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Blur -
Think Tank
Reviewed
by NME,
April 2003
 Due to some
weird accident of timing, we're currently getting a
masterclass on how - and how not - to sustain a long
career in pop. Jarvis is back under new
(dis)guise Relaxed Muscle, Radiohead
return with an album that disappointingly occupies the
same musical space as the last two, Oasis
bestride the world like an arthritic Colossus and then
there's Blur.
They've always known the value of keeping
one step ahead, of having a new 'concept' for each
record, which has always made them objects of suspicion
by the rock authenticity police. This time, however,
change has been forced on them by the departure of Graham
Coxon, and the 'concept' is not Damon's
daughter (as Justine Frischmann once
tartly claimed it would be - actually, maybe that was Gorillaz)
but Africa and anti-stardom.
Now that Gorillaz have sold
millions of records without Damon even
having to show his face, Blur claim to
be disdainful of the pop process, of presenting
themselves as personalities. This makes sense when
contrasted with inescapable pop trasherati like Victoria
Beckham, and the fact that Blur
are no longer the fresh-faced sex symbols of yore. But
it's really no different from attitudes of snooty
Seventies prog rockers, who thought the normal pop modes
of communication (being on Top Of The Pops,
releasing singles) were somehow beneath them. So 'Out
Of Time', their most straightforwardedly
touching single for ages, has a video Blur
don't even appear in, two gorgeous ballads are given the
dismissive titles 'Good Song' and 'Sweet
Song' and the album opens with 'Ambulance',
which on first listen sounds exactly like something from David
Bowie's dreadful 'Heathen'. "We
could have made a pop album," Blur
seem to be saying, "but that would have been too
easy."
Sigh. But despite Damon
removing two "potential radio smashes"
from 'Think Tank' because they "didn't
fit in" (because he was saving them for Gorillaz,
more like), it's still accessible and enjoyable despite,
you often feel, the intentions of its creators. While 'Jet'
is toe-curling free-jazz toss and the Norman Cook-assisted
'Crazy Beat' sounds like four old yobs
making an exhibition of themselves in a disco, Norm's
other track 'Gene By Gene' is an
effortless pop gem (with a title which probably doesn't
refer to Liam Gallagher's youngest
child). Then there's the summery, Arabian side of the
album, with 'Caravan' and 'On
The Way To The Club' both luxuriating in the
kind of grace and mystery which dissolves cynicism on
impact.
Blur's "and this
is me" moment is the closing 'Battery
In Your Leg', the only song still featuring Graham
Coxon ('Blur featuring Graham Coxon' -
how R&B). "I've got nothing to rely on/I've
broken every bone," sings Damon
frailly, as Graham chimes out the
saddest-sounding guitar riff ever, so loud it obliterates
the singing. It's a hugely apt and moving epitaph.
God knows what will happen next - there's
certainly no sense of urgency and ambition in Blur
themselves. Yet against the odds, 'Think Tank'
is a success, a record which might not mean much to Strokes
fans but which shows Blur's creative
spark is undimmed even while their stomach for the pop
fight fades. After all this time, they still demand to be
heard.
8/10 Alex
Needham
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