Review Summary: Life After Britpop.
In 2047, Hong Kong will cease assimilation and be fully returned to China. By that time, it's likely the rampant consumerism and free market will be eliminated to make way for traditional Chinese customs. At the minute, it lies eerily in the balance, at once one of the wealthiest locations on Earth, while also facing massive protests over the assimilation from younger citizens.
For those who have yet to visit Hong Kong, it is truly a bizarre locale. Walking through Kowloon's streets show disparate occupation, where smaller traditional restaurants and apparel stores rub shoulders with HMV and Pizza Hut. Take a journey into the mountainous terrains, and you'll find the ruins of of the First Opium Wars. 5 minutes in the other direction, you'll find a virtually abandoned mall replete with unnecessary tech and convenience stores. It's an almost ironic statement of Western capitalism, juxtaposing the pointlessness of consumerism with the argument that its existence isn't hurting anyone. It's a contradiction of perceptions that merge the concept of 'consumer' with the idea of the 'individual'.
To that end, it makes sense that Blur would one day end up recording on the hallowed peninsula. Between the conflicting feelings of home and individuality, there lies a deeply disturbing convergence of communism and consumerism with a question mark lingering over which will overcome the other. Blur's native England made way for similar themes on
Parklife, a contender for the most British album ever created. However,
The Magic Whip doesn't seem to embody Eastern music as much as it gathers the experience and portrays it in familiar music surroundings. It's almost as if Blur predicted the waning interest ahead if they simply stuck to muscle memory and released something quintessentially English. Lead single "Go Out", covered in hazy guitar and laconic rhythms, made the case for a more anachronistic Blur that were more than willing to prove that their arsenal is capable of far more; gladly,
The Magic Whip follows suit.
Allegorically,
The Magic Whip shares its approach to aesthetic with predecessor
Think Tank. However, where that album sought to introduce Moroccan tropes into the Blur pallet, here Damon Albarn's lyricism seeks identification with the Asian cityscapes surrounding him. Urban sprawl and decay are the matters on display, with Albarn keen to give everything his signature dose of wit and compassion. Even if it was unintentional, the embodiment of hope in "Ong Ong" comes through in the massive and infectious chorus ('I wanna be with you!'). Conversely, on "There's Too Many of Us", he infuses the infamous siege of the Lindt Café with a common dread of being a soul lost in the population, backed by Graham Coxon's tense martial soundscape. More focused is "Pyongyang", a downtrodden rumination on political paranoia in the infamous city made effervescent by Stephen Street's slick mixing job.
Some minor moments of drab melodies and off-colour musical experimentation are null and void, as Albarn's role as a voyeur and a storyteller eclipse any nagging criticisms one might have of Coxon's fondness for muddy atmospherics. After all, this is a quintessentially Blur album; it shouldn't be misconstrued as a political or experimental album. In that gregarious way, opener "Lonesome Street" rings out spouting, 'You'll have to go on the Underground/To get things done here'. If there were ever a more Blur way to say, 'we're back', I'd like to hear it.
That's without exploring how often
The Magic Whip aims to please. While
The Great Escape was the final glimpse we got of the upbeat and cynical Blur that made them hit machines,
The Magic Whip's ingenuity comes about in its ease of playing healthy doses of melody against the gritty rumination that made their last few efforts such an engaging event. We already saw that in the tease of "Go Out", an all-together gritty stab of cynicism with musical ties to their Pavement influenced self-titled effort. However, the heart beating underneath all that skin is something we haven't received from Blur in years- an enormous appreciation for pop radio hooks. That characteristic defines the greater part of
The Magic Whip, where the upbeat hooks meet the dark and brooding Blur that made
13. The tracks aren't quite as anthemic as the former or as complex as the latter, but
The Magic Whip does call for this style; urgency trapped under newly flexing muscles.
Muted excitement would be an apt way to describe anticipation for
The Magic Whip; the recent past hasn't shone a flattering light on Blur's career, what with underwhelming off-the-cusp singles, constant claims of the end on several members' part, and a dose of dullness in the form of
Everyday Robots. Moving to Hong Kong to briefly smash out an album didn't seem like a conventional solution, but ultimately it was the one that worked. Commenting upon such topical issues while inflecting the classic Blur sound on top has done the admirable feat of resurrecting a flagging career. Whether it's a signal of the return of Blur or just a band eager to make a statement,
The Magic Whip states a stronger case than ever for Blur still having life after Britpop.
