Continued from part I.
Blur (1997)
The second half of the 90s was punctuated by a succession of Britpop hangover records, in which the scene’s buccaneering revelry and biting social commentary gave way to emotional turmoil and introspective anomie. Blur’s first contribution to the gathering gloom was their eponymous fifth album. Gone are the snide character assassinations and the romanticisation of egg and chips in the Thames estuary. Instead, we have disconcertingly unhinged accounts of addiction (“Beetlebum”, “I’m Just A Killer For Your Love”), mopey meditations on rockstar depression and withdrawal (“Country Sad Ballad Man”, “You’re So Great”), and bitter, biting attacks on the circus-like entertainment industry that had conjured the grotesque carnival of Britpop (“M.O.R.”, “Death of a Party”). The music has also changed; the luscious strings and jaunty ska appropriations are conspicuous by their absence, substituted for the stripped-down style then typical of US alternative rock. Indeed, on “Look Inside America”, Damon comes close to issuing an apology for his anti-American effusions, which proved to be a most timely gesture, because Blur would go on to finally crack the US with the raucous “Song 2”. Overall, Blur is a great album made by accomplished musicians but, by divesting the band of the compelling gimmicky and unifying ideas of Britpop, it represents a step in a more conventional direction.
* * *
Standout track: “Song 2”
13 (1999)
If Blur signalled the death of the Britpop party, then 13 was the point when our formerly jubilant revellers realised that they had a serious problem and checked into rehab. The year before the album’s release, Damon’s eight-year relationship with Elastica frontwoman Justine Frischmann had ended acrimoniously, partly due to his escalating heroin use; Graham Coxon’s alcoholism and social anxiety were deteriorating; while Alex James simply elected not to turn up to the increasingly rancorous recording sessions. Given this tumultuous background, it’s surprising that 13 exists at all, let alone that it’s not a complete mess – and indeed, some consider it to be Blur’s best work. But it’s a highly experimental, somewhat inaccessible, and rather harrowing record. Conventional radio hits are few and far between – only the world-weary “Coffee and TV”, and the rousing but tormented “Tender”, could be considered fit for the charts. The rest of the album comprises a somewhat amorphous succession of electronically inflected soundscapes (“Battle”, “Caramel”), splenetic punk screeds (“Bugman”, “B.L.U.R.E.M.I”), and distressed, opaque art rock (“1992”, “Trimm Trabb”). Damon’s grief and discombobulation provide the album’s most palpable and abiding themes, particularly on the despondent “No Distance Left To Run.” The album is remarkably creative – Blur basically pulled a Kid A a whole year before Radiohead got round to it – but, overall, it’s a little too dense and unapproachable for my tastes.
* * *
Standout track: “Coffee and TV”
Think Tank (2003)
So far, Blur’s trajectory has been positively cinematic: the progenitors of cheeky chappie Britpop, who made it big and then fell victim to the pernicious pressures of fame, ultimately hitting rock bottom with a mordant breakup album. Think Tank is the first Blur record that does not feel vital to this narrative. By 2003, Britpop had been well and truly sealed in its Union Jack-bedecked sarcophagus; British rock had been partitioned between the wilfully bland businessmen of Coldplay, and the increasingly weird and unpredictable Radiohead, with the post-punk revival of the Libertines and Franz Ferdinand already on the horizon. Britpop’s erstwhile court jesters had no obvious role to play in this new constellation, which is very evident on Think Tank. Identifiable lyrical themes are few and far between, aside from a vague sense of goodwill and gratitude at having survived the vicissitudes of the 90s, while the sound is conspicuously lacking in melody. Instead, the entire album is saturated in the atonal synths and electronic dance beats which Damon had already foregrounded with Gorillaz, his successful side project of cartoon rockstars (“he always was a cartoon”, Noel Gallagher would later quip, with characteristic perspicacity). The only song that really makes an impression is “Out of Time”, a gentle, sublime, acoustically inflected tribute to the increasingly troubled Graham Coxon, who left the band during the album’s recording.
* *
Standout track: “Out of Time”
The Magic Whip (2015)
Few phenomena of 21st century rock music are more unedifying than the dreaded “comeback album”, the unloved progenies of middle-aged rockstars, unleashed upon an unsuspecting public when the money finally starts to run out. Even by such inglorious standards, however, The Magic Whip is shockingly forgettable, so much so that it’s tempting to entertain the sacrilegious (and unfair) idea that Blur were never, in fact, anything special, but merely hit the jackpot for a few years in the 90s. The album came into being largely by accident – Blur were due to play a concert in Japan, but it was cancelled, and so they regrouped to Hong Kong to “jam” together for the first time in over ten years. The lyrics are thus peppered with references to the far east – Chinese junks, Hong Kong skyscrapers, and on the chilling, Talking Heads-like “Pyongyang”, an unsettling account of an ill-fated trip to North Korea. Unfortunately, on the musical front, The Magic Whip largely picks off where Think Tank left off; lacking in melody, comprised largely of lifeless acoustic guitars juxtaposed against electronic drum loops and synths – basically, a cynical and unhappy gathering of Gorillaz demos. Only on the opener “Lonesome Street” does the album fire briefly into life, and even then, it’s nothing to write home about.
*
Standout track: “Pyongyang”
The Ballad of Darren (2023)
With The Ballad of Darren, Blur finally embarked on their inevitable journey across the River Styx of youthful cool and into the Hades of glum middle-aged dadrock (with the role of Charon presumably played here by the National’s Matt Berninger). Even the underwhelming Magic Whip raged a little bit against the dying of the light, with its tales of frivolity and depravity in the far east; the lyrics on this album, however, mainly narrate a midlife crisis-fuelled lament for better times, glory days, former triumphs, and long-lost lovers. And yet, somewhat surprisingly, The Ballad of Darren is a bit of a triumph. The tuneless, sub-Gorillaz electronica has been dispensed with in favour of light, lush, string-bedecked, Richard Hawley-esque chamber pop, making for a warm and agreeable, occasionally moving, if not particularly challenging listen. I would still maintain that 13 marked the natural end of Blur as a band, that their post-2000 albums are a little superfluous, but The Ballad of Darren is a worthy twist in the tale and, one hopes, a nice send off. In particular, “The Narcissist” is one of the best songs in their discography, and another example of the jarring self-awareness that Damon is occasionally capable of articulating.
* * * *
Standout track: “The Narcissist”
Final ranking
1. Parklife (* * * * *)
2. The Great Escape (* * * * )
3. The Ballad of Darren (* * * *)
4. Blur (* * * )
5. Modern Life is Rubbish (* * *)
6. 13 (* * * )
7. Leisure (* *)
8. Think Tank (* *)
9. The Magic Whip (* )
Selected tracklist
1. Girls and Boys
2. Song II
3. Parklife
4. Country House
5. The Universal
6. Beetlebum
7. Coffee and TV
8. Out of Time
9. The Narcissist
10. This Is a Low