mountain

Kathdhara village is a riot of colour as the early evening light turns the clouds the rosy hue of Himalayan salt. Bright red chillies lie drying in front of cornflower blue doorways. The pink of a sari and the orange of marigolds pop against a backdrop of verdant terraced fields, where cabbages grow in perfect rows like a picture from a Peter Rabbit book.

Just 22 families live in this remote hamlet in Binsar Wildlife Sanctuary, in the Kumaon region of Uttarakhand, north-east India. As we stroll with our guide, Deepak, taking in views of the layered hills and soaring, snow-capped Panchachuli peaks beyond, we are welcomed by villagers tending homes and gardens, strings of Diwali fairy lights adding extra sparkle to the scene.

I’m here to explore the foothills of the Himalayas and sample village life on a walking holiday with Village Ways, a pioneer of responsible, community-based tourism in India, which is celebrating its 21st anniversary this year. Dreamed up by Manisha and Himanshu Pande, the couple who run the Khali Estate, a small hotel in the reserve, the goal is to help address urban migration and support traditional rural life through low-impact tourism. Village Ways launched in 2005 with just five villages in the reserve, which guests hike between, and now more than 30 villages are involved in different parts of the country, from Madhya Pradesh to Kerala.

“The idea was to bring the community together to run something collectively, training people in all aspects of business. Everyone has a role to play,” says Manisha. “The Village Ways model has captured the attention of the government, too, and we’re collaborating on various projects in other states now, which is exciting.”

Most accommodation is in small, village-built guesthouses sleeping up to eight, rather than homestays, and money is evenly distributed to everyone from cleaners to porters, with committees making joint decisions. Back at the Kathdhara guesthouse, we join Diwali celebrations, sharing sweets, lighting lamps and praying to the goddess Lakshmi by a makeshift shrine. We feast on a delicious thali – spicy yams, dal, hemp chutney and warm roti – and sleep soundly, cocooned by the silence of the mountains.

The next day brings blue skies, and after breakfast we set out on a gentle walk to the neighbouring Gonap village. Binsar Wildlife Sanctuary was created in 1988, a 47 sq km (18 sq mile) area to help protect the broadleaf oak forest and wildlife. For the people living here, it altered their relationship with the forest, ending tree felling and hunting – tempting many to abandon village life for the cities. Village Ways offered an alternative – former hunters turned guides, sharing knowledge of the land and wildlife with guests, and seeing outsiders’ interest in local customs and traditions renewed their sense of pride.

We hike through pristine pine, oak and rhododendron forests (come in March or April to see the land painted red, pink and white when they bloom). I’m fascinated by the Himalayan oaks, which play a key role in storing and releasing water and stabilising the land with their vast root networks. We see the bright red flowers of wild turmeric and countless medicinal plants, from goat weed (some believe the juice stops bleeding) to Indian tobacco (used for toothache).

Leopards roam here too and, though they remain elusive, we spy footprints and scat, as well as porcupine quills. But the sanctuary is best known for its amazing birdlife – more than 200 species are found here – and we stop frequently as Deepak points out the crested serpent eagle, leaf warbler, black-headed jay and noisy parakeets.

Gonap itself is tiny – home to just seven families today. We’re welcomed to the guesthouse with chai and plates of warm pakora – enjoyed with staggering mountain views as Eurasian griffon vultures float on the thermals. Deepak leads us to a tiny temple, past houses with gardens heaving with jumbo lemons and air potatoes on giant stalks, the sounds of cicadas in the air.

No roads connect the five villages in the Binsar circuit, but the paths between them offer easy walking and there’s plenty of time to rest. A higher-altitude route in the nearby Saryu and Pindar valleys, close to the border with Tibet, offers more challenging hikes. But limited time means we head back to the Khali Estate from Gonap, stopping at Zero Point lookout – the highest vantage spot in the reserve, at 2,500 metres – to gawp at the 360-degree Himalayan panorama, dominated by Nanda Devi, the second highest mountain in India.

Built 150 years ago by a British commissioner, Gen Sir Henry Ramsay, the Khali Estate makes a picturesque base, with accommodation in stone rondavel cabins and a sitting room with roaring fire. During his time in Kumaon, Ramsay is credited with developing local infrastructure, founding a leper colony in the historical capital of the region, Almora, and regulating tree felling. We delve into the estate’s history on a tour with Himanshu, poring over photos and library texts, and learn how it was also a retreat for the Nehru family and an ashram for Mahatma Gandhi. Surrounded by forest, it’s utterly peaceful. Later, I fall asleep to the distant sound of barking deer.

For visitors wanting to learn more about the region’s history and the characters who shaped it, Village Ways has launched a new itinerary, Khali in Kumaon. As well as the Binsar walks, it takes in the lakeside hill station of Nainital, where we had stopped on the 270-mile journey from Delhi. Guests will also explore Almora, with its local primary school supported by Village Ways, the museum of the Anglo-Indian hunter turned conservationist Jim Corbett, and the Gandhi trail, heading into the hills to see some of the first looms he established for homespun cotton – a symbol of economic independence and resistance to British rule – at Anasakti ashram.

But our last day is very much focused on the present, as a stream of villagers arrive at Khali from far and wide to join the anniversary celebrations. Other Village Ways founders – Brits who worked in development and tourism – are here too, and there are talks, feasting and dancing. I learn about the Village Ways charitable trust, which supports healthcare in these remote villages, training local women to run mobile clinics. Since Village Ways’ inception, it has hosted 7,000 guests, benefiting about 5,000 people, from artists to taxi drivers, according to Manisha, and 470 villagers are directly involved in decision-making as members of the village tourism committees in six states.

I buy locally made scarves and handicrafts, and many of the young villagers – now guides, cooks or porters – tell me about the positive impact tourism has had on their lives. “Since I joined as a guide three years ago I’ve learned lots about Binsar and our birds – and my English has really improved,” said 23-year-old Ashirwad Joshi from Dalar village. “I’m very happy to be part of it and share my knowledge with visitors – it makes me proud.”

When we leave the next morning for the long drive to Kathgodam and onward train journey to Delhi, it’s the feeling of mutual respect and warmth that stays with me. The challenges are many, from ageing village populations to a decline in international visitor numbers to the area since Covid, but the Village Ways mission is very much full steam ahead – taking its ethos to other parts of the country. This type of tourism – one that involves communities as partners and is collaborative rather than exploitative – benefits locals and travellers alike. In these times of division, it is to be celebrated more than ever.

The trip was provided by Village Ways, which creates bespoke itineraries, tailored to travellers’ interests. The suggested 10-day Khali in Kumaon itinerary (available until 30 May, and from 15 September to 30 November 2026) costs from £1,315pp, based on a party of four, including transfers, rail travel, accommodation and most meals

Near the top of the Grimsel Pass in Switzerland’s Bernese Oberland, a small crowd had gathered to take photographs. We were surrounded by bulky mountains and rippling glaciers, but all eyes were focused on a silvery granite chalet with apple-red shutters, its foundations deep in snow.

It was early February and, one after another, we posed in front of it as if standing beside a celebrity. Which in a way we were, because the proud building was the Grimsel Hospiz, the country’s oldest recorded mountain inn and a place that predates Westminster Abbey.

First documented in 1142 and originally built as a simple hostel – either by the Order of Saint Lazarus or the Augustinian monastery of Interlaken, no one is quite sure – today’s much-modernised Grimsel Hospiz is marooned on a spur of sheer rock and snow at 2,000 metres (6,562 ft). Over the centuries it has been inhabited by monks, used by shepherds, needy travellers and soldiers, ravaged by fire and buried by an avalanche. The mountains reach up, but it is surrounded on three sides by plunging ravines and the frozen Grimselsee, which thaws to turquoise ice floes in spring. The scenery is stupendous.

My visit began on a PostBus, the yellow stagecoaches that reach the parts of Switzerland that the railways can’t. I was south-east of the village of Meiringen, having taken a train to Innertkirchen Kraftwerk, a station built 100 years ago to service the hydroelectric power plants hidden deep in the mountains. The towering stone pines, the tumbling cliffs, the dripping snow, the sky only peeking through – it might have been the landscape of JRR Tolkien’s Middle-earth.

As the bus worked its way higher up the Aare Gorge, we saw that the road ahead was closed for winter. Instead, we were dropped at a high-security shutter leading to an underground hydropower station operated by Kraftwerke Oberhasli AG. The renewable energy plant opens for public tours and, moments later, a minibus appeared from behind the steel door to take us deeper into the mountains. We hopped on board.

A road blasted into the granite, dark and narrow, then crept through a maze of tunnels, ending four miles (6.4km) later at a tiny cable car station that opened to daylight. We looked up at the Grimselsee reservoir and Spitallamm Dam, a 113 metre-tall arch of stone above which we were soon to soar. For a century, the high-altitude lake has stored glacier meltwater to generate green electricity. Now, for visitors like me, it forms part of Grimselwelt, a Swiss Alpine tourist region, serving as a backdrop to a great tract of lonely winter wilderness.

The picture of the Grimsel Hospiz developed as we rose on the cable car, like a photo going from faded to sharp. The uninhabited valleys beyond led to the Unteraargletscher, an eight-mile leviathan of ice and the Alps’ fifth-largest glacier. From the cable car, I made out a group of horned ibex as they clambered with ease over the col.

It was the Celts, then Romans, who first used the Grimsel Pass, but it has been an important locus in Alpine culture for centuries: a trade route between Berne and Upper Valais in the middle ages, a strategic camp for raids and war campaigns between Swiss, French, German and Austrian armies, a setting for pioneering glacier research. All these aspects combine in a single story at the Grimsel Hospiz.

What lends the mountain inn so much credibility today is its environmental outlook. Located within the Unesco World Heritage Swiss Alps Jungfrau-Aletsch region, the 28-room hotel is in the midst of a critical wildlife habitat, meaning all winter sports are banned. Ski gear is prohibited by the hotel’s management and it cannot be transported on the cable car. The Alps have always been the preserve of travellers keen on activities that take serious effort, but here is an antidote to every other winter destination, a rare meditative place where doing nothing is the only thing to do.

The only activity on offer is snowshoeing and even that is restricted to a 500-metre loop around the inn’s tower-like granite porches and wooden and copper-roofed chapel. It might be “the shortest winter trail in Switzerland”, as manager Markus Meier put it, but it still took me an hour as I kept stopping to take photos.

Inside is a fantasy mountain inn, the result of sensitive restorations: a huge wooden door creaks open and you step into corridors leading to cosy double rooms, intimate lounges, fireplaces and a restaurant where dinner is accompanied by one of 250 bottles from one of Europe’s highest-altitude wine cellars. Back in 1932, the guesthouse caused a sensation as the continent’s first electrically heated hotel. Now, the building is sustainably powered by clean energy and waste heat from the hydroelectric plant below.

As evening fell, it was time for the inn’s only other activity: staring at the flaring sunset and night sky from its outdoor wooden barrel sauna and hot tub. The air was bracingly cold, the constellations appeared and it was just me, the burbling water and the mountains stretching away into darkness. Forget any thoughts of Alpine heroes such as George Mallory or Edward Whymper. That night, down to my cossie in -10C (14F), tiptoeing across the snow in a pair of felt slippers and dwarfed by mountains, I was the bravest man in the Alps.

At nearly 2,000 metres, dinner is another event. The four-course menu produced by Slovakian chef Roman Crkon is hardly the stuff of traditional refuges. I’ve had my share of mountain meals, but I’ve never had veal sweetbreads, scallops, chicken with truffle cream and a cheese board at high altitude. In 1544, a local chronicler wrote that the Grimsel Hospiz was all about “good wine, brought by pack animals across the mountains”. Looking at the card games and excessive drinking around me, little had changed.

Later, just before bed, I slipped outside to gaze again at the stars. It was pine needle-drop quiet. Though I was separated from some of Switzerland’s most popular resort towns by only a few miles as the eagle flies, I felt engulfed by the Alps in their entirety. Tomorrow, another day with nothing to do beyond the confines of the inn awaited. But in a landscape like this, I was thrilled to have fallen off the map, out of time, into winter’s grasp.

The trip was provided by Jungfrau Region and Historic Alpine Hotel Grimsel Hospiz (Wednesday to Sunday only; grimselwelt.ch). Rooms from £165pp a night, including breakfast, afternoon tea, hot tub and wooden barrel sauna. A four-course dinner costs £85. Return bus, tunnel and cable car transfers cost £70

It’s a Wednesday afternoon in West Hollywood, one day after the city was blanketed in a light coating of rain. The midday sun has only just begun to peek through the overcast sky.

Its beams are slightly more vivid through the large windows of the Edition, which sit at the edge of a secluded area of the hotel. Jamie Hewlett sits at a wooden table stirring a cappucino with a black straw.

“I mean, who drinks out of a straw when you get past the age of 10, right?” he says, jokingly. After 25 years of bouncing around the globe with Gorillaz, he’s still longing for a jet lag cure. Coffee can only do so much.

Leaning back in his chair, in a suave, all-beige outfit, he starts to grin while recounting his day in Los Angeles.

“We’ve been walking around the streets having a very rare morning off together. We bought some weed, which is always one of the most wonderful things about this state,” he recalls.

He also finds humor in L.A.’s obsession with driver-less food delivery.

“Every time we saw a post-bot driving down the road, we stopped and doffed our caps. … In the future, when robots take over and destroy us all, they’ll remember me for being nice to the post-bot!”

It’s been a long few weeks for Hewlett and bandmate Damon Albarn as they roll out the group’s latest endeavor, “The Mountain,” out Friday. Just one day prior, “House of Kong” opened at Rolling Greens in downtown L.A. The exhibition, initially intended as a Gorillaz 25th anniversary event, has landed on the West Coast.

“I think with this album, we were both quite happy with what we’ve done … and feeling like it was an honest, genuine adventure that was taken, and what we’ve given is something that we’re proud of,” Hewlett says.

He and Albarn are also artists at heart and in nature. It’s why Gorillaz continues to look and sound the way it does, and why the group is consistently pushing the agenda of how a nonexistent band can still resonate with a group of fans who are very much alive.

“The process, the research, the putting it together, the making of it is really fun, and the delivery of it is kind of like a mini death syndrome,” he says. “What you’re required to do is get straight on to the next thing, and you won’t have any time to waste thinking about the fact that the completion of that left you feeling numb, because then you’re excited about the next project.”

He adds that Albarn, similarly, is like a “kid in a sweet shop” when he’s making music: “The moment it’s finished, there’s no interest in discussing it.”

Even so, the album is undeniably their most intimate in recent history.

Perhaps it’s something to do with the experience of grief that the two lived through, losing their fathers only 10 days apart and just before a trip to India. Or maybe it’s a testament to the process behind “The Mountain,” which saw Hewlett and Albarn travel the country, spending more time together there than during previous album productions.

“It’s weird, because I’m born 10 days after Damon… the idea presented itself, and at that point we were going down that road, and there was no avoiding it… It wasn’t even necessarily going to be a Gorillaz project; ‘Let’s go together and see what happens.’ ”

“I completely fell in love with the place and got into their whole concept of death,” Hewlett says of India.

(Blair Brown)

Hewlett says the album was also inspired by his late mother-in-law, Amo, who was diagnosed with cancer in 2010 and opted for Eastern medicine instead of chemo.

“She said, ‘No, I’m going to India.’ … She was into Ayurveda medicine and knew this doctor, and she spent three months in India [being treated]. When she came back, her cancer had gone. In France, they call her in for a checkup, and they give her a scan. They say, ‘Where’s your cancer gone?’ She said, ‘I’ve been in India,’ and they say, ‘We don’t believe in that.’ ”

It wouldn’t be until 2022 when Jamie visited India himself, under unfortunate circumstances. He was in Belgrade with Albarn shooting the second video from “Cracker Island” when he received a call from his brother-in-law, who said that Amo had just had a stroke.

“They said they saved her, but she went into a coma. I was on a plane to India as quickly as I could get a visa, which wasn’t easy at the Indian Embassy in London,” he said. “I spent eight weeks with my wife, Emma, in Jaipur, dealing with that, in a public hospital during a pneumonia epidemic… having that experience that was traumatic; it should have been a reason for me to never go back to India ever again.”

But during his time there, it became clear that being in the country had the opposite effect on him.

“I completely fell in love with the place and got into their whole concept of death. … We met a lot of families who became friends of ours because we were at the hospital every day,” he continued.

“A loved one who was dying, who was in tears because they knew they were going to die, but also there was a celebration about the fact that they were coming back,” he said. “Their understanding of the cycle of life is a lot more appealing to me.”

Shortly after, Hewlett returned to Europe and went straight to Albarn with an idea: “I said, ‘We have to go to India, it’s so amazing,’ and of all the places he’d been around the world, that was the place he still hadn’t been. So we decided to go.”

Albarn first visited India in May 2024 alongside Hewlett.

(Blair Brown)

“The Mountain” is, as expected, heavily doused with notions on the concept of death. Inevitably, the question arose: “How can we make an album about death that would leave the listener feeling optimistic?”

But Gorillaz has always been a group entwined with different, equally heavy topics. On “Plastic Beach,” they tackle the climate crisis and human extinction. The enchanting and rhythmic “Dirty Harry” also examines war and soldiers, with its single cover even giving a nod to Stanley Kubrick’s “Full Metal Jacket.”

The tone Gorillaz achieved on “The Mountain” is an extension of that.

“The Happy Dictator,” released as the lead single in September, parodies megalomaniac Saparmurat Niyazov’s approach to governing in Turkmenistan. As Sparks produce stunning vocals, singing “I am the one to give you life again,” Gorillaz fictional frontman 2-D (voiced by Albarn) breaks in to pronounce, “No more bad news!”

Equally as enjoyable is “The God of Lying,” the third single released, featuring Idles. Joe Talbot hauntingly asks, “Do you love your blessed father? / Anoint by fear of death / Do you feel the lies creep on by? / As soft as baby’s breath.” It’s a bouncy song that could have been pulled straight out of the band’s self-titled debut, all the way back from 2001.

Even so, it feels criminal to compare it with the band’s earlier catalog, given that Hewlett and Albarn are artists in “perpetual motion.” This has resulted in some of their most sonically and visually impressive work — with styles and genres consistently shifting — but also asks the listener to be willing to evolve with them.

“I think art has to be an evolution,” Hewlett explains. “I know what David Hockney does at 88 years old, still smoking and drinking his red wine. He wakes up every day … and he does something new, and then the next day he does something new, and that promotes longevity. He’s never bored.”

Gorillaz’s exhibition in “House of Kong” seems to be contradictory in its existence, more or less serving as a retrospective from a band that not only doesn’t like to look in the rearview, but likely has it taped over altogether.

But it’s also an organic experience, teeming with originality, despite its familiar marketing as an “immersive experience.” It’s more comparable to something out of a Disney or Universal theme park than another gallery that merely projects video onto a wall.

“Down here at Kong, we are creating something that … only really existed in Jamie’s drawings and animations and in the minds of the fans of Gorillaz,” says Stephen Gallagher of Block9. He served as creative director on the project but has worked with the band since 2018 and previously collaborated with Banksy for his “The Walled Off Hotel” and “Dismaland.”

“I’d had this idea already: ‘What about if we built a film studio, and then you could do a backstage tour, and you’re seeing behind the scenes of the making of all of these music videos?’ ” he continued. “Then that evolved, and it became the ‘House of Kong.’ ”

As for why the exhibition landed in L.A. for its second showing, Hewlett compares the city to Shanghai when it was “still free and decadent and swinging.”

“I love L.A. … I love it. I’ve been coming here since I was 19 years old. … L.A. might be the last one [showing], to be honest,” he says. “All that stuff in the exhibition belongs to me; this is part of my lifelong collection of weird s—!”

“I’d love to get it back at some point,” he jokes.

THE musician and the visual artist . . . two lives shaped by shared experience and creative endeavour. 

Damon Albarn was born on March 23, 1968, and eleven days later, on April 3, his chief collaborator, Jamie Hewlett, came into the world. 

In 1998, after bonding while sharing a flat, they dreamed up virtual band Gorillaz, a vehicle for wild flights of imagination. 

Fronted by cartoon characters 2-D, Murdoc Niccals, Russel Hobbs and Noodle, Gorillaz have blurred musical styles, crossed generations and involved numerous nationalities in their songs for more than 25 years. 

“We’re the Alan Whicker of bands,” declares Hewlett, in reference to the globe-trotting broadcaster. 

“More Michael Palin,” interjects Albarn. “He’s nicer and also very funny.” 

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In 2023/24, sad events conspired to take Damon and Jamie in a new direction — to that vibrant, teeming country of 1.4billion people, India.  

The result is the Gorillaz ninth album, The Mountain, with its title inscribed in Devanagari script on the cover. 

Performed in five languages — Hindi, English, Arabic, Spanish and Yoruba — it features a host of stellar guests, most living but some no longer with us. 

The musicians come from different corners of the globe, India, Syria, the US, Argentina, Nigeria, and, of course, the UK. 

Albarn says: “The original impetus came from quite a tragic story. We were in Belgrade finishing off a video when Jamie got a call from Jaipur in India. It was from his wife Emma, saying, ‘My mum’s in a coma’.” 

Hewlett picks up the story: “They had been there for a month at an Ayurvedic retreat (a system focused on balancing mind, body and spirit). 

“They had packed their suitcases, had called a taxi and were just on their way home when my mother-in-law had a stroke.  

“She was rushed to the closest hospital in Jaipur — it’s all about speed when you have a stroke.” 

So on December 4, 2022, Hewlett arranged to fly from Serbia to India and so began “eight weeks of daily hospital visits hoping she might wake up”. 

Sadly, his mother-in-law didn’t make it, leaving Hewlett to reflect: “It was a very traumatic experience but, in between those visits, we were able to explore Jaipur. 

“I just fell in love with the place. The people were so warm and I discovered that the whole subject of death is viewed from a very different perspective.” 

He’s alluding to the fact that Hinduism sees passing away as a natural transition — a temporary pause for the eternal soul rather than a final end. 

Hewlett continues: “When I was in the hospital, people were visiting loved ones who were dying. 

“There were tears but, at the same time, there was a feeling of celebration in the belief that they were coming back in an another form.” 

This got Hewlett thinking about possibilities for Gorillaz, his visual playground. 

“Damon was in touch with me the whole time I was there,” he says. “When I came home, I said to him, ‘We need to go to India together to see if we can do something’. A year later (after Blur’s epic reunion), we were off.” 

Albarn says: “I saw it as the perfect opportunity to give the whole world of Gorillaz a nice, new kickstart. I was just waiting for an excuse to go there.  

“I grew up in Leytonstone where my school was 30/40 per cent Asian. My dad was very into Indian classical music so I was genuinely listening to (sitar player) Ravi Shankar at the same time as The Beatles.” 

Albarn also saw visiting India as a perfect opportunity to spend quality time with Hewlett.  

“We enjoy each other’s company,” he says. “We’ve got an awful lot in common and our taste is very similar.” 

Hewlett nods in agreement and adds: “We thrive on finding ourselves in different cultures — and there’s so much to take from a place like India, even if somewhere as big as that can’t be grappled with immediately.” 

And Albarn again: “The first time you go there, you’re just so bewitched by the place.” 

With their sights set on a Gorillaz album drawing on Indian music, two more devastating events were to bring the pair even closer together — and the project into even sharper relief. 

In July 2024, some time after an initial foray to the subcontinent, Albarn’s dad Keith died. Ten days later, Hewlett lost his father.  

For Albarn, a return to India offered him a degree of solace. He journeyed to the ancient city of Varanasi to scatter his dad’s ashes in the Ganges. Keith had been a respected artist, designer and teacher who loved Indian culture. 

“Grief manifests itself in so many ways,” says Albarn.

“You don’t overcome it but you can learn to accept it and going to Varanasi definitely helped. 

“This place has been inhabited for 5,000 years and it’s where families have burned their loved ones every day, every night, for all that time.  

“The fire rituals are wonderful, so poetic — almost like an inhalation and an exhalation.  

“The idea that people pause at sunset, light fires and sing is so beautiful. Harder to do in northern Europe where cloud can bruise the spirit!” 

Albarn goes on to describe, “something I learned, which is a useful life lesson,” from taking a loved one’s ashes to the Ganges. 

“Don’t stress yourself by thinking too much,” he affirms. “At moments like that, don’t think of anything — empty your mind. 

“Emptiness is a beautiful thing and there’s infinite possibility within it. We mention ‘the void’ a lot on this record.” 

For Albarn, the album’s starting point was his gorgeous melody, which morphed into the title track and opener, The Mountain. He calls it the LP’s “signature tune”.  

The finished piece is blessed with sublime playing by Ajay Prasanna on bansuri, a traditional bamboo flute, with Anoushka Shankar, daughter of the late, great Ravi, on sitar. 

Albarn says: “Once I met Ajay and he’d played his bansuri, I thought, ‘I’m never letting this gentleman out of my sight again’. He’s an amazing person. 

“You give him a melody and he turns it into something godlike.” 

As for the contribution of Anoushka, whose mastery of the sitar echoes the work of her legendary father, he says: “I could hardly imagine the idea that I was going to play with one of the Shankar family.” 

Hewlett says: “If you’ve never been to India, you find yourself mentally transported there just by this song. It’s almost like the beginning of a movie.” 

The Mountain is the first of several tracks to feature the voices of the dear departed, in this case maverick actor and film-maker Dennis Hopper. 

Elsewhere, there are contributions from one-time Gorillaz collaborators who have since died — soul singer Bobby Womack, Dave Jolicoeur of De La Soul, The Fall’s Mark E Smith, rapper Proof and Albarn’s long-time associate, drummer Tony Allen. 

Their inclusion is a poignant way of saying: They may have gone but they live on in some way. 

Albarn says: “I think of a mountain as a manifestation of reincarnation because, if you think about it, a mountain is formed through chaos and tectonic shifts. The change in everything creates something new.” 

The Mountain gave Hewlett all the inspiration he needed to begin conjuring up the exotic, beautifully realised imagery, which is so crucial to this Gorillaz project.  

He says: “I guess the biggest challenge for me was that we were dealing with a subject that is more grown up than in the past. 

“How should the characters behave because usually there’s a lot of sarcasm and jokes? 

“So I was thinking about how to tell the story in a respectful way but also maintain a level of fun.” 

Hewlett admits: “We didn’t rush into this one — a lot of work ended up going in the dustbin for both of us, musically and visually, until we got on the right course. But when Damon gave me this piece of music and called it The Mountain, that was the starting point. Everything opened up for me.” 

Of all the myriad guests on the album, perhaps the most notable is 92-year-old Asha Bhosle, one of the most revered singers in Hindi cinema, who sings on the shimmering, life-affirming The Shadowy Light. 

Albarn says: “She’s one of the most important living Indian singers — and maybe even the best. 

“Everyone in India knows her music, she’s had hundreds of billions of streams.” 

And Hewlett adds: “Damon managed to get her to sing for us in her apartment in Mumbai. He used his charm and she was very comfortable with him.” 

If India is central to The Mountain, no Gorillaz record would be complete without sounds of various cultures.  

The Happy Dictator, with eccentric American duo Ron and Russell Mael of Sparks providing the chorus, began life in Ashgabat, the capital of Turkmenistan, a dictatorship in central Asia. 

“That’s where I got the idea,” reports Albarn. “I went there with my daughter. “We have a father-daughter holiday every year, and we’ve been to North Korea, China and Turkmenistan.  

“This year we’re going to Georgia. We share a real passion for the remnants of communism and the possibility of future socialism.” 

So what’s Turkmenistan like and why call a song The Happy Dictator? I venture.  

Albarn answers: “It’s a very barren place, almost entirely desert, with this pristine modern city of Ashgabat, which is made almost entirely of white marble. 

“Being in that society, I realised that they are given no bad news. They had no news at all, really.” 

Another fabulous song is Damascus, which rekindles Albarn’s abiding love of Syrian music.  

You may recall when he helped assemble the Orchestra Of Syrian Musicians in London while civil war raged in their home country. 

For Damascus, Gorillaz employed the services of Omar Souleyman, one of the country’s pre-eminent singers, alongside American rapper Yasiin Bey (formerly Mos Def). 

With Syria still in state of flux after the toppling of the cruel Assad regime, Albarn says: “I wouldn’t go there at the moment but I did go to Mali (a favourite destination) in December, even if I was absolutely told not to. 

“I didn’t find it anywhere near as dangerous as everyone says it is and I would definitely go back.” 

This feeds into the notion that Gorillaz has no borders, that it’s an example of how multiculturalism can break down division and strife. 

“Not only is it the right way forward but it’s the most important way forward,” says Albarn.  

“Isolationism and the idea of demonising people from other cultures is not correct — and it’s profoundly dangerous.” 

So that’s why we hear the freewheeling rap of The Roots’ Black Thought on a track like The Empty Dream Machine, which also harnesses the guitar power of Johnny Marr and more sitar from Anoushka. 

And why Albarn’s expressive tones are matched with Argentinian Trueno rapping in Spanish and telling words recorded by American rapper Proof not long before he was shot dead in 2006. 

Let’s not forget that love and loss loom large on this record.  

On Casablanca, again featuring Marr as well as The Clash bassist Paul Simonon, Albarn sings: “I don’t know anything that feels like this/I don’t know anything that hits like this.” 

Simonon has been a member of The Good The Bad & Queen with Albarn and the late Afrobeat pioneer Tony Allen. 

You hear Allen intoning, “We are ready, let’s go,” on The Hardest Thing before Damon, clearly with his father in mind, sings: “You know the hardest thing is to say goodbye to someone you love.” 

Albarn says, “We definitely put a lot of love into this record,” and Hewlett signs off with, “There’s more to come. We’re not finished yet.” 

It’s anyone’s guess where in the world those Gorillaz masterminds will pitch up next. 

GORILLAZ 

The Mountain 

★★★★★

THE birch trees either side of us become a blur as we speed through the snowy woodland, our sled being masterfully pulled by a pack of energetic dogs.

Looking up, I spot a sheet of vibrant green and fiery pink spread across the night sky.

It had always been a dream of mine to experience the elusive Northern Lights.

Now I was getting the chance to do it in the best way possible: a Norwegian Fjords voyage.

February is one of the best times of year to see the natural phenomenon in Norway, although you stand a pretty good chance at any point from late September to April.

My partner Gemma and I were travelling with Ambassador Cruise Line, which has affordable sailings from the UK, removing the need for a flight.

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Our home for the next couple of weeks, Ambition, was a modern 1,200-passenger vessel that oozes glamour with plenty of polished wood and brass, and a cosy, relaxed ambience.

Cabins are luxurious, spotless and well-appointed — refreshed each day by doting “butlers”.

Everyone on board has a complimentary dining place in either the light and airy Buckingham restaurant or smaller, more intimate Holyrood, both of which serve high-quality food with plenty of options for vegetarians like Gemma.

There is also the buffet-style Borough Market which serves delicious meals from early to late.

Plus there is speciality dining such as the fabulous Saffron, an Indian restaurant which left Gemma in raptures about the veggie selection platter.

The highlight for me, however, was the Chef’s Table experience where we were treated to a fascinating tour of the ship’s galleys before executive chef Cleo Murzello showcased his culinary skills in nine sensational courses paired with wines.

Just be prepared that you won’t feel able to move from your seat afterwards!

When we weren’t exploring the fjords, on board entertainment kept us busy every day with games — we couldn’t keep away from the high-prize £3-a-play bingo — West-End worthy theatre performances and fascinating talks including how to photograph the Aurora Borealis.

With seven bars, six restaurants, a shopping galleria, library, games room and incredible spa there’s always something going on.

Then there’s the shore experiences with everything from snowshoeing and rib-boat riding to ice bars visits and cable car trips available.

On our first morning in Norway, we woke to see low rocky islands sliding past as we got our first glimpse of the fjords — the long sea inlets between majestic mountains.

Alesund is one of Norway’s most beautiful towns. The best way to see it is to climb the 418 steps to its hillside view point and reward yourself with a svele pancake from the cafe at the top.

Then wander around the shops filled with the Norwegian obsession of trolls and slippers, then the gorgeous harbour.

Next morning, after crossing into the Arctic Circle, Ambition glided between snow-covered peaks up Straumsfjorden to the city of Tromso.

Here we took the mountain cable car to the top of snow-clad Storsteinen, 1,382ft above sea level.

The views were spectacular — as was the high-altitude beer at the summit cafe.

But it wasn’t until our evening dog-sledding adventure that we finally got what we came for.

As darkness fell the night sky began to bubble and split.

From behind the dark mass of mountains, a collection of dancing green fingers reached upward and outwards, curling and filling the sky.

It couldn’t have been a more perfect setting as the panting huskies ploughed through the snow.

More excitement was to come, though.

Cruise stops include the frozen port of Alta, in the Finnmark area of northern Norway, home of the Sami people.

Those keen to learn about the culture can book tours which include a visit to a village and reindeer sledding.

Instead, we headed to Alta Museum to take in some of the 6,000 amazing rock paintings dating from 4,200BC, discovered in 1973.

If ice snow experiences are more your thing, try the port of Narvik, home to a breathtaking Arctic train ride and polar wildlife park.

Or there’s the city of Bergen, where you can pick up souvenirs from local shops that line the cobbled streets.

I may have returned home with a pair of troll slippers but it’s the memory of Northern Lights that I’ll be cherishing for years to come.

Even the pictures on my phone don’t do it justice.