Stop all the clocks. Cut off the telephone. Today is no normal day. I’ve been tasked with interviewing British band Gorillaz about their forthcoming sixth album, The Now Now. Their manager has already informed me it’s impossible to get everyone in one place, so I have to find them myself based on some very vague information. Murdoc, I already know, is in jail. Noodle, I’m told, is across town somewhere. And right now, 2D and Russel are sat opposite me, in a tiny west London greasy spoon called The Coffee Cup Cafe.

I can’t quite place my finger on it, but there is definitely something about the usually passive and dreamy 2D that is new and strange. He appears to be bolder, more empowered, sitting forward in his chair. As we talk, he occasionally leaps up to wildly gesticulate with his hands.

All I know so far about the new Gorillaz album is this: following the transformative experiences of last year Gorillaz began to write and record new songs inspired by what’s happening now, right now. And when they were finished they called it The Now Now.

“I’m talking, Russ,” says 2D. “If you mean why did I pick here? Partly TripAdvisor, but also ‘cos of a dream vision I had, in which I journeyed here in my mind, having taken the number 72 bus – in my mind. And when I finally got here I saw something beautiful – they do curly fries.”

“Hmm, complex question,” replies 2D. “Nothing made me. I am the Beginning and the End, the Alpha and the… Amiga. Omega 3? O-Megadrive?”

“What made you choose this cafe for our interview?” I ask, and wait for an answer, but he stares straight past me, like he’s in some sort of yogic trance. I give Russel a look and he turns to 2D and takes two small wireless headphones out of his ears. I ask the same thing again.

The cafe is small and narrow, the kinda place with 11 different variations on the full English breakfast, all for under a fiver. 2D is wearing a turquoise and black sweater and a brown fedora with a badge of a clenched fist on it. He’s booked out the whole of The Coffee Cup Cafe for our interview. There are five tables. A large plate of chicken nuggets and curly fries is brought to us, and 2D smiles like an emperor.

“I feel you,” I say, unconvincingly. “So, when did this transformation happen?” I ask, but he ignores me and shoves a ridiculously large handful of chicken nuggets into his mouth, then shouts to the waiter to fetch him some “Guatemalan truffle oil”. The waiter looks confused and brings a bottle of Daddies brown sauce.

“Did you know that every time I click my fingers, a chicken dies?” says 2D, becoming increasingly animated, “Yeah, I know, it’s messed up. So what I do, and what we can all do – is stop clicking our fingers. Save some chickens. We all got the power. You feel me?”

He starts clicking his fingers loudly, once every second. The waiter behind the till looks over at us.

“Well, seeming is believing, as they say,” he replies. “Yeah, I feel good. Sharp, like a pebble. But one that’s been sharpened. I’m focused, I know what I have to do now. The world is in trouble, bad stuff is happening. For example…”

With no word of warning, 2D wanders off to speak to the waiter, and I overhear him saying something constructive but critical about the curliness of the curly fries. I try to imagine him as a preacher man, delivering eternal truths to the masses and holding the feet of power to the fire. It’s not an easy scenario to conjure, no matter how much wisdom Russel is feeding him.

I ask Russel what he makes of the new 2D? “It’s not like we bought a new one from the store,” he shrugs. “He’s just evolving. Like the world right now. We’re in a storm, pulling us in all directions. And in the dark of a storm, you need a lighthouse to guide you out. 2D is that lighthouse.”

Just as I’m about to ask my next question, a pale yellow 1973 Oldsmobile Delta 88 Royale screeches to a halt outside the front window of the cafe. I recognise it as the same car that Bruce Campbell drove in the old Evil Dead movies. The window winds down and a spindly green hand begins to beckon in our direction. I soon realise it’s Ace, the new bassist who’s replacing Murdoc while he’s locked up.

“With these extra eyes I am able to see into the heart of things,” says 2D “like one of those X-rays at the airport where they look at your pants.”

“Nothing with my actual eyes,” he replies immediately, “they can deceive you. I see with my other eye, my turd eye.”

“What have you seen recently that has influenced how you think about the world?” I ask 2D, as he sits back down.

Earlier this year, I was watching highlights of the Kentucky Derby, and noticed Noodle in the crowd with Ace. It wasn’t the only weird thing at the Kentucky Derby – there was also a horse in the race with “Free Murdoc” written down its leg.

Across town I find Noodle in a gym not far from the Gorillaz recording studio. This morning’s Jiu-jitsu class has finished, the students have all left and Noodle is sat on the wooden floor in a bomber jacket and shorts, reading Original Stories from Real Life; with Conversations Calculated to Regulate the Affections, and Form the Mind to Truth and Goodness while “Touch Absence” by Lanark Artefax booms from the speakers in the corner. She puts the book down and stands up as I walk towards her.

Russel zips up his green trench coat, and tips his fireman’s helmet towards me, and I notice it has the same clenched fist logo on it as 2D’s badge. “Follow the trail of cigarette butts and restraining orders,” he smiles glibly.

“One last question,” I plead, as Russel and 2D begin making their way to the door. “Where can I actually find Murdoc? What prison is he in?”

“You saw me, or you think you saw me?” begins Noodle. “It is hard to know the difference these days. As Einstein says, reality is merely an illusion, albeit a very persistent one. Never has that been more relevant. ”

Suddenly, she does a lightning quick manoeuvre and sweeps my legs from beneath me. I look up at her, helpless, like a tortoise on its back in the desert.

“Helps break the ice, no?” says Noodle.

“Sure,” I say, still on my back. “So… How are Gorillaz doing at the moment? Is everyone in a good place?

“There is no ‘good place’ for Gorillaz,” she counters. “We are always between places, never staying still. For now, Murdoc is in a place with lots of bars and locks. Russel is trying to put the world back together, like it’s a broken teapot. 2D is… well, in a new place. Less fragile, somehow, stronger. It’s weird. He’s even stopped watching Gilmore Girls.”

“So, do you still enjoy being in Gorillaz?”

“I would not say that I am ‘in’ Gorillaz, but that Gorillaz is in me. It is a way of being. A feeling, a rebellion maybe, that we will not be controlled or do what is expected. I don’t know if I enjoy it, but I can’t escape it either. A bit like Tom Cruise and the Mission Impossible franchise.”

“Could you ever see yourself breaking off and going it alone?”