Blur – Parklife Review

Still, it lingers. This posh boy twang of looking into the life of everyday people, brought forth by the Britpop spectacle saw flag-obsessed locals turn their attention to the bands of the time as they were forced into flying them for political motivations which would soon kill the movement. That implies Britpop was a movement and not just a rabble of bands which fit the bill of being British. Nothing more connects them though it was prodded at by the jingoism of Parklife, a shockingly tense song which removes Damon Albarn from his position as frontman, slots in Quadrophenia star Phil Daniels as lead vocalist and hopes to bring unity to all the people with cheery bricklayers working away in this mocked-up image of Britain. Such is the smarts of Parklife.  

But is it as simple as a dawdle through the past of builder’s brew and door-to-door salesmen? There is a sense of innocence protruding from Parklife which may come from Albarn and Graham Coxon, the latter removed from the humdrum of daily British life for those formative years as his parents leapfrogged military bases across Europe. Parklife then becomes a sum of what their parents experienced and passed down, a flowing and colourful view of Britain which, at the time of the track’s release, could not be further from the truth. It causes a grand divide then, between the genuine and twee sense of living life in the glitzy streets of a booming country and the reality of its poverty-stricken sick, which the bands of the time were rallying against.  

Regardless of its intent, Parklife is now engrained into British culture for its chart-topping days, its easy to understand and remember lyrics along with presenting Blur at their chirpy best. Everything from the dog races of the eponymous album cover to the single release, a pint of bitter and a rugby-like green endorsing the up-and-comer lifestyle. The few down the pub with some pop music that mattered on a Saturday afternoon. Even reading this back brings the voice of Daniels to mind. Parklife is not a Kinks-like song hoping to cheer up a population at odds with it, Blur is firmly on the side of the venom presented to a country at the time, swept up in the gaze of Union Jacks and Spice Girls. Supa Shoppa, the B-side paired with Parklife, sounds like a mockery of game show themes.  

Nonsense, to some degree, is how Parklife passes on through. Observations of the day, neither right nor wrong, just the matter-of-fact narration of a day wandering down any, non-specific street. Therein lies the charm. It is expounded on Theme From an Imaginary Film, a shock chamber pop rarity from Blur which relies on massive orchestral underscores and contrasts with belching blues and having a ball, sleeping with strangers and living like a lord. Those moments are a skilful back and forth from Albarn’s writing, and the focus should shift from Parklife to this forgotten track. Baroque in nature, pulled apart by electrics but, crucially, like Parklife, hitting out at British culture while also trying to fit in with their Fred Perry polos and laddish nature. Blur proved they were far from this, but did it all to keep up. Listen in to Parklife and the cracks begin to show.