Another early moment from Blur which was, for whatever reason, released at a time when the band’s sound had evolved far beyond the baggy style. Close is a nice enough piece, but releasing it after their self-titled work, an incredible moment for the band, is a strange choice. A Leisure-era single given to members of the fan club around 1998, a nice enough gesture, but a step off from the sound Blur had pursued over the last few years. It is a matter of tidying the archives, of fishing out material which had not been released and offering it to those interested. Admirable, absolutely, but it cuts into the new image Blur were trying to maintain following the chart wars and the pastiche of The Great Escape. A reductive choice to release it at the time, but it does not appear to have impacted the band at all.
Close remains an idle, early years song from a band who were, at the time, trying to make sense of their sound. Featured on the remaster and certainly a different instrumental pull than the rest of the Madchester-adjacent Leisure, Close is a great bit of fun. A punchy guitar riff and the whirring thrills promised by it are a grand way to open the song, one which deflates somewhat when Damon Albarn begins singing. A shame, too, considering the strength of his voice and well-varied outlook on the world in future songs. His dependence on the hooks and catchy rhythms, serving the song and not the inherently interesting story at hand, is what lets him down. A song of hopeful intimacy is all Close offers, though the conviction the rest of the band displays is what carries it across as a competent release. It’s a song which offers exactly what the title suggests and does not evolve much from there.
A clear desire and not a suggestion otherwise is what Close offers. Where it may be extremely simple, guttingly so at times, the conviction which carries Close is the best part of it. Albarn tirelessly tries to maintain a desire through simple lyrical structure, a straight shot through as the rest of Blur show off their instrumental attentiveness. Coxon sounds superb here, the roaring guitar at the start turning into a groovy number which assesses the qualities of their Madchester sound. There is little love for what is heard, and it makes for a wide-open slot with Alex James’ bass work. A steady foundation, for sure, just a shame to hear nothing is leaping from it, making use of the steady core.
But these are the early days of Blur. Albarn would bring a complexity to his lyrics on later releases, and it is only with hindsight that Close sounds a tad redundant. A very vague and simple love song, but one that features a thrill for creating new music. It may be primitive and almost reductive when compared to their best works, but the effort on display through Close captures the volatility of creativity, the urgency which spills over Leisure in its peaks and valleys. A bit disjointed and thoroughly off the mark but still extremely likeable, catchy and showing the band has more than an understanding of what makes for an interesting hook. One for the completionists, and it is hard to find a reason to return to Close, but there is a likeable nature to it, however limited that feeling may be.
