Blur: The Magic Whip review – friends reunited for a beautiful comeback

Graham Coxon

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Blur’s made-in-Hong-Kong album, their first for 12 years, overflows with pretty songs and touchingly reveals a band now fortunately reconciled

There are two kinds of band re-formation. The primary is so compellingly simple that the “basic” bands that haven’t finished it now appear weirdly anomalous. You bury your differences, a course of eased by the passing of time, the sagacity that comes with age and, ceaselessly, the promise of a whopping cheque: if the past 10 years or so have informed us anything about musicians, it’s that few issues are as effective at resolving these bitter, decade-long feuds over guitar overdubs or backstage catering preparations or the drummer’s taste in wives because the prospect of paying off one’s mortgage. Then you definitely rehearse, guide exhibits, and knock out the hits, figuring out the gang shall be so overwhelmed by nostalgia they gained’t complain even if your singer feels like a man who’s clambered on stage at a karaoke night time after six pints, wrested management of the microphone and began bellowing down it, the Stone Roses having apparently reunited particularly to prove this.

The second includes truly recording new materials, and seems infinitely tough, fraught with the issues: not clumsily besmirching your personal legacy, making music that identifiably matches together with your again catalogue without merely showing to pastiche previous glories. Certainly, it’s proved tough sufficient to deliver reunions to an end: Kim Deal left the Pixies; the Stone Roses and Pulp clearly determined it wasn’t well worth the aggro, while Jerry Dammers just lately noted that his want to document new songs was among the many reasons he swiftly exited the reconstituted Specials.

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