... On Obsessively Listening to “Clint Eastwood” by The Gorillaz

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Prepare for this column by listening to the song

I was sick—sick unto death with that long agony, a pain that comes from unrestrained rage, lack of sleep, and eating too much pizza. It was a Saturday night in April, shortly after a cold front had descended upon the little village where I live. I sat in my apartment working on my income tax returns. A thousand horrifying images assaulted my senses. A chill ran down my spine, while a fiery dizziness embroidered my cranium. But the sound, that terrible sound—it was worse than all the rest! What wicked vibration permeated the walls to my apartment, following me from room to room? What sound? What song? I could just barely discern it …

“I ain’t happy, feeling glad … I’ve got sunshine, in a bag … I’m useless, but not for long … the future is coming on …”

I recognized the song as “Clint Eastwood,” by the Gorillaz. The lyrics, the tune, and the beat—all were unmistakably familiar. To be sure, I had heard this song before. Had it been but one occurrence, I would have happily entered my bedchamber and ignored the terrible sound. But for the past several weeks, at every turn, the sound had invaded my stupor and threatened to drain essence from my vitriolic fluids.

Oh, upstairs neighbor! Why do you insist upon playing this song so often? Does your love for The Gorillaz not include fealty to any of their other songs? They have several pop hits that would probably satisfy your drunken lust for bass and synth. Try “19-2000.” It’s just one track before “Clint Eastwood” on the album “Demon Days.” Or how about “Feel Good Inc,” which I believe is track 6? A lot of people seem to like that song. Or if you have the first album (which is possible since “Clint Eastwood” is on both of them) check out track 3, “Tomorrow Comes Today.” It doesn’t matter which songs you try, really. It’s more the lack of variety that disturbs me.

Cursed am I that my upstairs neighbor loves The Gorillaz so! (That one song, anyway.) What inner demon does this song assuage? What blood curdling impulse drives his actions? Do the lyrics speak so directly to his blackened soul? Does his paramour yearn for its horrific rhythms?

And shame on you, Gorillaz, with your virtual band gimmick. Fictional cartoon characters pretending to be real people are inestimably lame. Woe unto anyone who bought the band’s most recent album, causing it to go triple platinum. Woe unto Damon Albarn (of Blur) and Jamie Hewlett, creators of The Gorillaz. Woe unto its animated band members: 2D, Murdoc, Russel, and especially Noodle. Without your help, my upstairs neighbors would have no weapon to wield against me.

Neighbor of mine, retire the song. Stop playing “Clint Eastwood,” by the Gorillaz. Let it die. Lower it into the coffin. Wall it up behind a ton of bricks. And let me hear it nevermore. In pace requiescat.