Is there any band more reflective of modern Britain than Blur? Earlier this month, they united the nation at Wembley (our “agnostic temple”, they called it). Workaholic, melancholic Damon Albarn stood out front in his ironic, Essex boy tracksuit, while complex, nerdy Graham Coxon scrawled angry edges on Albarn’s pretty tunes with his guitar. At the back, a load of giddy bounce courtesy of Labour councillor Dave Rowntree on drums and the Tory hobnobber Alex James on bass. Apathy energised. Ambition eyerolled. Despair romanced. Brainless rock-outs and sentimental overthinking. Our isolating bubbles briefly burst by a stadium-sized bawl-along to “Parklife”.
Seeing the gigs trending on social media, my kids asked me to explain Britpop. “Tesco disco,” I told them, quoting a line from Blur’s triumphant ninth album, The Ballad of Darren. Nostalgic, almost painfully self-aware and chocca with choons, it’s a little mid-tempo in mood, but still the band’s best record since 1999’s 13.
