Blur
Blur
EMI, 1997
Reviewed by
Paul Foreman
With the Life Trilogy, Blur summarized and eventually came to exemplify modern
British culture. They experienced megastardom in their home country, adored by everyone
except the Gallagher brothers.
Yet
it's really no surprise that records like The Great Escape never really got
through to many people outside the U.K. "Girls And Boys" did well, but could
they really have expected the Pearl Jam-loving American public to embrace Quadrophenia
star Phil Daniels as he ranted lines like, "John's got brewer's droop," over the
quirky pop of "Parklife"?
A change was definitely in order: After a massive U.K. gig at Mile End stadium at the end
of '95, Blur escaped to studios in Iceland and London and emerged with Blur, an
absolutely essential, relevant and rocking LP. The record, their fifth, finds the band
discarding trademark character sketches, concise production and pop cheerfulness for a
rawer, sometimes grinding sound despite the continuing presence of longtime producer
Stephen Street (Morrissey, the Smiths).
Listeners may dismay at the dreary vocals and dragging tempo of first single
"Beetlebum," but it is simply not possible to deny the potency of the two-minute
trash-track "Song 2." A lo-fi drum intro blends with a wimpy clean tone guitar
only to explode into a walloping chorus drenched in bass and distortion with Albarn
barking over it: Woo-hoo!
Guitarist
Graham Coxon's fascination with noisy punk rock also comes out on other tunes such as
"Chinese Bombs," which seems to pay homage to Bruce Lee. Coxon's most notable
contribution, though, is his solo spot, "You're So Great," on which he tackles
the lead vocal for the first time on record. His voice is frail and innocent -- a
pleasurable break from Albarn's well-trained vibratos and falsettos.
Tracks such as "M.O.R." and "On Your Own" continue to prove the
guitarist's worth. He proves himself a master of new sounds as he tweaks a Theremin with
the headstock of his guitar while banging out chunky riffs. John Squire must have been
taking notes somewhere in the audience.
It's "Death Of A Party," though, that best exemplifies Blur's experimentalism.
Weighted down by a Portishead-esque trip-hop beat, it's a thick groove that even Dr. Dre
would kill for. This ability to steal from other genres and pull it off as a natural Blur
sound is what makes this record exceptional.
In short, Blur effectively reinvented themselves overnight. And reinvented well. It could
have been a disaster. It could have been the band's Zooropa. Instead, they
discarded their once integral Brittiness for a fresh sound with a universal appeal.
