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Damon Albarn - Democrazy
Reviewed
by
The Guardian, 5 December 2003
 It takes
a certain je ne sais quoi to emerge as the most
dislikable figure in a book whose cast list includes Liam
Gallagher, Alistair Campbell and Chris Evans, but in John
Harris's masterful assessment of Britpop, The Last Party,
Damon Albarn somehow manages it.
He comes across as pompous, humourless and
motivated by egotism. It is not a one-off. The same thing
happened when Blur were granted a South Bank Show special
a few years back. It was difficult not to conclude that
the reason fans completely ignored Albarn's excellent
soundtrack to the 2000 Kevin Spacey film Ordinary Decent
Criminal is because its composer made such a berk of
himself when the cameras visited the recording sessions,
throwing a ridiculous tantrum at a distinctly
nonplussed-looking orchestra. The man has a terrible
public image.
At first glance, the very idea of Democrazy
seems to underline all that is bad about Albarn. There's
certainly an unappealing hubris involved in releasing
what is described as "a journal of no-fi demos
recorded in hotel rooms during Blur's US tour",
whether or not it comes as a limited-edition,
coloured-vinyl, 10-inch double-pack in a customised,
gatefold sleeve. Tracks are buried in tape hiss, end
abruptly and, on at least one occasion, have lyrics that
are evidently being made up on the spot to no great
effect. In the future, they may be turned into songs for
the next Gorillaz album, or even a Damon Albarn solo
album proper. Or they may simply remain unfinished
ephemera.
The sort of thing that Democrazy contains is
usually left for the posthumous box set, where they may
be seen to shed light on the genesis of an acknowledged
classic album. Albarn is self-important enough to believe
that even his offhand doodles are worthy of
consideration, not retrospectively but right this minute.
Infuriatingly, he's probably right. No other
current major British artist would do this, and with good
reason. In the unlikely event that Albarn's old adversary
Noel Gallagher was to release a journal of no-fi demos
recorded in hotel rooms, you suspect he would have to
customise his limited- edition, 10-inch gatefold sleeve
by stapling £20 notes to it before anyone would be
enticed into buying one.
However, as Think Tank, Mali Music and
Gorillaz proved, Albarn is a unique figure in the premier
league of British rock: his work invites the adjective
"unpredictable". These days, even Radiohead
seem to have settled into a routine style (albeit one
with outré influences), but it remains cheeringly
impossible to predict what Albarn's next album project
will sound like. As such, a glimpse into his songwriting
process should be greeted with interest rather than a
yawn.
That said, there are moments on Democrazy
that Albarn should have kept to himself. Dezert is
nothing more than an echoing drum machine and a two-note
guitar riff: not even the most deranged Albarn fan will
sit through it twice. The rambling Saz Theory Book sounds
like the sort of thing anyone would come up with if they
were handed a melodica and told to play something vaguely
eastern. Need a Gun may eventually be knocked into a
maddeningly catchy Gorillaz track but, as it stands, its
strangulated falsetto is simply maddening.
Elsewhere, however, there are tracks that
are fascinating and pleasurable to listen to. Even in its
rough, fragmentary state, Half a Song is evidently
blessed with a heartbreaking melody. The titles of Sub
Species of an American Day and American Welfare Poem
worryingly suggest the kind of graceless, sneering,
self-pitying songs English rock stars traditionally write
in American hotel rooms. But the former starts out as a
tuneless ramble before suddenly revealing a charming,
melodica-backed chorus, while the latter succeeds in
channelling the disturbing nursery-rhyme quality of Syd
Barrett's solo albums via its off-kilter melody and
lazily strummed guitar. Albarn goes on to repeat the
trick on Gotta Get Down with the Passing of Time.
Some observers have suggested that reviewing
Democrazy is unfair, as the music it contains was never
intended to be heard by the wider world: the listener is
being allowed to eavesdrop on Albarn at his most
guileless. It's an appealing idea, but it fails to
explain the closing End of Democrazy, which features a
nagging riff, some great harmonies and Albarn singing:
"This is the end of Democrazy, hope you understand
I've been lazy, I stayed up every night singing when I
really should have been sleeping." That rather
sounds as if he always intended this music to be
released. You can see why.
It is occasionally brilliant and frequently
irritating beyond belief. It is packed with interesting
ideas, but is founded in an appalling self-importance. It
is, you are forced to concede, a record not unlike its
author.
(3/5) Alexis
Petridis
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