Greetings, angry readers of The Daily Beast.. For those of you too out of touch to know me, my name is Murdoc F. Niccals. I’m the founder and bass player of global music phenomenon Gorillaz. If you’re wondering why a pop music icon is writing a piece for The Daily Beast, the truth is, it was an administrative fuck-up. This was supposed to be a promo for our hit new album Song Machine Season One: Strange Timez, reaching out to our usual demographic. But it seems our PR intern Julian has no idea what The Daily Beast is.
As he was tearfully clearing his desk and sweeping his belongings into a cardboard box, I explained to Julian that the readers of a politically charged online tabloid are not our target market. Especially not right now at this butt-clenching crossroads in human history. Read the room, mate! Everyone’s on edge, in case it goes tits-up again like it did four years ago. And if the unthinkable does happen, millions of Americans are going to be waking up to the mother of all existential hangovers.
ORDER ‘SONG MACHINE SEASON ONE: STRANGE TIMEZ’ HERE
But that’s when it hit me. Maybe there is something I can bring to The Daily Beast. Rest assured, I’m not about to stick my celebrity hooter into politics (but you know, best of luck to you, Kanye). Not my department, mate. But as one of Britain’s most cherished hell-raisers, something I can speak on with world-leading authority is how to handle a soul-crushing comedown. Not the sort you can remedy with a mimosa and a brisk autumn walk. I’m talking about those ones where the blood pumping through your noggin is liquid dread, and just staggering to the bog is like trying to conquer El Capitan on crutches.
Because let’s be honest, if things go sideways on Tuesday, that’s going to be you. Curled up on the floor, cradling your knees, trying to sob but all that comes forth is a dry rasp. But fear not, America: I’m here to help. Your guru for the morning after the night before. Over the years I’ve developed a number of weapons-grade hangover survival techniques that will ease your mental journey through the grave new world you’ve woken up in. So here it is, the Murdoc Niccals guide to hangover survival. Word of warning: this is pro-level stuff. I don’t share it lightly. You’re welcome.
#1. Walk into the sea.
This is something I like to start the day with. If I’m feeling particularly bereft, there’s nothing more invigorating than strolling fully clothed into the ocean. The key is to keep walking until the water is fully over your head so you’re in grave danger of drowning. The near-death experience will really put things in perspective, and (with a favorable tide) you will walk out again reborn. But do make sure to inform the Coast Guard before you go in.
#2. Spend time with animals.
There’s nothing more revitalizing than the company of God’s creatures, especially the really stupid ones. I once sat on a cow for an hour, in a field just outside Oxford, as dawn broke. I rested my head on its neck, just lay there feeling it breathe. It really helped quiet the vortex of paranoia and anxiety. All those voices in my head. Will life ever be the same again? Is there any point going on? One look in those bovine eyes will sort you right out. He doesn’t give a shit, does he? Couldn’t care less about your existential peril. And he’s the one scheduled to be divided into a thousand burgers.
#3. Read peer-reviewed articles about the heat death of the universe.
When I’ve really gone at it too hard and my world is collapsing into a black hole, it’s wonderfully comforting to read extremely dry quantum theorists explain in calm detail that everything will be annihilated in the end anyway, so you may as well just relax and have a nice day. Recognizing your cosmic insignificance can be a real tonic, even though personally I find this one a bit difficult, as it’s hard to imagine a universe without me at the center of it. Greatness does that to a person. But for you guys it should be quite effective.
#4. Phone an old acquaintance.
Call someone you haven’t spoken to for a while because you strongly dislike them, and lay out in detail exactly how you feel. Really let rip, don’t hold anything back. Make sure to jot down some bullet points beforehand so you don’t miss anything. Roast the bastard. Then hang up. You might need to do two or three people until you start to feel the benefit.
#5. Listen to the sound of children’s laughter.
There are few more uplifting sounds in the world than innocent, carefree laughter. Get enough of that in your ears and you’ll start to feel little beams of warm hope crackling through your carapace of misery. The tricky thing is where to find it. School playgrounds are the obvious place, but it tends to spook people out.
#6. Savor the joy of artisan confectionary.
After a historic bender, I like to walk into my local patisserie, purchase the most ornate handmade gateaux they’ve got, preferably one with at least two tiers that’s taken several days to construct. Then I walk outside and hurl it down the middle of the street. I usually opt for an Olympic shot-put technique to get some real heft on the launch. Or sometimes I’ll climb a nearby building or lamppost for increased elevation on the throw. It’s extremely cathartic.
#7. Bury yourself in the garden.
Right, we’re getting into some of the more advanced techniques now. This is one I save for special occasions. What I do is hire some gravediggers to dig me a deep hole in the back lawn. Then I climb in and have them shovel the soil back onto me. Give myself back to the earth. About 36 hours down there usually does it. NB: you’ll need to fashion some kind of air funnel. Very important.
#8. Take out a hit on yourself.
This one really is a last resort, for when you’re so psychologically and emotionally crushed that only pure, heart-pounding terror will jump-start a recovery. What I do is I trawl the dark web, find myself a hitman (or woman, of course!)—someone with at least a 4.5-star trust rating so you know they’ll get the job done. Transfer the bitcoin, set them two days to hunt me down and assassinate me, then start running. Tell you what, it really gets the old heart pumping! There’s so much gut-wrenching adrenaline flooding your system that your previous concerns vamoose. If you survive the two days, you’ll feel terrific, with a fully restored life-force. If you don’t, well, hangover’s still gone, isn’t it. So it’s a win-win.
So that’s it then. Hopefully you’ll find something helpful in there. And whichever way it goes on Tuesday, I heartily recommend soundtracking your joy or despair with my new album, Song Machine Season One: Strange Timez. Cheers.
