Revisiting 'Blur' - Britpop's self-titled death knell

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1997 was a brilliant year for music. Though I can in no way claim to remember any of it, being only two years of age, a mere glance at the end-of-year lists tells you all you need to know. OK Computer, Urban Hymns, Homework to name but three of the most iconic albums dropped in the 90s. One that perhaps gets overlooked in favour of its older siblings, however, is Blur’s self-titled fifth album Blur.

Even the name conjures up a simplicity in its newfound no-nonsense approach. That’s not to say that Parklife and Modern Life is Rubbish were full of nonsense, but they were decidedly more lavish, extravagant and concept-driven in comparison to their 1997 counterpart. Blur was inspired hugely by Pavement and the US, and it shows. 

That said, the Englishness is still there throughout, however subtle that may be. The opening track, ‘Beetlebum’ signals this change perfectly. As for the music video, pairing Coxon’s hypnotic outro with drone footage of London’s grimy industrial facade is simply otherworldly. Frankly, I would say it’s one of the best musical outros of all time, rivalled perhaps by another track of Blur’s from Modern Life is Rubbish in ‘Oily Water’.

Then we have a couple of pastiches of two very different but undoubtedly American genres, which suggest that despite the change, parody is still very much here. It’s quite impressive that with the former, the unmistakable ‘Song 2’, they made their biggest hit by parodying grunge. As for ‘Country Sad Ballad Man’, it’s a bit of a dud, but even Parklife and Modern Life is Rubbish have the occasional one.

The Bowie-indebted ‘M.O.R’ picks up the pace again with a straight-up pop song, showing that Blur have always known how to pen a decent chorus. Interestingly, Albarn considers the following track ‘On Your Own’ to be one of the first ever Gorillaz tunes, and it wouldn’t sound out of place on the cartoon band’s debut.

‘Theme from Retro’ gives us some eerie instrumental respite, and on revisiting it, it’s actually more significant to the album as a whole than I’d initially thought. If the excellent eighth track, ‘Death of the Party’ is Britpop’s funeral, then ‘Theme from Retro’ is the track in which the murder takes place. Coxon’s intermittent ‘You’re So Great’ is a simple but powerful love song in between that somehow slots in perfectly as a moment of reflection for the band as a whole up to this point.

The energetic punk burst of ‘Chinese Bombs’ sees us into new territory beyond the world of Britpop, before ‘I’m Just a Killer for Your Love’ takes things to strange new places a la Barney Gumble in the Bee-Sharps episode of The Simpsons. Damon sounds genuinely unhinged in his reserved vocal performance, as he sings emotionlessly of a man with no lungs in nursery rhyme style. It still scares me in truth, but it's irresistible.

Then we’re instructed to ‘Look Inside America’ on the next track, which continues the band’s theme of writing songs about America, only this one is more accepting of the land of opportunity in contrast to 'Miss America' and 'Magic America' respectively. With it’s ‘kooky nights and suicide’, America’s alright after all. I must admit, however, that I thought Damon was singing about cookie nights initially.

‘Strange News from Another Star’ takes us back to Bowie, before ‘Movin’ On’ revives some of that Britpop charm one final time in the band’s discography. ‘Essex Dogs’ closes things perfectly - the comedown after America. You’ve landed at Stansted from New York (okay, I know that flight doesn’t exist, but it’s in Essex at least so hear me out), and you see the ‘terminal pubs’, the ‘orangeade sunsets’, and the ‘smell of puke and piss on your stilettos’. It’s all incredibly grim, but it brings us full circle from the heroin-addled beginnings of ‘Beetlebum’ to the end of Blur’s Anglo-American odyssey. 

As Damon drunkenly sings on a later Think Tank bonus track, ‘Me, White Noise’, ‘Being English isn’t about hate, it’s about disgust. We’re all disgusting.’ Blur’s self-titled record encapsulates that disgust brilliantly. You can fly the nest, but your grey, dismal English town will always catch up with you.