Finding Yoga Philosophy at a Gorillaz Concert: Grief, the Mountain and Letting Go

2 days ago
5 min read

What I learnt last night at a Gorillaz concert was far more than I expected. Somehow, between the sitars and the cartoons on the big screen, I was schooled on life, humanity, kindness and humility. It even restored a bit of the faith in man I thought I’d lost.

There is more, but as with most experiences, they’re hard to articulate when they reach a part of you that you didn’t know was there.

Saturday night Laura and I headed to Tottenham Stadium to see the Gorillaz. And it turned out to be something so much more than an appreciation of their talents. It was in fact a celebration of various cultures and genres, specifically one that has such a big place in my heart. The music and instruments of the Indian subcontinent 🪈🪘.

I didn’t know this until the train journey, but the Gorillaz, led by Damon Albarn, headed to India for musical inspiration after losing their dads. And what they found and discovered is reflected in their new album, The Mountain. Reflections both positive and negative.

I was immediately struck by this having lost my own dad not so long ago. Which still sounds odd to say. I wondered how it would feel in the music and straight away my thoughts on the opening track “The Mountain” (which I play in my Yin yoga class) were transformed.

Rather than being an opening track simply as a celebration of Indian instruments and talent, it was in fact reflecting the band’s own journey of self-discovery. That losing someone feels like a part of you has died and you will never quite be the same again. But at the same time it can reveal something inside of you. It can shine a light that helps you navigate the next stage of your life.

Another amazing thing about the performance of The Mountain was how the band let the guest performers have their moment, rather than it being about them. I was first drawn to the album when Spotify told me sitarist Anoushka Shankar would feature heavily, and I play her music in class all the time. As well as the underappreciated and super amazing Ajay Prasanna. To watch it live was an incredible experience. The accompanying video on the screen showed the virtual band ascending up a mountain, which reflected the theme of the song and the band’s journey. The humility in the band was overwhelming as they just stepped aside and allowed the talents of the musicians to shine. The instruments of the subcontinent echoed through the stadium whilst people just stood in awe of their vibrating magic. For someone who has grown up to this music and how their sound can transform you and carry you to somewhere distant, it was an amazing spectacle.

What stood out even more was Damon Albarn’s humility and compassion for people and cultures. He didn’t need to be the centre. He let the music and the musicians from another tradition speak for themselves, and in doing so created a real sense of shared humanity.

A few tracks later was The Plastic Guru. The song’s theme, as the title suggests, was based on this idea that we often believe what we choose and what we want, and fail at times to question the authenticity of certain figures or ideas. As you all know how I feel about guru culture, this song was, and is, poetically appropriate. It for me showed the band’s maturity. As often when bands go to India in search for inspiration or just for some soul searching, they are quick to say they have met a guru and their music becomes a reflection of the culture they have embraced rather than the experience in their own hearts. But the Gorillaz didn’t do that. They experienced the guru culture and they made the song to reflect the theme of how when we are lost and in search of ourselves, we can end up even further lost by believing in these plastic gurus, many of whom are nothing more than charlatans. The song in essence is a nod to the idea that not everything that glitters is gold, especially when it comes to spiritual leaders. The song goes on to say, “I looked into the eyes of the plastic guru. Who lived in the mountain. He was tied to the demon.”

And in an extremely heartfelt moment during The Shadowy Light, the band paid tribute to their collaborator on that song, the late and great Bollywood playback singer Asha Bhosle. They collaborated before her passing, and during the song they had her image on the big screen as her granddaughter was brought on stage to sing her grandmother’s part. Laura couldn’t keep it together and the tears were flowing. It really was as poignant as the song itself, which is about the river of life and the journey we’re all on in our own way, seeking transition or even enlightenment.

The point of sharing this was to give an example of what I’ve always said. That you can find inspiration and spirituality in the most bizarre of places if you are open to learning and growing. Which you fail to do when you take things like yoga philosophy so dogmatically.

A teacher isn’t simply a person who shows up for you when you are ready. If you and I are receptive and awake enough, we see the possibility of learning and growing from a complete stranger. Even a drunk, from a random piece of music, or a near 60-year-old Britpopper in a red beanie hat.

Damon Albarn wasn’t trying to be followed. He wasn’t gathering people to become subservient to him or his ideas. In many ways he showed more of the real yogic way than the gurus in saffron robes who want followers and obedience. His path and that of the band reflected something simpler: that death can be a kind of rebirth, and that after losing someone you can lose sight of where life is taking you. But if you pay enough attention, that loss is actually shining a light and showing you the way. And you walk that path for yourself. And that path reveals a compassion and humanity in you that not even you know existed.

So loss isn't a death. It's a rebirth.

A philosophical thought from ancient India. Made real by the Gorillaz in Tottenham.