"An aftershock, reflection…on where we find ourselves now.”
On their first emergence in 8 years, The Ballad of Darren re-discovers Blur within a hazily reminiscent aura of 70’s-inspired lounge rock, dizzied by the tribulations of mid-life prospects.
In a year marked by celebratory post-Pandemic comebacks, fellow Britpoppers Pulp reconvened, John Frusciante rejoined Red Hot Chili Peppers’ lineup and Le Tigre reignited their mid-00’s punk inflections. Whilst the majority of Blur’s 4 members have scurried through their respectively separate projects in recent years, a reunion-prompted announcement in the form of two Wembley shows perfectly aligned themselves into this compounding celebration: another older act with a smattering of new music on the table.
Blur imminently distinguish themselves within a vintage-tinted environment, swelled between the lavish baroque pop elements of ‘The Ballad’ and the fuzzied rock ‘n’ roll aesthetics of ‘St. Charles Square’ a-la T.Rex. As frontman Damon Albarn laments his love-torn soul within the former (“Oh, can't you see when the ballad comes for you / It comes like me?”), we’re quickly whisked away to an unapologetic retort in the latter (“I fucked up, I’m not the first to do it”), grimly tussling between his reflective and abrasive personas post-break-up.
Whilst these more self-affirming tendencies later surface in ‘Barbaric’ and ‘The Narcissist’, The Ballad of Darren leans more upon Albarn’s softer, more introspective nurturings similar to that of Nick Cave’s heart-trodden recitals compounded by John Cale and Lou Reed’s ambient auras. ‘Russian Strings’ exudes an undoubted Bowie candour: imbued by drug addiction (“I’ll be hitting the hard stuff”); caressed by an uncanny vocal reverberation; the unmissable, uplifting “ooh”s and “aah”s in its backdrop. The tail-end of the record effectively prolong these influences as Albarn slips away into a drug-induced, escapable euphoria within ‘Far Away Island’ and ‘Avalon’ (“I know you think I must be lost now, but I'm not anymore…I don’t know I’m here anymore”) as the sumptuously softened brass and synth sections play him out in mesmerising cadences.
As Albarn attempts to find meaning and worth through the record, all-too-familiar sentiments are played out across Blur’s shortest record to date (concisely 36 minutes). Consistent midlife questioning curtails much of the record’s playtime, devoid of answers or progression: “Where are you now?”; “Where are we going?”; “Are we running out of time?”, dizzying Albarn’s strife in a post-relationship world yet, aside from the LP closer ‘The Heights’, the tracks offer little with regards to redemption and resolution. On Blur’s 1999 LP, 13, offerings of inner findings and experimentation brimmed to the surface, closer into Albarn’s effective excursions to his then-break up with former Elastica frontwoman, Justine Frischmann, all of which resoundingly go amiss here.
Beyond the sonic breadth reached within this record - from the Joni Mitchell-lyricism of ‘The Ballad’, to the energetic mid-00’s indie tropes of ‘The Narcissist’ - ‘The Heights’ attempts to place closure on Albarn & Co’s whereabouts, conglomerating in a pale of screeches and white noise, signalling an ongoing midlife crisis of the group, no longer youngsters bathing in a carefree disposition of yesteryear. For all of Albarn’s under-baked attempts to shake himself free of the break-up induced shackles, The Ballad of Darren effectively situates Blur within an emotionally turmoiled landscape gusted by the winds of gospel and grounded in the vintage earthings of modern day blues.
6.5/10
The Ballad of Darren is out now via Parlophone Records and can be found below.
This review is written courtesy of Still Listening Magazine - original review can be found here.
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