BLUR: PARKLIFE (1994)
1) Girls And Boys; 2) Tracy
Jacks; 3) End Of A Century; 4) Parklife; 5) Bank Holiday; 6) Badhead; 7) The
Debt Collector; 8) Far Out; 9) To The End; 10) London Loves; 11) Trouble In The
Message Centre; 12) Clover Over Dover; 13) Magic America; 14) Jubilee; 15) This
Is A Low; 16) Lot 105.
Probably the closest thing to a «definitive
Britpop manifesto» to have gone down in history as such — although one wonders
just how much that reputation is due to the now-classic image of the two
greyhounds on the front sleeve. Speaking strictly in melodic terms, Parklife offers little progress beyond
the earlier established style: the band takes most of its structural cues from
the Beatles and the Kinks circa 1966-67, slightly bending them to reflect some
echoes of the punk and New Wave era, improving upon the production and taking
serious care that the lyrics conform to modern, not retro, values. But the
good news is that the killer hooks keep coming — and that the band itself
thinks that they have something important to say with these hooks.
«Keep it simple, but not stupid» is the
now-established motto, and there ain't a single Blur track on which it would
work better than on ʽGirls And Boysʼ — probably the definitive Blur song in that it will be impossible to forget it
once you've heard it, just once. The nagging two-note synth pattern which
completely dominates the song is a perfect sense irritator, as is the robotic
chorus (for better effect, all of it should be sung in one breath, which is
quite a feat, and in perfect Mockney, without which it would lose much of the
effect): part of your brain will tend to dismiss the song as an exercise in
idiocy, part of it will bend towards its inherent catchiness, and still another
part will perceive the thinly veiled irony, as Blur declare themselves supreme
rulers of the hip young crowds of London and
send up so many of these crowds' values at the same time, most importantly, the
whole concept of sexual freedom in the New Age of Man.
Then the cynicism gets even hotter on the title
track, whose melody goes around in simple, steady, repetitive circles, just
like the figurative park stroller whose casual life is described by the (mostly
spoken, provided by actor Phil Daniels) lyrics — note that not a single phrase
or word directly condemns or ridicules «parklife», but Daniels' rather comical,
puffed-up attitude, and the song's musical impersonation of «simplistic
arrogance» make it hard to perceive ʽParklifeʼ as some sort of positive anthem.
Rather, it is one of those «deceitful» songs where you make a chorus so catchy,
it is impossible for your stadium audience not to sing it as an anthem:
"all the people, so many people, they all go hand in hand through their
parklife" — nice words, right? But there is not-so-deeply-hidden contempt
here, in that chorus, going all the way back to the jolly old tradition of
character assassination by Ray Davies (ʽDedicated Follower Of Fashionʼ, etc.).
This formula — a simple, effective guitar
melody based on «toughly-popped» chords, spiced up with some sprinkly
electronics and an imminent vocal hook in the chorus, and paired with sarcastic
situation-observing lyrics — describes approximately half of the songs on the
album; to the two big hit singles above add also ʽTracy Jacksʼ, ʽLondon Lovesʼ,
ʽMagic Americaʼ (the latter pokes fun at Americaphilia rather than America
itself), ʽJubileeʼ, and even the instrumental ʽDebt Collectorʼ, whose
bourgeois-gallant waltzing gets a wholly unusual interpretation when you view
it in the context of its title. In each of these songs, behind the «modern English
cool» façade there is thoughtful, insightful content — and the musical
arrangements are complex enough to prevent the possibility of boredom
(keyboards, vocal harmonies, special effects): this is electric guitar-based
pop rock, yes, but Blur sell their songs as complete multi-layered packages,
not as bare-bones ideas fueled only by sheer enthusiasm and arrogance.
However, the songs that carefully lead Parklife over the threshold that
separates «simply cool» records from «great» ones are those that add a slight
lyrical touch — most importantly, ʽEnd Of A Centuryʼ, ʽTo The Endʼ, and ʽThis
Is A Lowʼ, situated respectively near the beginning, middle, and end of the
album and giving it three major «pivots» around which revolves all the snappy
coolness. ʽEnd Of A Centuryʼ, in particular, is one of my absolute favorites —
the greatest, probably, of all of Blur's «compassionate» songs, an ode to all
the bored and lonely people that once again honors the Kinks with its ʽWaterloo
Sunsetʼ-ish harmonies and melancholic horn solos, and really cuts all the way
down to the heart. ʽTo The Endʼ, on the contrary, dips into the influence pool
of French pop (the band even involves Laetitia Sadier of Stereolab to sing in
her native language), sounding not unlike something out of the soundtrack of Un homme et une femme, although still
infected a bit too much with Blur's usual energy.
Finally, ʽThis Is A Lowʼ ends the album on a
note that is as far removed from the opening sneer of ʽGirls And Boysʼ as
possible — here, Blur plunge into full-scale psychedelic mode, yielding
something deep, multi-layered, loud and screechy one moment and soothing the
next moment, a song that is more Pink Floyd than Beatles or Kinks; a good
example of a situation where «The British» and «The Astral» merge together in
one cohesive whole, reminiscent indeed of Syd Barrett, but with its own
Nineties' face.
There is no need to religiously adore Parklife or overrate it as the
harbinger of the «Britpop revolution» — at its core, it is really very
unpretentious, just a humble tribute to the original
Britpop, but paid by a bunch of really talented guys who, somehow, while
essentially wishing to follow, must
have found out, to their own surprise, that they were now in the lead. Which is, really, a pretty damn
good situation in terms of creativity, and especially in terms of how well
these records stand over time. In 1994, it was unclear whether Parklife would just represent a fad,
but twenty years later, it sounds as fun and as fresh as if it were released only
yesterday. In fact, I'd bet you anything that at least two or three records like Parklife were probably released yesterday (and the day before yesterday,
and the day before that...), because Parklife
has not lost its appeal or relevance in the least, and everything that has not
lost its appeal or relevance gets cloned on a continuous basis these days,
doesn't it? Major thumbs up.
Let's face it - if Ray Davies in 1994 had written something like Girls and Boys the entire world would have fallen to his feet in awe. The fact that someone else wrote it should not influence our judgment imo.
ReplyDeleteInteresting write up. I'm always trying to understand Blur's appeal.
ReplyDeleteAs a working class guy, I could never get into Blur. The album gives off the patronising whiff of class tourism - private school kids mocking the working class from an elitist, ivory tower. They're frequently compared to the Kinks and XTC, but Ray Davies and Andy Partridge wrote better lyrics and much, much stronger melodies with far more compassion for their subjects, especially as there's a level of irony in Blur that is emotionally-distancing for me as a listener.
Even in Britpop, Albarn doesn't have the honed eye for detail Jarvis Cocker possessed, or the vicious, satirical eye of Luke Haines.
'Parklife' functions as a Disneyland ride for university students to pretend to be Lads. Morrissey's 'Reader Meet Author' was far more on point: "You don't know a thing about their lives."
End of the Century sounds like the reborn avatar of Bee Gees Turn of the Century, another artist that took a generous pour from the pot of Davies Fabulous Bitter Blend. Of course, Blur drink it straight and cold.
ReplyDeleteAnd is it just me, or does the intro to Bank Holiday remind one of Don't Fear the Reaper?
This one is as good as it gets.
ReplyDelete