Saturday April 10, 1999
By JOSHUA OSTROFF -- Ottawa Sun
I first met Blur at a bar in France, during their mid-'90s
Britpop peak, back when Damon Albarn and Co. were battling Oasis
for the title of rowdiest rockers.
Albarn got in a fight with the bartender, my friend somehow
got involved and we all got tossed out into the street --
followed, of course, by a flock of French females.
"If it was late at night and drinking I probably don't
remember," apologizes Albarn over the phone, weary from a
three day media blitz. "Oh, Alex (James) just said that's
where I head-butted him, so I was probably in one of those
moods."
Britpop gestating
Most cultural commentators focus on 1991 as "the year
punk broke," when Nirvana kicked off the alternative
revolution.
But around the same time, on the other side of the pond, a
genre called Britpop was gestating, preparing to give birth to
some of the decade's biggest rock acts like Oasis, Elastica and
Radiohead.
Like their American alt-rock counterparts, most Britpoppers
have since been replaced by a new crop of kids on the block. But
Blur -- the British band that arguably started it all with their
1991 debut Leisure -- has only emerged stronger.
"We're prepared to constantly adapt to the dynamic of
the band, that's how we survive," explains Albarn of the
band's latest record, 13. "It's never easy keeping four
personalities with very different perspectives on the world
together and working. It's quite a challenge, but we manage to
just about keep it together and then we have those golden moments
when we're in the studio."
Those moments resulted in a series of landmark albums like
Modern Life is Rubbish, Parklife and The Great Escape, as well as
the much-hyped Blur-Oasis rivalry.
Then in 1997 -- with grunge long dead, Oasis well into a
fade-away and electronica all the hype -- Blur went against the
current and produced a self-titled album with a Nirvana-ish
rocker that took the colonies by storm.
Song 2, affectionately known as the "Woohoo"
song, became a commercial juggernaut dominating not only the
radio and video charts but beer ads and even Senators playoff
games.
"We can say to the world, we've had a bit of success
in America so now we don't have to worry about that
anymore," Albarn says, obviously unconcerned about its
ubiquitous ad appearances. "If nothing else, it ended up on
The Simpsons."
It also earned the band a good deal of money, something
that gave them the security to experiment, to follow-up a sports
anthem with an album of daring artiness.
"Things were kept amazingly alive," says Albarn
on 13's recording. "I don't think any of us really knew
(where it would go). Maybe I had more of an (idea) because they
were working on my songs, but essentially the way it came
together was very chaotic."
But first they took time off explore other avenues. James
joined Fat Les and produced the World Cup single Vindaloo, Graham
Coxon started his own label and released a solo album, Dave
Rowntree got heavily into computer animation and Albarn dabbled
in composing, most recently working on the Ravenous film score.
After a decade as a single unit, these diverse paths only
strengthened their solidarity when they reunited for their
latest.
With electronic music firmly entrenched in British culture,
it was not surprising that Blur roped in producer William Orbit
(Madonna's Ray of Light) to help out.
Defy convention again
But Blur decided to again defy convention, ignoring the
beats-by-the-pound route of recent electro-converts like the
Cardigans, Crash Test Dummies and Madonna.
"What was good about (13) is that it's hard to work
out exactly why it's a fusion of dance and rock, but it is,"
says Albarn. "And probably a very successful one in the
sense that it sounds new, it doesn't sound like a band who
self-consciously tried to incorporate dance music into their
sound.
"But it is very much there and it's very much the
process we used."
Orbit recorded non-stop, picking up every chord, nuance and
mistake, and then fed the results into a computer to sort out
later.
It meant the album's organic guitar-based songs -- ranging
from the Beck-influenced Mellow Song and the gospel-flavoured
Tender to the Coxon-led folk-pop of Coffee and Tea and the
sculpted soundscapes of 1992 -- are as hi-tech as anything coming
out of Bristol.
And technophobic rock fans be damned.
"It's like objecting to a jet when you've been flying
a propeller propped plane," he says. "It doesn't make
any difference as long as you know where you're going.
"You just get there faster."