So why is Blur on this best 1,000 albums ever thing?
Blur’s self-titled album from 1997 encapsulates my experience of living in England that year better than any other record.
To set the scene, I spent six months working about an hour east of London, using the tail end of my eligibility for a Work in Britain program after graduating from Binghamton University. Eventually, my dudes Adam and Nirav joined me and we were known as the Yanks at the Nag’s Head, the local pub popular with the art college scene that we made our haunt in Rochester.
When I arrived, I was deep into an aggressive music phase: ska punk, Rage Against the Machine, Downset. On the Big Question of Oasis vs. Blur, it was Oasis for days without question. “Cigarettes and Alcohol” and “Supersonic” off of Definitely Maybe (#148 of best 1,000 albums ever) captured the vibes of dive bar life, UK style.
Blur was released in February, 1997, right in the midst of the wettest winter I had ever experienced.
And it also blew my mind.
Brady Gerber’s framing of the band’s transformation in The Ringer is exceptionally well put: “Blur’s post-Britpop pivot from the Kinks to Pavement is one of the great transformations of ’90s rock.”
With Pavement, it took me many years to “get” what the fuss was all about, but with Blur I got it right away.
Whereas Blur up until that point had been lacquered pop gloss with excursions into the nearly disco-funk of “Girls & Boys,” Blur the album is messy, tactile, and lived-in.
These are qualities that become explosive advantages when leveraged by musical masterminds.
Damon Albarn didn’t change his musical worldview overnight, but with this one it’s clear he steeped himself (the Brits like tea, so just go with the analogy, yeah?) in the likes of Beck, Pavement, and Sonic Youth.
The Britpop gloss becomes tastefully weathered, weary, and even anguished on occasion.
Looking for something truer, perhaps, something real.
To this day, casual music fans probably associate Blur with the WOO HOO song a.k.a. “Song 2.” It unlocked how good, how kick ass the band could be in alt rocked up mode but – and this is important – it also maintains a finely attuned sense of musical dynamics and an offbeat sensibility that’s deeply appealing.
If Blur was a great, offbeat alt rock album, that would be one thing. What pushes it to the Top 20 of the best 1,000 albums ever is its vast and eclectic scope and exquisite execution across its 14 tracks that clock in at just under an hour.
If “Song 2” (WOO HOO) represents my frat bro, pub scene side (there’s a little of him in me, yes – though not very much these days, I’d wager), “Death of a Party” is passed out dudes on beer-swilled tables, a bourgeoning fight amongst three knuckleheads in one dimly lit corner, and a hook-up with three more in another.
It’s closing time, both in reality and existentially. But not everyone knows what time it is. Maybe me among them.
Anyway, it’s a great song, every bit as good as “Song 2.”
Millions of words have been spilled about Oasis’ Beatles obsession, but “You’re So Great” is John Lennon devotion played out with spectacular results. In any event, it’s glorious acoustic rock, as warm and comforting in tone as “Death of a Party” is dark and bleak.
“Look Inside America” is shimmering, confident Britpop looking from the outside at the strange nation that is the United States – something I surely appreciated, especially as I increasingly felt like an ex-pat the longer that I lived abroad.
Each track takes on its own singular vibe, but without losing the overall thread for a moment. “Theme from Retro” is like the soundtrack of an old school monster flick, “Chinese Bombs” flirts with thrashy punk rock, “Essex Dogs” is Pavement-meets-Nick Cave experimental explorations.
I’ll end on my deep, abiding love for “Country Sad Ballad Man,” which holds some of the melancholy of “Death of a Party” while exuding a compelling, oddball energy all its own.
Looking back, I see Blur the album as an important turning point for my musical sensibilities. In the now age-old Oasis vs. Blur debate, for example, I’m on Team Both, really. I still have a touch of the old pub-side lad in me these days, but I have many other sides as well.
Blur’s transformation weirdly mirrored my own in England in a way – ex-pat outsider, tie-wearing professional by day, pub rat with the art school kids down the pub of an evening.
Maybe in some strange way, I aspire to emulate Oasis’ sneering swagger a little bit, but Blur’s self-questioning rough edges suit me most.
Maybe like Blur, I contain multitudes.
Or maybe it’s just a damned great album.
Who knows?
Some stats & info about Blur
- What kind of musical stylings does this album represent? Britpop, British Bands, Rock Music, Alternative Rock
- Rolling Stone’s greatest 500 albums ranking – not ranked!
- All Music’s rating – 4.5 out of 5 stars
- When was Blur released? 1997
- My ranking, the one you’re reading right now – #20 out of 1,000
Blur on Spotify
A lyrical snippet from Blur that’s evocative of the album in some way, maybe
I got my head done, when I was young.
What does the “best 1,000 albums ever” mean and why are you doing this?
Yeah, I know it’s audacious, a little crazy (okay, maybe a lot cray cray), bordering on criminal nerdery.
But here’s what it’s NOT: a definitive list of the Greatest Albums of All-Time. This is 100% my own personal super biased, incredibly subjective review of what my top 1,000 albums are, ranked in painstaking order over the course of doing research for nearly a year, Rob from High Fidelity style. Find out more about why I embarked on a best 1,000 albums ever project.