Damon Albarn needs a hobby. In the five years since 'Demon Days', the Gorillaz mastermind has formed a supergroup (The Good, The Bad and The Queen), written and staged an opera ? in Chinese ('Monkey: Journey To The West'), reunited Blur, teamed up with Massive Attack, and, now, created the most ambitious work of his career ('Plastic Beach').

As overstuffed and diverse as his professional life, the sprawling concept album mashes up vintage soul with electro and recruits everyone from Snoop Dogg to The Lebanese National Orchestra for Oriental Arabic Music in the telling of an environmentally-themed parable of consumerism. Or something.

The back story goes a little something like this: the virtual band ? created by Albarn and cartoonist Jamie Hewlitt ? recorded their opus on a secret floating South Pacific island made up of humanity's detritus, debris and washed up remnants. So there are songs about fast food, capitalism, Styrofoam, recycling, water, junk, war, and plastic shopping bags, tenuously linked by a vague narrative that goes AWOL after about 15 minutes.

Not that you'll notice. 'Plastic Beach' is really about the music ? the songs, the experimentation, the guests. And, on this 16-track collection, there's plenty of each. On the brassy funk of 'Welcome To The World Of The Plastic Beach' Snoop does what it says on the can. The electro-groove of 'Stylo' pairs Mos Def's laidback flow with the euphoric vocal outbursts of reclusive soul legend Bobby Womack.

Playful, KFC-baiting 'Superfast Jellyfish' contrasts De La Soul's dopey rapping and the sweet folk of Super Furry Animal Gruff Rhys. Failed attempt to recreate the Shaun Ryder-powered 'Dare', the bleeping electro-sleaze that is 'Glitter Freeze' rides on a very brief cameo from crankiest-man-in-rock, The Fall's Mark E. Smith.

The Clash guitarist Mick Jones and bassist Paul Simonon provide equally nondescript contributions to the lazy Casio-keyboard-synthpop title track. But, in comparison, the second-crankiest-man-in-rock, Lou Reed, just won't shut up on the surprisingly sunny 'Some Kind Of Nature', while a returning Womack, appearing on record for the first time in over a decade, is the bleeding heart of tear-jerker 'Cloud Of Unknowing'.

A motley ? and sometimes patchy ? bunch of singers and songs, for sure, they're quite literally held together by Albarn the producer and performer. Even on fully-formed tracks like 'Stylo', he's there to fill the void between rap and Motown, but it's with the solo songs ? sans superstar sidekicks ? that he anchors the plastic island.

Regardless of whether it's backed by electro blips and disco girls ('Rhinestone Eyes'), retro '80s pop ('On Melancholy Hill'), or a sparse Timbaland beat ('Broken'), his is the ? distinctive, increasingly world-weary ? voice of reason. On the beach that he created, it's only right.