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Death Of A Party: 15 Years Since Blur’s Britpop Death Knell

Fifteen years since Blur turned their back on Britpop, we remember what a great album their self titled full length is.

Posted 10th February 2012, 10:58am in Blogs by Stephen Ackroyd
Stephen Ackroyd

Stephen Ackroyd

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Death Of A Party: 15 Years Since Blur’s Britpop Death Knell "I just slip away, and I am gone."

All things, in time, must come to an end. As Britpop reached its much-derided 'arse end' stage, everything started to get a bit too much. In 'The Great Escape' Blur may have produced an album which received widespread critical acclaim, but soon after the backlash started. Oasis had become 'the competition'; Blur might have won the battle, but pretty soon common parlance had them looking in less than great shape when it came to the war. '(What's The Story) Morning Glory', besides being unimaginably huge, had made a name for itself in America - something the now 'inauthentic middle class pop band' had failed to do.

The 'States were always Blur's weak spot. A quintessentially English band, the quest to crack 'the big one' had almost torn them apart. Albarn and Coxon - the creative force that made the band tick - weren't getting on. A Q interview in early 1996 described them as "on the verge of a nervous breakup," Graham resenting Damon's control over the band, Damon dismissing Coxon's increasingly lo-fi tendencies. Something had to change.

Change, obviously, isn't always a good thing. Often it's dangerous, but as exemplified by the aforementioned Mancunian beat combo, it is almost always necessary. Just as Albarn began to warm to Coxon's underground leanings, by his own admission it was time to move on. A letter from Coxon to Albarn explained a desire to "scare people again." In a sea of facsimile identikit guitar bands all writing songs about domestic drama around the kitchen table, the band who invented Britpop had to put it down.

Fifteen years to the day since the release of their self-titled fifth studio record, it's easy to see just how brilliant 'Blur' was. Almost a different band from the thematic trilogy that came before ('Modern Life Is Rubbish', 'Parklife' and 'The Great Escape'), it might not have been understood quite so well on its release by those expecting more of the same, but it was the definitive sign of the Colchester gang's greatest strength - Blur could evolve: the album itself could be argued to be amongst their strongest work. The last of their records produced by long-term collaborator Stephen Street (the band went on to work with William Orbit for follow up '13'), the bombast of Britpop was stripped back. Beck and Pavement became reference points as the first real signs of just how brilliant and, crucially, eclectic a songwriter Albarn could be started to surface.



With fists up, 'Beetlebum' was the perfect opening move. Downbeat, weary and distorted, it couldn't have been more different to 'Country House' if it had tried, and, as a song about heroin, it almost definitely did. Alex James' grinning man-about-town was sent to his bedroom and told to learn to at least act cool. With Albarn and Coxon on the same thematic page, as it reached Number One in the UK Singles Chart, the nails were firmly hammered into Britpop's coffin.

That a song which - gigantic, city-smashing ear worm of a chorus aside - contained more awkward brilliance in its breathtaking final moments than any other British band had the balls to put down, could top a chart that, in 1997, was still painfully relevant was a marker of the public mood. Blair would enter Number 10, but Cool Britannia was most certainly over.

To talk about its singles alone (we'll return to that song later) though does 'Blur' a disservice. 'Look Inside America' might not be the first track to come to mind, but in a way it sums up the band's evolution perfectly. As the cheeky chaps of the mid-nineties became more spiky, more cynical and slightly rough around the edges, they turned from a more than decent guitar pop band into a force capable of far, far more. 'You're So Great' - written and, crucially, sung by Coxon (from under a table, as legend would have it known) - is undoubtedly its heart, while 'I'm Just A Killer For Your Love', with a claustrophobic tone and repeating refrain, repositioned the band as a force that could, and would, subvert the masses - or leave them behind.



And then you come to 'Song 2'. Fifteen years on it's easy to see what, on the world stage, became Blur's signature tune as a massive cliche. Hindsight is a wonderful thing, but occasionally it's just plain wrong. A band that only a couple of years before were running around after Page 3 girls while being chased by George Dawes were now handing the UK rock scene its balls on a silver platter. It was the song that stopped the mainstream dead. Most of them had no idea what Albarn was going on about, but bluntly they didn't seem to care. Before being played to death, 'Song 2' was the musical equivalent of a nuclear warhead going off. Even America noticed that one.

Like a gateway drug, 'Blur' became the record to turn a generation of British music fans - too young to really understand Nirvana, brought up on mostly homegrown acts - on to the rich pickings of what was going on Stateside. First in, first out of the scene that celebrated itself, alongside records like Radiohead's 'OK Computer', Blur once again gave UK culture a kick up the jacksie. As the six and a half minutes of near performance poetry and growling guitar of closer 'Essex Dogs' wash over, it was undoubtedly for the best.
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