When blur reunited in 2008 for headline performances at Glastonbury and Hyde Park the following summer, it felt like a triumphant victory lap. Then, coerced to participate in the 2012 London Olympic celebrations, they put on another huge show at Hyde Park but throughout were coy about releasing a new album. While they did pepper the comebacks with a few standalone releases (‘Fool’s Day’ in 2010 and ‘Under the Westway’ with B-side ‘The Puritan’), both seemed to suggest that a full-blown return to studio albums was unlikely.
However, circumstances changed their minds after a headline slot at Tokyo Rocks Music Festival was cancelled for reasons unknown in 2013. Stranded in Hong Kong for five extra days, the band made use of the time by entering Avon Studios to record new material, forming the foundation for what would become ‘The Magic Whip’, though – at the time – Damon Albarn expressed uncertainty about its future. That sense of hesitation and fragmentation ultimately shaped the character of the album itself.
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With his confidence having increased since returning to blur after departing in 2002, guitarist Graham Coxon took it upon himself to revisit the Hong Kong sessions as Albarn toured his solo album, ‘Everyday Robots’, in 2014. With longtime blur producer Stephen Street onboard, Coxon invited bassist Alex James and drummer Dave Rowntree to continue developing the tracks in secret and – once the music was nearing completion – it was handed to Albarn. He returned to Hong Kong for lyrical inspiration and recorded his vocals only a matter of weeks before ‘The Magic Whip’ was surprisingly announced in February 2015.
The album opens with ‘Lonesome Street’, as if ‘Beetlebum’, ‘Tender’ and ‘Out Of Time’ never happened. It begins with the ambient sounds of urban life – though it doesn’t clearly evoke Hong Kong, the reference to East Grinstead confusing matters – and soon launches into a track that feels ripped from the ‘Life’ trilogy of albums. Brimming with swagger and wit, it feels almost too familiar, but equally it’s an excellent blur song. Yet – and this is the defining trait of the album – we take an immediate left turn, as ‘New World Towers’ slows the pace, shimmering with a yearning vocal from Albarn with murmured backing vocals. Atmospheric and reflective, it’s perhaps more in line with what one should expect from blur in the second decade of the 21st century.
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It seems an obvious comparison, but ‘Go Out’ leans heavily into Gorillaz, with Albarn giving it the full 2-D with a detached vocal delivery. Coxon is at his guitar-strangling best – to all intents and purposes he provides the chorus – while the tinny drums and headache-inducing rhythm combine for a compelling track that thrives on its unease. Initially appearing as an odd choice for a comeback single, it unveiled its greatness across multiple listens. Taking proceedings down a notch, ‘Ice Cream Man’ follows, skipping along with a mournful lilt, its sweet melody hiding more melancholic undertones.
The album’s centrepiece, ‘Thought I Was a Spaceman’, creates an intimate and cosmic soundscape before evolving into a restrained epic, grounded by a xylophone and textured with electronic layers. By now, the thematic tone for the album has largely been set, that of alienation and dislocation.
However, ‘I Broadcast’ then brings the album screeching around again, an indie-pop thrash that fits the album’s texture but the sort of track Blur can dash off in their sleep. It’s followed by the achingly sad ‘My Terracotta Heart’, a textbook Albarn world-music exploration that belies the purported setting.
The rollercoaster nature of the album hits a real high with ‘There Are Too Many of Us’. Militaristic drums from Rowntree, rigid strumming from Coxon, and stabbing strings underscore a lyric about immigration and population pressure (“We pose this question to our children, it leads them all to stray”). Its brilliance lies in its restraint, awareness, and the slow-burn payoff when the bass kicks in for the second verse. It’s a top-tier blur track and unlike anything else they’ve put their name to.
‘Ghost Ship’ pivots again with a breezy, Caribbean-influenced rhythm before ‘Pyongyang’ descends back into the album’s more sombre themes. A mournful piece laced with sadness, with a title alluding to the North Korean capital, its sound reflects the grey, oppressive atmosphere often associated with the place.
Thereafter comes the nadir of the album: ‘Ong Ong’ is a parody of Blur’s past, the contemporaneous lyrics notwithstanding. All forced positivity (even the ‘la la la’s feel underwhelmed) and with an annoyingly catchy hook, it feels like the result of AI. While it might have worked as a one-off single, sandwiched between two solemn pieces it jars and it ultimately sums up the album’s issues. The final track, ‘Mirrorball’, returns to fragility, echoing ‘Pyongyang’ with sparse arrangement and dreamlike quality, concluding the album on a beautifully haunting note, though the detour into ‘Ong Ong’ dulls some of its impact.
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Ultimately, ‘The Magic Whip’ is a smorgasbord of blur’s history, a collage of styles and moods that never fully coalesces into a singular identity, with moments of brilliance but little cohesive vision. Yet in a ranking of their albums, it stands above ‘Leisure’ and ‘Think Tank’, thanks to the strength of individual tracks and the return of Coxon after a 16-year absence from full involvement in a blur LP.
The lack of coherency is the biggest downfall of the album, but even if it isn’t greater than the sum of its parts, some of the parts are pretty damn great. Albarn may sound distracted at points (unsurprisingly, given his various ongoing projects), but largely his voice and lyrical instincts remain razor-sharp, Coxon showcases his musical attributes while James and Rowntree are steadfast as always.
‘The Magic Whip’ ranks alongside ‘13’ and ‘The Great Escape’ but fails to match the majestic ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’, the omnipresent ‘Parklife’ or the landmark ‘Blur’. But even mid-range blur still towers above pretty much anything else.
A subsequent third trip to Hyde Park in six years was probably overkill though.
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Words: Richard Bowes
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blur’s ‘The Magic Whip’ At 10 – clashmusic.com
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