even more explosive than the other three times. The world better be ready for some painful truths, cos this time I’m f***king furious.
OK, that’ll do. Who’s a bloke got to shaft to get a skinny latte around here?