First impressions count, and in 1993, when waves of Britpop were breaking, Damon Albarn in a London hotel was impressive. Quick, clever, and speaking in that offhand Mockney many upper middle-class pop aspirants affect, Albarn discussed his clothes – Mod-referencing Fred Perry shirts, Doc Martens – as visual signifiers.
He also jabbed at peers such as Suede’s Brett Anderson: “I have no ambiguous sexuality to exploit, nor any demons inside me. I’m quite a happy person.” He wasn’t in this for pop hits, he was here for a career, and he casually said, “I think I’m articulate enough to carry it off.”
Blur embraced observational English songwriting (Syd Barrett, Ray Davies, Lennon-McCartney), but – at the instigation of guitarist Graham Coxon – sidestepped into American indie-rock, their Song 2 of 1997 punching out inUS sport stadia.
Then when Blur had a hiatus, Albarn-led ensembles – among them Gorillaz and the Good, the Bad & the Queen – arrived with carousels of contributors: Neneh Cherry, former members of the Clash, Blondie and the Buena Vista Social Club …
Albarn created a career beyond Top of the Pops: you couldn’t imagine Oasis’ Gallaghers or Richard Ashcroft (the Verve) recording in Mali with Afrobeat drummer Tony Allen and kora player Toumani Diabaté.
However, the opening line on Blur’s new album of woozy pop-rock melodies, The Ballad of Darren, is: “I just looked into my life and I saw you’re not coming back,” telegraphing an uncertainty at the heart of these songs.
On the queasy guitar rock of the aggressive St Charles Square, he speak-sings, “I fucked up. I’m not the first to do it.” Then on Avalon, in an acute reference to the optimism of Britpop, he offers, “What’s the point of building Avalon if you can’t be happy when it’s done?”
Avalon also stings with more universal concerns: “The grey-painted aeroplanes fly over on their way to war.”
This is Albarn/Blur reflecting on the times, who they’ve been (“I met you at an early show” on The Ballad), and those who’ve followed them, or not: “We crossed the world, we disappeared and no one looks to see if we are coming back” on Goodbye Albert.
They weave lyrical ambiguity and insight around gleaming pop (Barbaric with, “We’ve lost the feeling that we thought we’d never lose”) and memorable songs floating on unsettled backdrops (Russian Strings) or delivering heartfelt, weary directness (The Everglades).
The Bowie-esque ballad The Heights on the vinyl closes the circle (“I’ll see you in the heights one day … I’ll be standing in the front row next to you”) in a hailstorm of guitars and The Swan in the expanded edition is freighted with doubt, compassion and hope.
Blur have made some of the most intelligent, self-aware British music of the past four decades. The Ballad of Darren – in a cover by Magnum photographer Martin Parr with a fittingly ominous visual dichotomy – confirms age and uncertainty become them.
Although the clothes changed and unhappiness is evident, Damon Albarn remains articulate enough to pull it off.
The Ballad of Darren is available now digitally, on CD and vinyl.
