Coldplay - Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends (2008)

1) Life in Technicolour; 2) Cemeteries of London; 3) Lost!; 4) 42; 5) Lovers in Japan / Reign of Love; 6) Yes / Chinese Sleep Chant; 7) Viva La Vida; 8) Violet Hill; 9) Strawberry Swing; 10) Death and All His Friends / The Escapist

It's reinvention in the mainstream sense of things, but as a creative rejuvenation this is an incredibly successful one - and heck, we can probably credit this album for making its traits popular all over the place.

Key tracks: "Lovers in Japan", "Viva La Vida", "Death and All His Friends"

It's probably a bit hard to grasp the nature of what Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends represents for Coldplay when, on a brief glance, all their history looks the same. Their albums before Viva La Vida were huge hits, Viva La Vida itself was a massive one and they continued on the same chart-topping trajectory after it. In the general gist of things Coldplay have always been one of the world's biggest bands, to the point that it's easy to equate everything they've done simply because it's always been successful. But even though it's never been very apparent in the grand scheme of things, Coldplay have always been a band who haven't been afraid to challenge themselves and change when things needed to be: the reason they've outlasted their peers is because they've been able to evolve. Viva La Vida is the epitome of all that. It is a re-invention that not only resurrected the band creatively, but changed them irreversibly.

When you look at the first three Coldplay albums, there's a clear trajectory of a band growing bigger in sound, audience and the space needed for that audience. The music itself across the three albums is all derived from the same starting point, just growing in scope and bombast. At the height of X&Y they were a massive stadium band, playing big pop/rock songs for big crowds – songs that you could have already found on the last two albums in a more downplayed form. The band had started to fall into a rut: the overall sound of X&Y is peppered with the feeling of making music they were being expected to make rather than what they were inspired to. At this stage you have two options: either accept this and continue releasing more of the same because that's what the fans and the people at large have proven they want from you, or refresh yourselves artistically and start from scratch. Coldplay opted for the latter.

If this sounds slightly over the top, pay attention to Viva La Vida's sound. While still consisting mostly of larger-than-life pop songs, Viva La Vida's sound world is from a completely different realm than the fairly straightforward rock band setup of the first three albums. There's all manners of layered percussion, a lot more emphasis is placed on atmospheric texture courtesy of Brian Eno and Jon Hopkins (with the former producing and the latter guest featuring), an electronic flair rears its head from time to time and off-the-cuff instruments like sitar and yanqqin make appearances in a way that sounds like the band just got into a studio containing every instrument ever created. There's a lot more experimentation within the songwriting too. Songs aren't afraid to take sudden twists in mood or tempo within themselves ("42" makes this the song's entire point), there's a lot more build-up intros and outros that the band normally would have chopped and occasionally you even hear whole new, unexpected elements like the sudden shoegaze blast of "Chinese Sleep Chant". The instrumental opener "Life in Technicolor" sounds like it could have been a big pop moment had it been fleshed out into a full song, and then you learn that it was intentionally stripped of its vocals in order to avoid taking that easy route. That's the kind of self-challenge the world's biggest band exhibits here (even though the band eventually went back on that and the song was returned to its original state in the Prospekt's March EP).

It could have fell flat on its face, a band reaching far beyond their limits in a desperate attempt to seem more credible, but it absolutely doesn't. Quite the opposite: this is where Coldplay's genuine qualities and talents are really revealed. It's not just about how rejuvenated they sound here after the slight by-the-numbers feels of X&Y and how that's been replaced by sheer inspiration and determination, but the real treat of Viva La Vida is how ear-pleasingly, foot-tappingly and sense-overwhelmingly golden it is in its actual music. This is what you get when you give a bunch of hitmakers the playground to roam freely and pair them with a producer who knows how to perfect any sound. All its layered sounds, bright vocal harmonies and gigantic melodies sound so unbelieveably joyous – full of sparkling life and bright passion. Everything sounds like it could be the best: the organ-driven battle march "Lost!", the life-affirming parade of melodies that makes up "Lovers in Japan", the suddenly rocked-up "Violet Hill", the utter bliss of "Strawberry Swing", the perfectly epic finale "Death and All His Friends" (which only flaw is how teasingly short its final climax is) and so many of the songs in-between each feel like the album has only just managed to hit its peak. 

The Genuine Big Song, though, is quite obviously "Viva La Vida" itself, well on its way (or already having established itself as) to be Coldplay's signature song and clearly towering over everything else in its presence. The world fell in love with it and how could they not – the simple orchestral riff and steady kick drum beat give it a quick, direct route to anyone's head, the vague-enough lyrics lend it a sense of depth and the now-famous woo-oo-oohs hit crowd participation in the head. But to split it into some basic building blocks is doing it a disservice, and listening to it again without its constant presence everywhere really reveals how it absolutely deserves to be called a masterpiece: one where everything from production to performance and most importantly feeling come together to create a song that sounds quite like nothing else out there while still containing a sense of shared universal excellence to it. It also makes for an amazing point for the album itself: that the whole thing doesn't crumble or sound underwhelming after the centerpiece has left the stage only goes to show how well crafted the rest of the album is.

Listing everything else on the album would be easy, if a little excessive; god knows I have love for the bookends of "Life in Technicolor"/"The Escapist", the importance of the breather break "Reign of Love", how "Cemeteries of London" is such a wake-up moment straightaway regarding the band's new tides, etc. Here is a band at the top of their game, discovering their true selves and it's presented in the form of a musical journey. It also reveals a side of Coldplay that could have gone amiss before – a certain kind of defiant boldness. If the band's original success felt a bit like a coincidental by-product ("Yellow" is the lone extrovert among the rest of Parachutes' melancholy wallowing and A Rush of Blood to the Head only sounds like a part of a trend of its time because it started that trend off) and X&Y was the slightly-too-conscious attempt to match it, Viva La Vida is out to rewrite the rules; to tackle their success through their own means and with their own sound. For all the flak they get for sounding safe and how Viva La Vida's eventual success slightly obscured the point, Coldplay reached out for their adventurous side here and they came back with stunning results.

Rating: 9/10

Coldplay - X&Y (2005)

1) Square One; 2) What If; 3) White Shadows; 4) Fix You; 5) Talk; 6) X&Y; 7) Speed of Sound; 8) A Message; 9) Low; 10) The Hardest Part; 11) Swallowed in the Sea; 12) Twisted Logic; 13) ‘Til Kingdom Come [hidden track] 

Giant band makes a giant album to reach giant expectations. And I know I should like it less than I do, but...

Key tracks: "White Shadows", "Talk", "The Hardest Part"

The X&Y era was not a good time for Coldplay. Well, statistically it was – it was a huge success of an album, propelled them from stadiums to even bigger stadiums, turned them from a huge band into one of the biggest on the planet and it gave the world “Fix You”, one of their signature hits and the soundtrack to so many game show elimination round survival celebrations on the BBC. But for the band it wasn’t the best of times. The shift in scale and scope from Parachutes to A Rush of Blood in the Head had been a natural process that happened without expectations or outside pressure. The mammothitis that runs through X&Y was a direct reaction for the sudden surge in popularity: the audiences got bigger as the songs did, and in order to appease new even bigger audiences the songs have got to get even bigger. Reactions like these create albums like X&Y: albums that sound huge and anthemic because they’re expected to sound huge and anthemic, and possibly because they need to be like that. It’s a creative rut as any and you can tell: it’s no wonder that Coldplay’s own reaction to X&Y was to burn the band as it was to the ground and then creatively re-invent themselves with Viva La Vida. 

Everything on X&Y is surgically crafted to perfection to the point that there’s no life to it. The production is so pristine and sterile that nearly all life is squeezed out, and even the acoustic hidden track “Til Kingdom Come” that attempts to be warm and intimate sounds clinical. All the songs are the size of a grand stadium, fireworks displays and all, yet borderline overblown and needlessly gigantic. The band sound stifled and almost non-existent: only Martin has any presence due to the obvious reason of his vocals being everywhere, everything else has as much personal touch as a session musician. X&Y tries so hard to be the kind of album that befits a global superstar act that it ends up losing what actually is Coldplay’s identity.

And… I still quite like it?

This is actually the album that got me into Coldplay, funnily enough. I had passed on the first two albums at the time because of vague reasons largely to do with my own stubbornness, but “Speed of Sound” was harder to skip. At the time it was everything I wanted – the spacey sound of a small galaxy, glistening keyboards and sky-soaring guitars, both an anthem and yet oddly intimate. Basically the kind of thing I was eating up at that point in my life and the song was so strong that it opened the doors for the band to me. Bu it’s a song that hasn’t really aged as well. Its galactic scope is pretty emblematic of X&Y as a whole: it definitely soars, but largely thanks to its loud and bright production rather than its writing. It’s no wonder it’s been brushed off to the secondary tier of Coldplay hits – enjoyable but hardly essential, more a sign of its time than a timeless hit.

But much like “Speed of Sound”, X&Y manages to stay afloat despite its weight. X&Y is nothing if not direct and universal – because it has to be in its position – and it’s a good job that’s always been Coldplay’s forté. Chris Martin and his fellow brothers at arms have a solid inventory of instantly affable and easily loveable melodies ready at hand to dispense, and even if the band themselves sound like they’re lost somewhere among the sound the basic melodic blocks of the songs aren’t. X&Y contains a number of songs that seem borderline superfluous when you look back at them, with “A Message”, “Swallowed in the Sea” and “What If” being so Coldplay-by-numbers it’s almost awkward, but damn it if they don’t charm you when they’re on. It’s like fast food – instant enjoyment but nothing you’d actively remember later on. 

One other major reason why X&Y is arguably far more listenable than it probably should be is because it houses a handful of big highlights that not break free from the flaws, but end up carrying the rest of the album on their shoulders. Songs that are strong enough lures to attract you to check the album from time to time again because they’re so compelling you’re OK with hearing the rest with them. “Fix You” is the obvious one to point out – it’s an incredibly obvious song admittedly, a model template of a torchlight song if there ever was one, but it taps into what makes such moments successful and feels genuinely liberated and inspired as it explodes – one of few such moments on X&Y which sounds like it just happened rather than was designed to happen. Similarly, stadium rock histrionics are echoed throughout the album but nowhere better than in “White Shadows”, which has a sense of dynamics and urgency that’s missing from its brethren. The Kraftwerk-acknowledging “Talk” is lush and full of wonder, its space age atmospherics mingling with a sense of bliss and wonder. It would be Coldplay’s most underrated single if it wasn’t for “The Hardest Part”: its sparkling guitar melodies, soft organ and genuine sweetness find a moment of human warmth on an otherwise cold album and it charms with such lightness and flair.

Those four songs in particular make it difficult to dismiss X&Y wholly, easy as it is to do. The history books haven’t been kind to the album, especially because its direct successor is Viva la Vida which not only stands as the band’s magnum opus but which was borne as a direction reaction to this. And I admit I may have doodled on the book margins myself, because in hindsight X&Y really does feel like the kind of album that validates all of Coldplay’s stereotypical dismissive traits. But then you go back to it and you realise it’s not actually that bad. In fact, in places it’s really great. Its main issues lie in how it presents itself, how every production board knob has been flicked to the maximum in a desperate quest to be the global success validator it needed to be. But the songs still largely remain effective, the writing being strong enough at places to break through the flaws. Even "Speed of Sound", as much as I brushed it off earlier, has managed to find its way back into my good books because sometimes all you need is that epic brush of sound and on the right day, the way it executes it is just lovely.

Fun fact: the original draft of this review had a lot more negativity. Then I actually decided to do my usual pre-review listen and suddenly had to rush to rewrite the thing with my tail between my legs. My X&Y experience – how I seem to always forget that I actually kind of like it - in a nutshell. Time and time again.

Rating: 7/10

Coldplay - Parachutes (2000)

1) Don’t Panic; 2) Shiver; 3) Spies; 4) Sparks; 5) Yellow; 6) Trouble; 7) Parachutes; 8) High Speed; 9) We Never Change; 10) Everything’s Not Lost / Life Is for Living [hidden track]

Melancholy and subdued, a real case of a humble origin story for a big bang later on. Definitely underrated.

Key tracks: "Don't Panic", "Spies", "Trouble"

Who’d have thought that a whisper like this would end up launching one of the most extroverted, anthemic superstar groups on the planet? 

At this point I think it’s safe to assume that no one comes to Coldplay through their debut album: their global star power has long since overshadowed their beginning and the band are so quiet about it themselves that Parachutes has been all but brushed from history, bar the still-sort-of-ubiquitous “Yellow”. Thing is, through some quirk of the universe things could have gone in a wholly different direction. Parachutes isn’t an old shame or the embarrassing first steps: it not only had commercial success when it came out but also high critical acclaim, with a great deal of buzz and excitement surrounding its release that actually translated to genuine success. It could just as easily have become another classic debut that the band would forever try to live up to, or another victim of contemporary trends as the only real mark they left in the world before vanishing like so many of their then-counterparts. Not only did Coldplay managed to break both curses, but it’s pretty telling of their success since that they’ve gone through so many hits they can easily ignore the ones got them through the door in the first place. 

Parachutes‘ most interesting facet is that it’s absolutely nothing like a Coldplay album. The band have become synonymous with giant stadiums, grand audience sing-alongs and all-encompassing anthems: Parachutes, however, is bedroom-sized and somber, and its muted, dark colours clash ridiculously with the technicolour rainbows the band ride on now. The post-OK Computer Britain in the early 00s was a hotbed for melancholy, acoustic-heavy pop/rock albums and Coldplay slotted among that trend very comfortably. Only the amplified “Shiver” and “Yellow” kick the gear up a notch and raise the volume, and “Everything’s Not Lost” is the prototype for their epic torchlight shenanigans, though to a much more downstated, downright shy degree. Mostly Parachutes simply wallows, with Martin’s gentle piano and Buckland’s soft strumming and minimal melodies guiding the band through various degrees of melancholy and mid-tempo floating. It’s an album largely made out of ballads and mood pieces; melancholy, but in a quietly comfortable way rather than depressing. 

But while Parachutes is well-written for the most part, it does carry the tell-tale feel that it’s the work of a young band who found one thing that works and kept on doing it repeatedly (something the stories about the band’s performance being a little shambles at the time back up - the slow tempos are apparently partly the result of intentionally making the songs easier to play together as a band). That said, the certain homeliness does have its perks. For one, you could never imagine the group ever being able to knock out something as low-key and effortless as “Don’t Panic” in their current form. It’s a (over)short and simple song but so incredibly lovely in such an instant way, and much of its power comes from how completely nonchalant and minor it sounds, Martin mumbling his way through the shuffling verses and the deceivingly direct chorus melody. “Trouble” similarly keeps itself calm and is all the better for it - stadium-Coldplay would have it be full of bombast, but now its sheepishly exploding little sweep of a chorus highlights the song’s overall quality arrangement and melody. Similar moments occur throughout, and it’s clear already that there is a big pop band growing quietly inside, but right now they’re too shy to come out of a still-young band. “Yellow” is the obvious exception and it’s actually the strangeling of the album - after all these years I’m still not sure if it’s a bit too obvious and a little too airheaded to be genuinely enjoyable, or if the sudden moment of melodic inspiration it discovers during its stealth chorus is strong enough to make it a real keeper. 

Indeed, Parachutes is at its best when it stays away from the loud and boisterous hooks and sinks into its warm, home-spun sound. It’s got an intimacy that the band’s never really been able to reach since and when it’s being emphasised – whether it’s the simple beauty of “Don’t Panic”, the atmospheric dwelling of “Spies” or the sadsack daydreaming of “Sparks” and “We Never Change” - the album threatens to become something special. It never quite does to any major extent, staying comfortably good throughout but rarely breaking out further, but its humble intimacy does lend it a little extra staying power when placed in a line with the albums that followed since. That alone neither makes it worth brushing off completely or praising highly, but it’s a pleasant and actually rather good listen that’s maybe getting a little too neglected – both by the band and the audience. 

Rating: 7/10

CMX - Iäti (2010)

1) Sateenkaaren pää; 2) Kappaleina; 3) Taistele; 4) Auringon kultainen kaupunki; 5) Kuoleman kulkumies; 6) Iäti; 7) Totenmann; 8) Manisola; 9) Kättenpäällepanijat; 10) Linnunrata; 11) Laulu todellisuuden luonteesta

Simplification and less pretension are fine goals on their own, but the opposites were always part of CMX's charm and somewhere along the line it's gotten a bit too... bland.

Key tracks: "Sateenkaaren pää", "Iäti", "Linnunrata"

The aim of Iäti was to simplify. CMX’s discography is roughly speaking a series of reactions and counterpoints, so when it came time to follow up on the space opera prog rock epoch Talvikuningas, the band’s first instinct was to strip away the pretensions. In a typically CMX-like fashion, it couldn’t just end there. A set of dogma-esque rules were written, to be followed throughout the sessions. No heavy, no prog, no compression, no needless layers, no keyboards unless all other options had been thoroughly exhausted, no cryptic lyrics full of arcane theological references, and so forth. Direct and straightforward rock music. Uncomplicated.

Unsurprising. The self-imposed rule set is audible but not really in the way you’d think. You would expect something more rough and raw but that’s not the case, as Iäti sounds like any other later period CMX album through and through with enough production shine that any dogmatic lack of layers and additional instruments isn’t really all that apparent. It’s in fact the structure and style of the songs that’s affected the most. The “no prog, no heavy” thing doesn’t jump out when you read the list but it’s most clearly present, in the sense of the band avoiding any stylistic extremes. That means Iäti is a string of songs that comfortably course somewhere in the middle, rock a little but not too hard, aren’t keen on twists and turns and are always racing for the next chorus. The band have always included a token “easy” radio single like this on their albums but this time it’s an album full of them, and rather than making Iäti a compact and direct streak of hits, it’s instead made the band sound like any (Finnish) mainstream rock band. Iäti sounds predictable, in lieu of a better word, and is settled down and content with it.

It doesn’t help that for major parts of the album the band seem to be coasting along through the motions, and the typically efficient production style that’s worked on the prior albums now just highlights how streamlined the songs are. A good chunk of the album, particularly towards the latter half, is one largely unbothered riff rocker after another, the kind that the band could write in their sleep. Sometimes they wake up from their stupor momentarily - the chorus of “Totenmann” threatens to be effective, “Manisola” has some interesting vocal manipulation going that’s memorable if nothing else, “Kappaleina” comes so awfully close to Apulanta et al that you remember it for that alone, “Laulu todellisuuden luonteesta” almost reaches the epic closer levels it wants to be when the uncharacteristic guitar solo appears. Mostly though, they stay effectively in the background, not particularly budging in either quality direction. For once in their lives, CMX are dangerously close to uninteresting. 

But when it works, it works really well. Pardon the cliché but there’s a great EP (or an extended singles run) within Iäti that is so much more thoroughly exciting than anything else on the album. “Sateenkaaren pää” for instance highlights everything that works in the album’s chosen direction: a shamelessly catchy, devilishly instant chorus monster with a deliciously crunchy bass (one instance of the album where the production shows some life). Almost like a perfect prototype that they couldn’t replicate again. “Linnunrata”, similarly, applies the same strategies to a classic rock anthem formula and turns out something genuinely soaring and heartfelt. “Taistele” was once described by someone else as a hockey match anthem (and I’m stealing that description) and there’s a lot to raise your eyebrow about its hokey motivational fist-pumping, but damn it if it doesn’t get the foot tapping and energy going. “Auringon kultainen kaupunki” is the secret weapon, an initially unassuming song that eventually unleashes a chorus so lush that it makes up for the slow start. The album peaks at its title track: in start contrast to the rest of the album it’s gentle and has space to breathe, turning into something very effortlessly beautiful. The replacement of your usual keyboard part with vocal harmonies is also one of the album’s most inspired moments in light of its ruleset, and gives it a heightened sense of intimacy.

These five songs give Iäti its main reason to get in the listening rotation, without which it would probably get lost in the discography completely. It’s no total failure but rather it lacks character and, to some degree, inspiration, as if somewhere down the line the goal posts got moved and the restricted, dogmatic album became just the simple album. And it’s not an issue with the direction in itself, because the band have gone back to basics before with 1998’s Vainajala. The difference between the two is obvious though. Vainajala was full of rejuvenated gusto, not only because of the context it was recorded in (and the age gap) but also because all those intentionally direct songs were packed with power and intent. In comparison Iäti is borderline stiff in its execution and flat on energy, and it’s all rather blurry whether it’s because of the production, inspiration or motivation (Funny enough, Vainajala was the first album recorded with drummer Tuomas Peippo who at the time injected a new level of vitality to the band, whereas Iäti was his last album before being let go due to lack of motivation - this seems entirely coincidental though). Whatever the case, even if Iäti generally stays in the alright level, it’s a notable drop down from the previous run of albums - and out of all of the band’s albums, including the weaker ones, it’s arguably the least interesting one. Basic, if you will.

Rating: 6/10

 

Chumbawamba - Un (2004)

1) The Wizard of Menlo Park; 2) Just Desserts; 3) Everything You Know Is Wrong; 4) On eBay; 5) Be with You; 6) When Fine Society Sits Down to Dine; 7) A Man Walks into a Bar; 8) Following You; 9) We Don’t Want to Sing Along; 10) I Did It for Alfie; 11) Rebel Code

First step towards the folk sounds - still the same old Chumba, just more upbeat and with more acoustic guitars.

Key tracks: "The Wizard of Menlo Park", "Just Desserts", "Rebel Code"

Chumbawamba’s “shtick” was that they were always the counterpoint and the opposing force, rebelling against the world and the morons in it in a very obvious, blunt manner (and pulling it off). Their sound changed over the years but the protest songs remained. But if you want to hear what the band sounded like when they were on a more jovial mood, that’s where Un comes in. 

Un is actually a part of Chumbawamba’s slow transition from the slick pop/rock sound they had been most famously utilising into the folk act they’d finish their career as. In a number of ways it’s a contrast to 2002’s Readymades, which was a somber, oft-wistful album that was inspired by old folk songs but intentionally sounded as contemporary as possible, donning a keyboard-heavy production. For Un they went more obvious with the folk influences and switched the synthesizers to acoustic guitars and accordions, eased up on the programmed beats and extensively sampled various folk music recordings and ‘field recordings’ of social gatherings from around the world. It’s arguably the most Chumbawamba have sounded like a band since the early 1990s, but surprisingly that’s not the biggest break Un takes from its parent discography. 

Chumbawamba’s music has always been fueled by their political ethos and, as mentioned before, they’ve always been primarily antagonistic in this regard: spitting venom and throwing punches at all the public figures and political institutions they have deemed to be a nuisance. This started to soften down as they entered their folk phase and began to explore a greater variety of topics, and Un started this trend by completely throwing the band’s usual angle upside down. This time the band are outright celebratory, as the album’s political scope is largely devoted to singing the glories of unsung heroes from bold historic innovators like Edison and Linus Torvalds to a number of fearless everymen who protested in their own inspired ways: Zimbabwean cricketers who donned mourning bands for their country in protest to Mugabe’s reign, an Englishman who decapitated a Thatcher statue, etc. There’s still traces of the band’s traditional selves across the album (“When Fine Society Sits Down to Dine” and “We Don’t Want to Sing Along” are classic Chumba fare tonally) but they’re vastly outnumbered by the band triumphantly singing odes of those who’ve done right. Where things are less personal, the topics are still treated on a more observational basis: on another album songs about censorship and museum looting in the aftermath of a war would probably be laced with accusatory venom, here “Everything You Know Is Wrong” and “On eBay” are surprisingly fun-spirited and at most a little snarky and cheeky. 

The music obviously follows suite in this regard and Un is the most non-ironically upbeat album the band ever did. Major chords, bright melodies and big smiles, both to suit the topics as well as signs of the band genuinely having a fun time in the studio. A few songs (“I Did It for Alfie” and “Following You”) come across borderline twee and adorable; that they’re the two weakest songs on the album is largely coincidental though, no amount of happy-go-lucky strumming can hide fairly average songwriting. The upbeat nature in general suits the band really well: they’ve always been a pop band at heart and it’s actually really nice to hear them being in honest good moods when going for the singalong melodies

Happy Chumbawamba without a trace of hidden intent makes for a unique, and generally a rather good listen. It won’t be anywhere near competing for the title of the band’s best album but thanks to its identity and a number of strong songs, it makes for a great additional entry. If it has a fault is that it’s terribly front-loaded. By not wasting time bringing out its best songs right from the get-go it ensures one heck of a beginning, the superb sunshine singalong “The Wizard of Menlo Park” kicks off a fantastic four-song run which features an incredible amount of instantly memorable (and quotable moments), great grooves (“Just Desserts”), a sense of giddy fun (“Everything You Know Is Wrong”) and, with “On eBay”, a bonafide stomper of an acoustic rock song. But, it also means that Un never reaches those heights ever again, even if things still keep going well. The second half of the album – which calms down in general and becomes a more obviously folk-inspired ride – is also generally a little less exciting than the first and contains the two weakest songs as mentioned above, but at least it ends with a high note. “Rebel Code” brings is a lush, lovely song that serves as the sunset coda for the album and matches the greatness of its beginning. It’s a two-way bridge of sorts: its earnest beauty (and keyboard-like accordion part) harkens back to Readymades, further linking the two albums, but its stripped-down, gentle nature is also a sign of things to come as after this album the band would strip away half its members and turn into a full-on traditional folk group. This is, then, the last of the classic line-up/style Chumba albums, and it makes for a good enough chapter closure. 

A fully personal anecdote as the closing note. When Un was announced, the band’s website offered a free download of a medley of the album’s songs as an audio preview in lieu of just the lead single. The medley was constructed brilliantly: seamless transitions, a musical narrative and arch, a flow that made it an actually fun listen on its own. It took me a couple of years after Un’s release to finally actually obtain it, and in that time the Un medley had become a staple fixture of my mp3 playlists and minidisc mixes – to the point that when transitions of it still creep into my mind when I listen to the album. Un is not a particularly nostalgic album for me in a way that a lot of Chumbawamba’s releases are, but funnily enough fragments of it have that more familiar, memory-tugging effect. It’s kind of amusing really – and I still have the medley mp3 in case I want to relive it. It’s one of my favourite album promotional tools I’ve encountered, and something I wish more album trailers were like.

Rating: 7/10

The Cardigans - Long Gone Before Daylight (2003)

1) Communication; 2) You’re the Storm; 3) A Good Horse; 4) And Then You Kissed Me; 5) Couldn’t Care Less; 6) Please Sister; 7) For What It’s Worth; 8) Lead Me into the Night; 9) Live and Learn; 10) Feathers and Down; 11) 03.45: No Sleep; BONUS TRACKS 12) Hold Me (Mini Version); 13) If There Is a Chance

Rating: 9/10

Americana certainly isn't the first thing that would come to mind when thinking of The Cardigans, but it's the best guise they ever wore.

Key tracks: "Communication", "You're the Storm", "Live and Learn"

Five years went by between Gran Turismo and Long Gone Before Daylight. The international, pigeon-holing success of “Lovefool” had caused The Cardigans to radically re-invent themselves for the cold, electronic Gran Turismo in order to shed their novelty success, only for “My Favourite Game” to turn into another soundtrack success and the brush with fame to continue. Burnt out, the members took a break from the band and focused on side projects.  Nina Persson turned to americana with A Camp, Peter Svensson recorded an album of Swedish melancholy with Kent’s Joakim Berg and Magnus Sveningsson’s Righteous Boy released their single album of homely indie pop. Every release signaled a sizable desire to do something different from their main band, but by coincidence they all to shared themes and tones: a move onto something earthier and more personal. 

Those albums form a direct line to the otherwise another sudden style change that Long Gone Before Daylight represents, which is for all purposes concerned a complete reboot for The Cardigans: the only thing connecting it to the early twee pop records are the band members themselves. It’s a somber album by seasoned musicians where the arrangements are more elaborate and the songwriting more nuanced. Everyone had grown, learned new things and wanted to explore a more serious direction while still retaining the band chemistry. You could call it matured and it wouldn’t be a vague exaggeration. 

“Communication”, which opens the album, lays down the ground rules. The calmly moving but slowly unfurling ballad resembles nothing the Cardigans have done before in tone or arrangement. Persson has shed away her old girl-next-door vibes and become a powerful frontwoman, her voice now resonating emotional gravitas, while Svensson introduces the subtle guitar licks and less-is-more melodies that will define much of the album later on. It all comes together to form a song that hooks right from the start despite how unassumingly it begins, but turning into a gorgeous showstopper by the time it ends with Persson’s resigned desperation and the lush strings around her. It might actually be the best thing the band have put their names under. 

The point of “Communication” is to clear the table and re-set it, and once it has done so it paves the way for the rest of Long Gone Before Daylight to surprise, excite and hit the feels. The arrangements are rich and full of layers and intricate details, but the band understand the power of the space between notes and let the music - and Persson’s voice - have breathing space. Persson in fact is such an integral part of the album: Long Gone Before Daylight is an 11-song collection of romantic fatalism, of mistakes regretted and redemption plead, arranged into americana-twinged moodpieces that would be right at home in the wee hours accompanied by an emptying bottle of wine. Her charisma grew intensely during the band’s hiatus and her lyrics became more nuanced, and now they’re both key reasons why songs such as “And Then You Kissed Me”, “Lead Me into the Night” or “03.45: No Sleep” have the listener hang onto every moment and why they resonate so deeply. 

These moments of calm where the wistful emotions cling onto every note highlight most obviously what a gorgeous sounding album Long Gone Before Daylight is, but when it does shift gears all that pent up emotion finds a moment of release. The album can handle it classily (“Please Sister”, “For What It’s Worth”) or wildly (“Good Horse”) if it wants, but most powerfully when they let their new sound to simply soar with “You’re the Storm” and “Live and Learn”: the former is a yell of liberation against the tides as moves from its gentle verses to its colossal chorus, and the latter is all-around fantastically life-affirming but especially notable in the way how introduces a new backing vocal harmony for each part of the song, each one grander than the previous time around. “Live and Learn” actually gets so majestic by the time it reaches its most anthemic heights that it’s the one major challenger for “Communication” as the album’s masterpiece. 

Two such superlative songs and a whole group of consistently great accompaniments is wild when you compare it to the past albums. They were fine albums and had an assortment of great songs here and there, but were by no means the kinds of records that would inspire you to crave for more. I don’t intend to say that you can only create truly meaningful records when you go all serious and moody (let’s not forget that was the entire shtick of Gran Turismo, much more so than here), but it’s really evident that moving away from their established method of working and taking time off to re-discover and develop their musical selves helped everyone in the band to really focus on their craft. Long Gone Before Daylightis more than just a reboot, it’s a brand new start from scratch. It couldn’t have worked out better - the debut album by the New Cardigans is downright a classic album.   

My copy of the album is the standard UK edition that comes with a couple of bonus tracks. “Hold Me (Mini Version)” is a half-minute intro to the full song that was released separately as a b-side and its inclusion here without the full deal is questionable at best, and mainly acts as a bridge between the main album and the bonus cuts (alongside a gap of silence, which more bonus-featuring albums should do more often). Thus the main extra is “If There Is a Chance”, another lovely ballad-type that shares much of its traits and strengths with the main album. It’s more of the same, which in this case is by no means a bad thing. 

Depeche Mode - Sounds of the Universe (2009)

1) In Chains; 2) Hole to Feed; 3) Wrong; 4) Fragile Tension; 5) Little Soul; 6) In Sympathy; 7) Peace: 8) Come Back; 9) Spacewalker; 10) Perfect; 11) Miles Away/The Truth Is; 12) Jezebel; 13) Corrupt

Return to the old sound doesn't unfortunately equal to return to the old songwriting.

Key tracks: "In Chains", "Fragile Tension", "Miles Away/The Truth Is".

The first thing on Sounds of the Universe that leaves an impression is the sound. In fact, it’s the one thing that everyone focused on. Depeche Mode’s own comments about the album around the time of its release were largely about its chosen sound world and how the work on the album began when they dusted off some of their early synthesizers, and decided to bring them back to the spotlight. Befittingly, the fans then talked about the flashback production and how reminiscent it was of the earlier albums and the glory days. Most of the critical reception struggled to start their reviews without mentioning the production. Even the name of the album is on the game. And, well, fair enough - Sounds of the Universe does sound really nice. It’s a merger of the old and the new where older analogue synths buzz together with more modern sensibilities which is neat on its own, but the real important thing is that with it some of the overt sheen that was all over the last few albums prior to this has been scraped off. That little edge that was missing for a while is back and it complements the band’s romantic doom & gloom ethos far better than the gloss. Sounds of the Universe doesn’t feature an awe-inspiring production job by any means, but it suits the band in question perfectly.

It’s apparent soon enough that the reason no one ever talks about anything else but the sound is because there’s in fact little else to talk about Sounds of the Universe. It’s not because of lack of trying, certainly. The production harks back to the early 90s when the band were their most consistently solid with their writing, while the songwriting style is a fairly clear continuation on the ideas the preceding late-career highlight Playing the Angel rode on: Gahan even brings back the same co-writer pals from outside the band that he collaborated with on Angel for another three-song set. The problem is, by drawing these direct comparison points to past glories it simply underlines how this time the songs just aren’t up to scratch: the melodies are barely there, the attempted hooks and big moments come off half-baked and the revitalised energy from the last album is all gone. The most memorable songs on the album are such for all the wrong reasons: the primary singles “Wrong” and “Peace” are the two instantly catchiest songs on the album, but the former is borderline hilarious in its aggressive repetitiveness that has worn off its novelty by the time the first verse has finished and the latter is an admittedly fine chorus desperately trapped between throwaway verses. But at least they stand out: mostly Sounds of the Universe leaves through one ear as soon as it’s entered the other. To be more precise, the album isn’t guilty of being poor - it simply verges on completely unmemorable.

Credit where credit is due, Sounds isn’t entirely without its merits. Gahan at least tries to get as much out of the material he’s been given as he can and his vocal performances are one of the constant shining lights throughout. The real best songs of the album – “Fragile Tension” and “Miles Away/The Truth Is” – largely repeat the tricks that worked on Playing the Angel but with diminishing returns; they’re the best of the bunch here because they actively get the listener engaged when they enter the fray by boasting the best arrangements and melodies of the album, but it wouldn’t also be particularly agonising should I never hear them again. For the most part, if anything, Sounds of the Universe proves that covering weak songwriting with a neat production job only carries for so far and for so long.  Even though sonically this is probably the best Depeche Mode have been since the late-90s, it doesn’t matter much when the songs don’t have anything going on for them. And indeed - if the sound is all people talked about Sounds of the Universe around its release, it’s telling that these days people simply forget to talk at all about the album.

Rating: 4/10

John Frusciante - From the Sounds Inside (2001)

1) So Would Have I; 2) Three Thoughts; 3) I Go Through These Walls; 4) Murmur; 5) Saturation (Unmastered); 6) Interstate Sex; 7) Dying (I Don't Mind); 8) The Battle of Time; 9) With Love; 10) I Will Always Be Beat Down; 11) Fallout (Unmastered); 12) Penetrate Time (Lou Bergs); 13) Slow Down; 14) Nature Falls; 15) Beginning Again; 16) Leave All the Days Behind; 17) Place to Drive; 18) How High; 19) Fallout (Demo); 20) Leaving You; 21) Sailing Outdoors

Demos and outtakes from the To Record Only Water sessions. Rough but if you liked that album, there's plenty more where that came from here.

Key tracks: "So Would Have I", "Interstate Sex", "I Will Always Be Beat Down"

Just to prove a point on John Frusciante riding a tidal wave of inspiration following his successful recovery from drugs, To Record Only Water for Ten Days was just the tip of the ice berg of the initial batch of Frusciante 2.0 solo recordings. While the 16 songs of that album were ones John decided to release officially, he soon followed up the album with free internet release for fans: a 21-song collection of outtakes from the same sessions, later dubbed as From the Sounds Inside.  

While To Record Only Water had a lo-fi nature to it already thanks to its barebones production and limited, Frusciante-centered arrangements, From the Sounds Inside takes it a notch further. It's a ragtag collection of loose ends and discarded songs, with varying recording qualities throughout and lacking the (limited) polish their parent album had, with audible static and fuzz covering most of them. Most of the songs float around 1-2 minutes and are more sketch-like in nature, with a few longer songs like "Three Thoughts" and "Interstate Sex" breaking from the norm. The actual style is exactly the same as on To Record Only Water, largely built around Frusciante's voice, guitars and drum machines; few To Record tracks even pop up on Sounds, with an unmastered version of "Saturation" and "Fallout" in both unmastered and demo forms. The differences to the album versions are minimal, apart from the fuzzier sound quality, so their inclusion here is confusing at best. 

Otherwise it's surprisingly good though, and proof that more of the same isn't unwelcome if you loved the first part. Once you get past the rough recording quality (which may not be an issue to some, and I've certainly grown accustomed to it), there's strengths to be found in the songs. It is obviously a collection of discarded and undeveloped material, but to the credit of Frusciante's creative boom at the time he's managed to inject each song with at least something of note, whether it's simply a great guitar part or vocal melody appearing for a moment, a neat outro or a particularly memorable drum machine arrangement, or in the best case something great that lasts throughout the song. Most of the tracks blend together but it's a thoroughly enjoyable blend, with many of the same traits that made To Record Only Water so strong appearing throughout, even if in a diluted form. And there are some obvious peaks: the before-mentioned "Three Thoughts" and "Interstate Sex" stand out because they've clearly been very fully fleshed out in every other way than production, "So Would Have I" is strong enough to have made decent company in the parent album with a little further development thanks to its subtle but strong key melody, and "I Will Always Be Beat Down" gets particularly good when a wonderful synthesizer pattern appears during its final half.  

Had these songs been honed down and perfected, perhaps the quantity slightly reduced and having them flow better as an album, you could easily have had a really good 'real' follow-up album to To Record Only Water. On its current form it's a ramshackle collection but it's a really good one at that; something extra clearly for the fans, but there's enough quality in it to grant it a clear longevity. It's a group of rough gems hiding underneath one another, and if you enjoyed its parent album it's a logical thing to try and find. Sadly this has yet to be released "properly" despite Frusciante occasionally mentioning his wishes to do - even the cover art up there isn't official, just one of the commonly accepted fan-made variants, and the tracklist names vary as the original files were untitled. It's a shame this hasn't been the case - if it was, it could hold up as something beyond just an obscure hardcore fan treat. 

Rating: 7/10

John Frusciante - To Record Only Water for Ten Days (2001)

1) Going Inside; 2) Someone's; 3) The First Season; 4) Wind Up Space; 5) Away & Anywhere; 6) Remain; 7) Fallout; 8) Ramparts; 9) With No One; 10) Murderers; 11) Invisible Movement; 12) Representing; 13) In Rime; 14) Saturation; 15) Moments Have You

Through a personal and creative rebirth and despite a limited tool set, Frusciante gives his solo career a proper start by way of a resonant, personal burst of inspiration.

Key tracks: "Going Inside", "Invisible Movement", "Moments Have You"

John Frusciante experienced a resurrection in the late 90s, almost practically. He picked himself up (with a big help from his friends) from the literal brink of death, got himself cleaned up from the heavy amount of drugs his life had revolved around for much of the 1990s and brought himself back into shape (including replacing his entire set of teeth), effectively starting a brand new life from scratch. Comparing Frusciante before and after his rehab is akin to dealing with two entirely different people, so radically he changed not only his lifestyle but the way he approached music. His melody-heavy, layered signature style of playing guitar, appreciation of space between notes and a new-found fascination for intricate arrangements not only lead Red Hot Chili Peppers for their second wind that codified Frusciante as their definitive guitarist for the history books, but they paved the way for a near endless stream of creativity. During the first decade of the 2000s Frusciante was always, endlessly working whether with his band, by himself or through other side projects, often at the same time - he released more music during those ten years than a lot artists do during their whole career. 

To Record Only Water for Ten Days is an appropriate way to start that path. Despite its major label release (courtesy of Warner trying to ride on the coattails of Californication's recent success), it sounds entirely homespun, something you'd be more likely to find online than in the record store. The album's building blocks consist of only Frusciante's singing, his guitar, a drum machine and some keyboard textures, all with a decidedly lo-fi production that reveal the album's origins: home demos, backstage takes and other strictly personal recordings made quickly and entirely through his own two hands. They sound like they're primarily for Frusciante himself, like demos that got a little bit of polish and mastering before getting pushed through the door. They were a way for Frusciante keep creating while he was touring the world with the Chili Peppers, simply because he needed to make new music all the time. 

But that's not the whole picture. Despite its rough-around-the-edges presentation, To Record Only Water is emblematic of Frusciante's rejuvenation. With the relatively limited instrumentation, the production leaves a lot of room for its few elements to showcase themselves; with little else to distract, you pick up on the details more easily. The guitar playing is front and center musically, a rhythmic acoustic strum in lieu of bass backing up the electric, excitedly presenting the new signature style: numerous rich melodic and rhythmic patterns weaved in-between each riff's respective gaps. At best of times, like with the instrumental "Ramparts", the amount of various guitar parts on top of each other becomes almost overwhelming, but they're all kept neatly in line, each riff showing a clear individual purpose rather than repeating the same patterns. 



Even more noticeably, there's Frusciante's voice. Cleaning up has not only done wonders to his singing in general, but audibly boosted his own confidence as a vocalist. Already established as a powerful tool in the Chili Peppers arsenal with his increased backing vocal role on Californication, on To Record Only Waterhis bellowing voice gets the center spot it arguably deserves. It's a voice full of charisma, his past pains and new lust for life resonating throughout, and he sings like a man who's overjoyed to be able to sing once more to begin with. The lyrics are perhaps abstract to a fault but Frusciante sells them: he finds the emotional hooking points in the the surreal, imagery-heavy words, and together with the sound and production they make for an album that's well within its own world, singularly focused around its songwriter's whims. 

The songs themselves are roughly split between vignette-like pieces that cosily wrap themselves up in couple of minutes or under, and the more fully-realised songs. In either case, Frusciante doesn't particularly abide between strict verse-chorus-verse structures. They're present, but not particularly adamantly so; you could argue for a lot of these songs that they're in their core free-form structures to suit Frusciante's rambling lyrical patterns, but ones where he switches between a couple of key melodies for convenience when it suits his whim. Whichever approach he takes, he does something memorable with it. The tuneless excursions of his first two solo albums are a distant memory: here, despite the limited array of sounds and the inconsistent structures, Frusciante always make a strong case for his songwriting. A lot of the longer songs in particular shine in this regard, for obvious reasons. "Going Inside" is a roaring and soaring anthem that's not just an album opener but an introduction to Frusciante's new life in general, "Away & Anywhere" is a few short tweaks away from being a gigantic rock anthem as it explodes into life in its wordless choruses, and "Moments Have You" is a perfect closer in how it injects the optimism of the whole project into music so perfectly, elevating its straightforward nature into what sounds like a great big smile at the end of the album. The shorter songs are no slackers either, and the rush of energy of "Sometimes", dream-like "Wind Up Space" and killer melody of "Invisible Movement" (which is one of the few shorter songs that gets a chance to grow in scope as it progresses) are just as essential. 

To Record Only Water is similarly essential - not just for the listener, but you can tell it was important for Frusciante himself, a way to fully twist open the creativity that he had started to tap into. As a whole, the album is nearly life-affirmingly happy, though not obviously so: it has its slightly more melancholy cuts here and there ("Fallout", the particularly gorgeous "The First Season"), after all. But there's a beaming optimism to Frusciante himself, present in every inspired arrangement, earworm vocal melody and shimmering riff. There's a certain kind of purity to its limited arsenal of sounds and how Frusciante is clearly behind each and every one of them. In the most positive way, it's an album that sounds like it was intended primarily for its creator - it's simply a wonderful coincidence that it's a fantastic listen for other people as well. It's a heartfelt and inspiring love letter to life, dictated through a layer of very personal kind vagueness in form and structure but performed with directness and earnestness. The albums that followed would find ways to emphasise or expand upon a variety of the positives that are found here, but To Record Only Water still feels like the most essential for Frusciante, centered entirely around his own gut feeling and how he channels it into the songs.

Rating: 9/10

Blur - Think Tank (2003)

1) Ambulance; 2) Out of Time; 3) Crazy Beat; 4) Good Song; 5) On the Way to the Club; 6) Brothers and Sisters; 7) Caravan; 8) We’ve Got a File on You; 9) Moroccan Peoples Revolutionary Bowls Club; 10) Sweet Song; 11) Jets; 12) Gene by Gene; 13) Battery in Your Leg

Rating: 8/10

More Albarn and less Blur, but an impressive and captivating transformation that ends up becoming one of the band's essentials.

Key tracks: "Ambulance", "Out of Time", "On the Way to the Club"

Across the folded open lyrics booklet of Think Tank there’s a single sentence printed over everything else in bold red: “I AIN’T GOT NOTHING TO BE SCARED OF”. The same line is the first set of words heard on the actual album as well, repeated numerous times throughout “Ambulance”. It’s as obvious a statement as they come, a pre-emptive response to the situation Blur had found themselves in after guitarist Graham Coxon had abruptly left over creative differences. Blur were heading towards new horizons with a new sound and missing an integral member – sure enough they had something to be scared of.

But that’s exciting. Blur wouldn’t be as interesting as they are without having shed their skin and breaking apart from their past a number of times before already. The Britpop period had a limited longevity and appeal, and the band had realised that - ever since the self-titled album the band had been distancing themselves from it. The crunched-up guitars of the self-titled had transformed into the jam-like sound textures and introspection of 13 and where most bands would lead their hit compilations with an openly chorus-driven single to fit among all the others, Blur’s Best Of was promoted via “Music Is My Radar”, an erratically twitching rhythm monster that was more a seizure than a singalong. It’s Blur’s post-Britpop period that has cemented their place as more than a periodical footnote and Think Tank was going to follow up on it: its original “Darklife” concept was intended to depict the dark flipside of modern, urban British life that the band celebrated back in the day, a direct nod to their past but eager to brush it off rather than return to it.

Musically the band were already heading further towards where “Music Is My Radar” had come from, but Coxon’s departure flipped the balance. Him and Damon Albarn’s musical ambitions had been straying further apart for a while and with no countering voice, Albarn became the sole creative lead of the band - and at this stage Albarn was interested in anything but Blur. He had already been infatuated with Mali for a while (leading to the sneaky solo debut Mali Music) and thus Think Tank ended up being partially recorded in Mali, with extensive featuring of local sounds and musicians. The birth of Gorillaz and their slow shift into Albarn’s primary project also creeped up underneath the surface. The rhythmic elements of Think Tank borrow a note from Gorillaz’s hip-hop flavoured genre mash, tracks like “Good Song” or “On the Way to the Club” are direct relatives to the more subdued Gorillaz songs like “Tomorrow Comes Today” and the contemporary pop flirtations lead to the hiring of Fatboy Slim as a partial co-producer for Think Tank - a move that directly lead to Coxon leaving. Albarn was expanding his visions and reinventing Blur to go along with his personal projects, and the rest of the band went along with it. If Think Tank’s detractors ever say that it isn’t a real Blur album, there is a point buried underneath somewhere there.

There’s an element of a blessing in disguise there. Albarn’s toe-dipping into new waters was rather haphazard - Mali Music is a passion project that has little to offer to anyone who isn’t actually Albarn and there’s a reason why the first Gorillaz album largely lives on through its singles and not the rather hit-and-miss whole. Using Blur as his melting pot gave him a way to play around with all those new elements on a platform he was most familiar with, channeling the sounds through a songwriting style he knew how to wield effectively. So while Think Tank may not be necessarily the most Blur-esque album in the world, it’s one of their most exciting. A clearly inspired songwriter known for a good song utilising new interesting elements to create atmospheric, oft-melancholy mood pieces sounds like a winning recipe, and time from time again Think Tank comes off truly inspired and captivating There’s a reason why “Ambulance” leads the charge - not just because of its defiant opening line, but its phenomenal mixture of crashing drums, crystalline keyboards, shoegaze guitars and the deep, plowing bass makes it clear straight away that the band are still going strong without Coxon. On a good day I’d easily say it’s probably Blur’s best song: it’s a bold release of pent-up emotion that builds up into an evocative wall of sound, breaks down into a loose funk and then re-constructs itself again into an unraveling giant. “On the Way to the Club”, “Brothers and Sisters”, “Good Song” and “Sweet Song” are A-game as well, and “Out of Time” is such a beautifully swerving, haunting ballad that even post-reunion Coxon’s stubbornness couldn’t deny its strength. They’re not a million miles away from the inwards-turned soundscapes of 13 but the method of expression here is evolutionary rather than a retread. The increasingly more important rhythmic backbone of the album also gives the normally fairly invisible Alex James and Dave Rowntree a chance to finally shine. For once they’re pushed to the front and allowed to take an equal part of the sound, and particularly James’ crunchy bass contributes greatly to the album’s feel. 

Annoyingly the band hadn’t departed from their old self in the ways that it would most matter - they’re once again in grave need of an editor as the actually fantastic parts of Think Tank are muddled by the haphazard bunch of loose ends and half-baked sketches that keep cropping up. The punk blast of “We’ve Got a File on You” and somewhat aimless “Moroccan Peoples Revolutionary Bowls Club” are at least entertaining even if clear secondary material, but other areas are more misfired. “Crazy Beat” was obviously made to be a single and it clunkers out in the most awkward way, the thick groove of “Jets” goes for three minutes and a terrible saxophone solo too long and surely the only reason anyone ever mentions “Battery in Your Leg” is because it’s the only song on the album that features Coxon, because its bored slog certainly isn’t worth bringing up otherwise. With a little pruning and tightening Think Tank could have been even better than it is, both cohesive and consistent, but nevermind - even with its flaws it’s still among the best of Blur, lacking in the crowd singalongs but offering some of the most musically interesting tracks the band’s produced. It does the fantastic thing of revealing a whole different side of the band, which gets you to appreciate them in completely new way. Coxon’s re-joining and subsequent refusal to play the majority of the songs from the album has of course buried it deeper in the dusts of history than it should be, but maybe he’s just feeling particularly self-conscious about the whole ordeal. Blur certainly managed to cope pretty great without him. 

Blur - The Great Escape (1995)

1) Stereotypes; 2) Country House; 3) Best Days; 4) Charmless Man; 5) Fade Away; 6) Top Man; 7) The Universal; 8) Mr. Robinson’s Quango; 9) He Thought of Cars; 10) It Could Be You; 11) Ernold Same; 12) Globe Alone; 13) Dan Abnormal; 14) Entertain Me; 15) Yuko & Hiro

Rating: 4/10

And you wonder why britpop ended up suffering from such a grand hangover...

Key tracks: "Stereotypes", "The Universal", "He Thought of Cars"

The sound of Britpop eating itself. The Great Escape begins with a track called “Stereotypes” and you couldn’t think of a more fitting beginning: it’s as if Blur suddenly became caricatures of themselves overnight. 

Blur have successfully escaped their potential legacy as Britpop has-beens due to the style switch and strength of their latter works, but the era looms heavily over The Great Escape. It was released when everything had suddenly escalated: the band were superstars and trend-setters and the media’s frenzy over the Blur vs Oasis “rivalry” was in full steam. Parklife had been a humongous success both commercially and artistically but the band were ready to move on, only to find that they were still expected to head in the same direction. The Great Escape was paraded like it was to be a victory lap, a culmination of the era and the weapon to beat their rivals, but it’s more a Britpop hangover: Blur are already over the sound and they don’t care, but they’re begrudgingly pushed to go with it anyway. 

When you stop caring you go on autopilot. As unfair (and plain wrong) as it is to imagine Blur as just a bunch of snotty Britpop lads, The Great Escape is like the band is trying to justify any lazy mental images people have of them. Musically it’s largely Parklife reheats, just with little of the original inspiration or wit left. The songs try to be upbeat and energetic but they’re thoroughly joyless, running through the motions. Lyrically Albarn tries way too hard to tap into the same quirky vein the character studies of Parklife came from, overdoing it to the point of them already coming across cliché. Occasionally there’s an attempt to break free of the conventions as the band try to explore new territories but even they feel unfocused: the sudden style switches of “Mr. Robinson’s Quango” and the hazily dreaming “Yuko & Hiro” are enough to raise an ear in attention but as songs they’re just not too captivating: album highlights that in another era would be clear b-side filler. Somewhat amusingly it’s the before-mentioned “Stereotypes” that’s actually one of the genuinely better cuts, rocking out with a little bit of life and swagger that’s otherwise missing from the album.

To top it off there’s “Country House” – not only one of the worst things Blur ever packed into their albums but also one of the most soulless creations that came out of the Britpop. It’s undeniably catchy, sure, but it does it so cheaply as it shamelessly tries to pack in a hundred different things to catch attention in hope that something sticks. Nursery rhyme level choruses, sing-along encouraging backing vocals, melodic Beatles nods, lyrical Oasis nods, horn sections, la-la-la sing-alongs and crammed-in vocal yelps all fight for attention with eachother in what’s the the pop song equivalent of trying to close a suitcase that’s way too full. Every now and then it appears in my head, I think maybe I’ve been too harsh on it and it’s probably better than I remember it being, but upon re-listens it always proves its nature time and time again. It’s a cacophonic mess and the fact that it was a number one speaks more about the intensity of the era (it was the chosen single to battle head-to-head against Oasis’ single at the time) than the actual quality of the song. 

There’s a one mighty bright spot though, and that’s “The Universal”. If the rest of The Great Escape showcases its era at its most cynical and just where it went wrong, here’s where it went gloriously right. “The Universal” is a beautiful, beautiful torch song in such a timeless way – you can tell from the first listen that it’s a genuine classic of the kind that will live on for decades, and it has. It might be dystopian tale of futuristic drugs, but it’s the single song on the album where Albarn sounds earnest and like he genuinely gives a damn. The strings swell, the chorus explodes, all the lights flash and there’s not a dry eye in the house. Its only downside is that a song of its magnitude would really have deserved a better place to sit in. 

Otherwise… well, it’s hard for me to say anything of great detail about The Great Escape. I’ve owned it for years and I had heard it a number of times before it came to my collection. I also regularly put it on out of curiosity and to see if I’ve not just misjudged it in the past, and it’s still left barely any imprint after all these years. Outside “Country House” it’s not even particularly awful, it’s just completely uninspired, fluctuating between dull and misjudged. You come off it disliking the era no matter the nostalgia I might have for the 90s and feeling worse about the band despite the great albums lined up on the same shelf. It’s a lazy album that undermines the band who perform it. The only great escape that resulted from it is how Blur decided to kill off the trend they helped to create on their next release and move away somewhere completely different.