Blur, London Goldsmith’s College
Blur's Alex James - image by ex zilla
June 22, 2009
I’d liked to have started this review off by going on about how special it was to be arriving at such a small venue, littered with reminders of what university life was like and painfully similar to the school halls of my childhood. This sentimental feel was very much in keeping with what Blur’s music has meant to me, personally, over the years. I think I aged a good five years when my big sister handed me a copy of Leisure when I was ten years-old, while I vividly remember dragging my mum on a bus ride to Our Price in Islington the day The Great Escape came out.
The trouble is, David Walliams – a mountain of a man, I might add – was lurking around the entrance hall as we arrived. This symbol of British popular culture in the “noughties” was a stark reminder that this was no ordinary trip down memory lane for that small ginger kid bopping to ‘There’s No Other Way’ in his bedroom, wondering how that guitar made all those sounds. This was a real event. What was once my own small secret was now… oh, and there’s Jude Law.
When the band saunter on just a few minutes after their promise of eight o’clock, and swagger into the opening number from their 1991 debut LP, the crowd sway and groove, all the while mindfully transfixed on the figure stood in the middle of the stage. His eyes locked on the ceiling above him, Damon Albarn looks like a man praying to the Goldsmiths Gods, a lead singer watching nigh on twenty years of his life roll by and culminate in the right here, right now.
For a minute it looks as though he won’t be snapping out of it anytime soon. But then he does, strolling to the microphone and sending everybody present back to the moment they originally fell in love with his band. ‘Girls And Boys’ quickly follows, resulting in an impromptu contest aiming to find out who can pogo the highest, while Damon is up to his old tricks, getting up close and personal with his audience. He’s like a jumped up so-and-so at a football match and it’s bloody brilliant to see again.
“Where have you been?” somebody yells out between songs. “Heh. Where’ve we been?” Damon responds, the collar of his Fred Perry polo shirt suddenly seeming a little tighter. “Well, we were in Southend last night!” The lack of sentiment in the response was just what the question needed; Mr. Albarn is a man clearly proud of his post-Blur work and one can’t help but feel, judging by this showing, the time off was certainly a blessing for band and fans alike.
With glasses slipping down his nose at an alarming rate, Graham Coxon is conjuring up his bedazzling noises and still boggling the mind. And while ‘Tender’ provides a reason to gush at his and Damon’s presence on stage together, it is ‘Beetlebum’s back-end, lifted to headier heights than ever through sheer musical determination, that really ploughs its way through hearts and minds. There’s some sound provided by this pokey student union and Blur are certainly getting the most out of it.
Looking up to see a slim Alex James blow away his cheese-eating, farmyard-wandering persona with a slinky monitor-mounting pose and Dave Rowntree (for Prime Minister) keeping it all together like a designated driver sure is a sight to behold. But closing your eyes and letting the sound wash over you was where it’s really at in New Cross. And while you aren’t doing that you’re having one of around sixty bottles of water chucked over your face by Damon; it really is too hot, but we’re all too young to care.
Once ‘The Universal’ brings the house down and the lights come up, there’s a sense that what just happened was all a dream. Two hours of what is likely the best set I’ve ever heard at a gig has left the shiny walls eerily dripping with sweat. It’s surprisingly quiet too. I’m back in 1995, leaving that record store on a school night, already excited about rushing in early to tell my friends about it all the next day.
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