Saturday 05/11/05 Gorillaz @ Opera House, Manchester.

Going to the Opera House to watch Gorillaz is confusing. Do we act like indie kids? Do we lap up the wine dahhling? Gigwise opts for the latter and sinks a couple in a bar that closely resembles the local Holt’s skank hole, before venturing to the auditorium. Feeling a bit aroused, like a randy teen with a quid for popcorn, the lights go down and Murdoc and 2D appear on the balcony. No, we’re not on acid, these are puppets! 2D begs for a gimmick slogan to be given to the band and runs through a series of Little Britain, Catherine Tate and any other irritability you can think of. The audience is howling and cheering though as they cut to a cartoon of Daffy and Porky Pig downing fiery booze. It feel’s like a night in the 1950’s and no doubt people are deviating on the back row.

Watching Gorillaz is hard to fathom when you don’t know what to expect. But there they are, human, normal, on the stage and no bones about them. Damon is as luscious and ageless as the Britpop boy we all grew to know in the 90’s. Yet his wit  and political stance screams through in every song, with warped, hypnotic visuals and lyrics that make you think through the haze of red wine.

For a show to shit on all others: throw in a school choir, happy clappy dancing, a street choir, a fistful of DeLa Soul and a slice of Ike Turner. Pop in a Neneh Cherry or two, garnish with a Chinese girl on a weird instrument and you’re almost there. One key ingredient is missing though in the form of pudding, and there’s none more fattening than Shaun Ryder with his head bulging out of his black goggles.

He’s fucked but that’s why they love him. Clutching his beer, he wades the stage with his cocky nasal drawl. It’s suddenly a gig and folk are up on their feet, bouncing their pricey beers in the air. He leaves and the joint resumes a refined air, people no longer smile at each other. No sooner have Gorillaz started their ‘Demon Days’ , they're gone, playing their album in entirety and leaving nothing unturned. Happy, optimistic and glowing, Gigwise, clutching their £8 programmes to their chests, feeling cultured, nurtured and with empty pockets.