Blur – It Could Be You Review

With its cover a mock-up of tabloid-like adverts of better life, healthier living, and financial flow, It Could Be You is a knock at a culture of want. A scratchcard-like appearance from the band who have been roundly criticised for their tourist-like approach to working-class life. Parklife may have been just that with its dog track features and jingoism, but the intensity and sarcasm are what define those early works. In the build-up to The Great Escape, a moment where the countrified caricatures hit their limit, is a piece which knocks those who try their luck on the National Lottery. Those British institutions should be questioned, criticised even, though they form the base of an oddity from an album which would capitulate against the overbearing sense of Cool Britannia. This is where Blur accepts their image after so long writing of flimsy days in the countryside.  

Inevitabilities of their sound can be found on It Could Be You, with Graham Coxon producing some prideful work on guitar and backing some inevitably lucid-yet-lovely lyrics from Damon Albarn. The latter finds himself knocking at those who are hoping for the day their silver spoon is posted. They will never be in possession of it, but it is the hope that kills and keeps so many returning to the luck-based game. Blur find themselves in opposition to everyday living, the style of life which was being peddled by Oasis. Surface-level opportunities for those glued to the television with no suggestion of bettering themselves. All they manage is rot and fatigue, riding their luck instead of making their opportunities. It feels a bit self-serving, a bit boastful of the lives they have achieved, but at the same time, Blur did so by pushing their way through the tourist traps of Little England. That faux hope which the band toys with as they take a knock at nationalised gambling is a strong message.  

It Could Be You is far from their best song, though. A forgotten part of The Great Escape which calls for happiness in the days of placidity. Ernold Same, the song which follows It Could Be You on the album, does much the same. But for the single release, Budokan performances from Blur are paired with the malaise and lackadaisical outlook of listeners. Contrast with the crumbling couch potato aesthetic are boisterous, lively performances of some of the band’s best songs. It Could Be You live at the legendary venue is a wonderful occasion, as are Charmless Man and Chemical World. By no means are these the greatest hits from the group, but they are catchy and serve the single well. A staggering Charmless Man, backed by some heavy instrumental work from Coxon, Dave Rowntree, and Alex James, is the difference maker.  

Their Budokan performance may not be a staggering live achievement, and it certainly pales when compared to the Live at Wembley release decades later, though it serves as nice stock to the purpose of It Could Be You. What follows the winnings is Beaujolais living, chemical adaptations which keep life interesting when the purpose of financial freedom is hit. Blur knows it better than most, the excess of their touring days heard in the self-titled album to follow The Great Escape. But even without the post-Britpop fallout and the feeling of misery spreading through the contemporary bands of the time, there is a sense of protecting the more vulnerable from themselves, the hope of a better life, on It Could Be You. Whether Blur should be in that position of cultural commentary is down to whether you find Country House to be an intense knock at rich living or a desire to live as the man in the country. Either way, the message is on point for Blur, and time has not softened their suggestions.