Chapter Text
2D is sitting in the middle of the band’s new studio in Los Angeles, United States. The lead singer had taken advantage of that late afternoon to try to write songs for the new album. He absentmindedly strums a few chords on the guitar that Noodle, the band’s guitarist, had lent him, while humming vaguely.
In fact, he’s completely out of it. Of course, 2D, the lead singer and keyboardist of the band Gorillaz, has always been known for having his “head in the clouds.” To some, it was just stupidity, a lack of intelligence, or even innocence.
But this time, the vocalist was even more lost in his thoughts. Exactly 3 months and 16 days ago (a date 2D knew by heart), Murdoc, the band’s bassist, was arrested for drug smuggling.
For many, it came as no surprise when they announced that Murdoc had been arrested. For decades, prison had been like a second home to him. For that reason, Noodle and Russell treated the bassist’s arrest like an uninteresting newspaper headline—with disdain, indifference, and apathy. When 2D told the band the tragic news one Saturday morning at breakfast, the band merely responded.
“Again?” Noodle asked, nonchalantly, as she stirred her tea continuously, merely glancing at 2D’s blank, opaque eyes. It was as if she received this same news every Saturday morning, 2D thought, perplexed, as he spread butter on his toast and took a small bite.
During the first few weeks after Murdoc’s arrest, the band didn’t know what to do. Russell suggested they take a hiatus; Noodle thought that was out of the question, since Humanz hadn’t been such a huge success that they could go on hiatus right after it; and 2D, well, he was completely unsure of what the future held. A wave of strange feelings washed over him during those first few weeks, especially at night.
2D and Murdoc’s relationship had never been the best. Murdoc had always been abusive. No matter with whom or how. 2D remembers the band’s early years, Murdoc arriving late to rehearsals, completely drunk, unable to stand up straight, after long nights drowning his sorrows in alcohol. Noodle remembers the first time she saw Murdoc snorting cocaine; she must have been about 9 or 10 years old, and as the years passed, that memory remained vivid even after two decades. From then on, Noodle never looked at him the same way again. Russell remembers the first time he met Murdoc. He was wearing an old, dark leather jacket. He smelled of tobacco and cheap cologne. His hair was dark and greasy, with bangs covering his eyebrows. The way the future bassist spoke was exuberant, arrogant, convincing Russell to join the band that would revolutionize pop music. Russell, suspicious, politely declined the offer, but Murdoc kidnapped him right then and there. After that, Russell immediately realized Murdoc was full of hot air. Not to mention the events during Plastic Beach, when Murdoc emotionally abused 2D, manipulating him and forcing him to write the entire album, leaving him unstable and vulnerable.
Even after all those situations, all those circumstances, 2D felt a strange attraction to Murdoc, a bizarre tenderness, an immense gratitude. As a result, 2D owes his soul to Murdoc for making him the lead singer of one of the greatest rock bands of the generation, right?
There’s a soft knock on the studio door, which is then gently opened. 2D returns to the real world, his thoughts interrupted by the figure in the doorway. It was Noodle.
She was wearing black leather mini-shorts and a burgundy red tank top, along with a pair of black combat boots, worn down by time. In her hands, with her nails painted indigo blue, she held a small, delicate teacup, which she set down on the studio’s small table.
“So, did you manage to play the chords I taught you the day before yesterday? You know, this is one of my best guitars,” asked Noodle, in a tone that exuded excitement and positivity—perhaps from the new yoga classes she’d been attending every week or from kickboxing, one of her greatest passions.
2D, lacking the energy and strength even to play a simple guitar, with deep dark circles under his eyes that not even the light makeup he applies to his face every morning can hide, wearing the same clothes from the day before and his deep blue hair fading slightly—a phenomenon that had never happened before, after decades of having such a bizarre hair color.
“Uhm… nothing interesting has come out yet… I’ll apply more later,” replied the lead singer in his characteristic hoarse, yet soft voice.
“Put down the guitar and drink this tea I made for you. It’s your favorite—peppermint! Maybe it’ll clear your head,” advised Noodle, handing him the steaming cup of tea.
2D followed Noodle’s advice, setting down the acoustic guitar and sitting on the cold studio floor. He held the cup with both hands, taking small sips because of the high temperature. Noodle sat cross-legged in front of him, watching 2D drink the tea cautiously, while he avoided any eye contact with the young guitarist.
“I know these past few months haven’t been easy for you,” Noodle began, speaking calmly and carefully, knowing she was touching on a sensitive subject for her friend and bandmate.
After that sentence hung in the air for several long seconds within the studio’s four walls, 2D finally looked at her.
“You know when you’re sitting on the beach—a beautiful beach—facing an expanse of clear blue water, but you feel sad, as if everyone there is having a better time than you,” replied 2D, as seriously and honestly as possible. As he took the last sip of his mint tea.
“Ah… yeah… I kind of get it…,” said Noodle, looking confused, searching for an answer to searching for an answer to that confusing metaphor, while running her fingers through her short black hair.
“Russell and I were talking last night about how you’ve been acting lately. We know you’re not doing well, and that this goes much deeper than Murdoc going to prison.” Noodle looked at 2D, now with a more serious expression, gazing into his milky-white eyes.
2D kept looking at her, unable to quite explain the whirlwind of unusual feelings that had consumed him. The only way he could communicate his state of mind was through the silly, confusing metaphor he’d told Noodle at the start of this conversation. Noodle saw that 2D wasn’t going to answer and continued her speech.
“We thought of a good idea to cheer you up: you should produce the entire next album. Neither I nor Russell are coming up with good ideas—we’re probably experiencing a creative block. Besides, you’ve always wanted to compose an entire album all by yourself.”
What Noodle had said wasn’t a lie. 2D had always wanted to play a prominent role during the production of an album. Murdoc used to always dismiss his ideas, saying they were too “crazy” or “childish.” With that in mind, Noodle’s offer didn’t seem bad at all. Before 2D could even process and respond to Noodle’s proposal, she added:
“During this dark phase of your life, writing some songs about yourself, as if it were your own diary, could improve your mental health—I read this in an article! On this album, you can really show who you are to our fans.”
“Well, I’d love to, Noods. But are you sure you want me to produce the whole album? What if you don’t like it?” replied the lead singer, tempted but unsure about the Japanese guitarist’s proposal.
“Of course we’ll like it! Besides, if we don’t, we’ll make the necessary changes until we’re all happy with it.” Noodle had already stood up when she said that, pausing in the doorway before adding:
“2D, remember that all of this will pass. Of course it’ll take time, but try to make an effort to improve.”
The singer was left alone again in that dark, cold studio. He stood up and went looking for his lyric notebook. The same one he’d been using for years, with a black hardcover, pages already yellowed and dog-eared from so much use. Murdoc had given it to him. The two of them went to an old stationery shop on the streets of London; Murdoc, strangely, insisted at all costs on paying for the simple notebook. That day, they left the store arm in arm. In addition to song lyrics, the notebook contains small drawings made by the singer in moments of boredom, various doodles, and halfway through, a grocery shopping list. 2D opened it to a random page and stared at it for a few minutes. Nothing came to him. Not even a small idea. Absolutely nothing. He twirled the pen between his fingers, hoping some idea would suddenly pop into his head, but nothing. His thoughts were focused on something else. Actually, on someone.
Murdoc, just thinking his name sent restless butterflies fluttering through his stomach. 2D then decided to close his notebook, put down his pen, and leave the studio, where he had spent several hours straight that day. 2D climbed the stairs to his room in the house he shared with his bandmates, Noodle and Russell.
When he reached the room, he took off his clothes and glanced at himself in the mirror. He was too skinny. 2D had always been skinny, but now his ribs had become quite visible. He hadn’t been like this since Plastic Beach, when food was scarce. He lay down and waited to fall asleep, but as usual, sleep wouldn’t come no matter what. He turned on his side, facing the open window, for 2D was used to England’s false summer and not the hellish heat of California.
From the window, thousands of stars were visible, tiny points of light scattered across the dark immensity of the universe. He could hear the distant noise of cars in that bustling city, but he could also hear the faint sound of the sea.
After gazing at the starry sky of Los Angeles for a while, 2D burst into tears. He hadn’t cried like this in years—perhaps not since he was a child. A quiet but uncontrollable sob, followed by shaky breaths and uncontrolled sobs. He missed the bassist so much that he could no longer hold back the flood of tears.