blur’s 20 Best Songs – The Definitive Verdict

Ahead of their first album in eight years, ‘The Ballad Of Darren’, dropping this Friday, Clash staff and contributors commemorate the occasion with a retrospective of definitive blur songs.

Since starting out in 1991 with their debut album ‘Leisure’ the band have revolutionised pop music with songs that have becoming modern standards for multiple generations of fans, including those who weren’t even born for the majority of their hit-making heyday – like Billie Eilish who has described herself as “such a blur stan.”

So as you’d imagine, when we set out to make a list of the best blur songs, we’ve ended up with a selection ranging from 90’s classics like ‘Parklife’, ‘Country House’, ’Beetlebum’ and ‘Song 2’ right through to the band’s reflection on loss and fame that lead the campaign for their ninth LP.

In anticipation of ‘The Ballad of Darren’ – an album we deemed a bittersweet tour de force – here are twenty of our favourite blur songs.

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‘The Universal’

Damon Albarn constructs a painfully heartbreaking narrative of societal dislocation and mournful loneliness on this classic 1995 single taken from ‘The Great Escape’. The lyrics – more prescient than ever – speak to the endless cycle of false hope promises we are all conned into holding onto and that are temporarily lost beneath nights of despair and intoxication. The beautiful but simple orchestration perfectly mirrors Albarn’s words and elevates it to a place not many blur tracks have ever reached since. Undoubtedly a contender for their finest ever moment and one which is sure to be a highlight at their Wembley shows. Luke Winstanley

‘Out Of Time’

“Where’s the love song to set us free?”

Referencing the political landscape and the departure of Graham Coxon from the band, the lyrics and music video of ‘Out of Time’ call on listeners to show empathy and social awareness. Released shortly after the invasion of Iraq in 2003, the beautiful outpouring of anger and disappointment that led to global anti-war protests manifests itself in this wistful track. As a vocal campaigner against the war, Albarn laments the human inability to move past fighting and corruption, and yet there still seems to be hope for change. Love and politics merge behind the backdrop of a Moroccan orchestra with sitar-sounding instruments to make anyone homesick for a better time. ‘Out of Time’ is relevant now more than ever. Sahar Ghadirian

‘To The End’

For a song that sounds as romantic as this one, you can’t help but want the outcome to be successful. But as with a lot of blur’s music, it ends up tinged with bittersweetness. ‘To The End’ is a timeless ballad on 1994’s ‘Parklife’, with its uniquely bleak and intimate musings. Full of tricks that catch you off guard, its expansive French pop melodies and whispers of “jusqu’à la fin” make it hard to believe that the couple is at their end. From the English and French recordings of the track to the most iconic ‘La Comedie’ duet with Françoise Hardy, there is a merry-go-round feeling that brings both comfort and complete instability. And as the relationship’s final chapter nears, “collapsed in love,” Albarn forever masters juxtapositions. Sahar Ghadirian

‘You’re So Great’

An unfiltered Graham Coxon masterpiece, ‘You’re So Great’ treads on dark waters fraught with loneliness and substance dependence. With bright acoustic guitar lines and an electrifying solo that has its own spotlight moment towards the middle of the song, Coxon’s vulnerability lets the music do the talking. As his first solo song for blur on their self-titled record, with ‘Coffee and TV’ to follow on ‘13’, ‘You’re So Great’ is ultimately an ode for whatever or whoever he relies on. “And I feel the light / When you tell me it’s okay,” is repeated as Coxon navigates melancholic unease satiated by something he loves. Sahar Ghadirian

‘There’s No Other Way’

This was the track that first drew comparisons between blur and their 60s forebears. Even before 1994’s ‘Parklife’, ‘There’s No Other Way’ effortlessly blended a retro sound and brought it right into the early nineties. Deliciously memorable thanks to Graham’s intricate guitar licks and some elegant basslines from Alex, ‘There’s No Other Way’ is an exuberant and kaleidoscopic whirl of glorious early nineties indie-dance. Centred around a protagonist accusing their partner of ‘taking the fun out of everything’, it was the first song produced by Stephen Street who would go on to work with the band on four of their albums: ‘Blur’, ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’, ‘Parklife’ and ‘The Great Escape’. Emma Harrison

‘Parklife’

The mundanity of modern life is explored by Damon and co in what became one of the most era-defining songs of the nineties. Aided by Phil Daniels’ iconic monologue, it tackle themes like consumerism (It’s got nothing to do with your Vorsprung durch Technik you know?), conformity and how the rigidness of routine can frankly ruin your vibe. The lyrics are elevated by spangly exuberant guitars and the impossibly catchy refrain of ‘Parklife’ that is repeated nigh on 18 times throughout the track. Who knew that a song about feeding the pigeons (and sometimes the sparrows too!) could become one of the most memorable songs of the nineties and beyond?! Emma Harrison

‘End Of A Century’

The drabness of everyday life continues with ‘End Of A Century’ where the band explore the life of couples who cohabit. Setting his feelings clear from the offset, Albarn sings the opening line “She says there’s ants in the carpet, dirty little monsters / Eatin’ all the morsels, pickin’ up the rubbish” with a combination of disdain and resignation, all layered in with a mellotron flute thrown into the mix. You can feel the sense of apathy, especially with the line “End of a century, oh it’s nothin’ special”, and how even when this track was released in 1994 the promise of the millennium was decidedly underwhelming for the blur boys. Emma Harrison

‘Miss America’

blur found themselves at a troubling intersection as they worked on the masterpiece that became ‘Modern Life Is Rubbish’. They were in debt, facing backlash from the press after the moderate reception of ‘Leisure’, and their label, Food Records, had threatened to drop them if they didn’t pull a quick turnaround. Coming out of a deeply unsuccessful American tour, homesick and disgruntled with the US, ‘Miss America’ is a hazy insight into their disillusion. The lyrics are cryptic, rife with vivid imagery and intense emotion, yet lacking a coherent storyline. Coxon’s guitars are wonderfully psych-inspired, slowing the tempo of an otherwise momentum-driven album. This is a beautifully vulnerable, introspective moment for a band who so often project their story through characters and humour. Eve Boothroyd

‘Beetlebum’

Like many of blur’s songs, an iconic strumming pattern kicks off ‘Beetlebum’. “I just slip away and I am gone” sings Albarn, encapsulating the sense of release embodied by the track. There’s something oddly cathartic about ‘Beetlebum’, vocal harmonies blending the gritty with the heavenly, providing an undeniably cool example of Blur at their best. The track isn’t manicured or superficial, but instead constructs an emotive rawness reflective of their cohesive musical vision. The climax of the song relishes in the band’s instrumental prowess, the enduring charm and legacy of blur’s sound made clear. Charlotte Grimwade

‘Coffee & TV’ 

There’s a subtle melancholy explored in ‘Coffee & TV’, written by guitarist Graham Coxon, the song describes struggles with alcoholism. It’s dreamy and surreal in places, imbuing mundane moments with blur’s brand of hazy youthfulness. Coxon’s voice has a likeable softness, combining perfectly with the track’s easy momentum. With the rhythm of a chugging train, ‘Coffee & TV’ is an attempt at regaining control. Classic indie rock moments combine with electronic-sounding guitar solos to remind us of blur’s often chaotic creative release. Dissonant, edgy and hinting at hope, the song is one of their finest.  Charlotte Grimwade

‘Stereotypes’

I love how supremely English blur are. This tune is like a relic from a prudish 70s sitcom, set in a halcyon pre-Tinder era when suburban English folk would never dream of ‘fucking’. Instead, they’d surreptitiously ‘have it off’ or ‘get frisky’. ‘Bonk’, as the tabloids might say, with a camcorder on a tripod. ‘Stereotypes’ captures the old fashioned English aversion to sex so brilliantly. It’s a rollicking album opener that sounds superficially poppy – like a contemporary Supergrass track, say – but is actually Graham Coxon going hog-wild on a dirty messed up jazz chord. B7 flat 9, in case you’re wondering, nerds. A mad, horny masterpiece. Andy Hill

‘Country House’

Full-fat blur, this. An exemplar of English heritage rock. Damon Albarn has always been a fan of character songs, where the lyricist inhabits another chap, like the best work of his idol Ray Davies. ‘Country House’ is literally heir to ‘Sunny Afternoon’ by The Kinks, right? Only with slightly updated worries on our protagonist’s mind: antidepressants and IBS. It’s a sad song, especially in the middle-eight. “Blow / Blow me out, I am so sad / I don’t know why”. Jeez, cheer up lads. You just smoked Oasis to number one with this daft pastiche, forever winning soft southerners the Britpop bragging rights. Andy Hill

‘Dancehall’

The first time I heard blur’s ‘Dancehall’, I was round a mate’s house. We were under 18, staying in and playing PS1 games. I put on the ‘Beetlebum’ single. The Mario C remix was good, but didn’t sound that different from the A-Side. ‘Woodpigeon Song’ was solid, but it was the last track that really grabbed me. Detuned guitar twangings, feedback, filthy bass, screams, a loose drum beat…and is that a harmonica solo?

My mate wasn’t keen. His Dad even less. I loved it. It felt exciting and dangerous, especially after the turgid mess of ‘The Great Escape’. It was the band pressing reset in the best possible way. I’m not sure what Damon is banging on about; probably going out, probably drugs, probably girls. Probably nothing. It kind of makes it better. It’s still my favourite blur song. Give it a chance and it’ll be yours too. Nick Roseblade

‘Music Is My Radar’

Back in the day, it often took extra coaxing to part fans with their hard-earned cash for a ‘best of’ collection. The standard manoeuvre was to slap on a tempting new number at the backend – usually a rushed job that stank compared to the hits before it. blur bucked that trend by delivering arguably their most groovy, experimental single, ‘Music Is My Radar.’ Propelled by Alex James’ funky basslines, the quartet unleashed a sonic barrage of screeches, drones, and Bowie-esque backing vocals over the track’s five-and-half-minute runtime. It’s a beautiful chaos, a song that disproves that blur weren’t just The Kinks V2. Sam Walker-Smart

‘Under The Westway’

Ignoring 2010’s limited Record Store Release, ‘Fool’s Day’, blur’s creative rebirth was truly marked by split A-Side ‘Under The West Way/The Puritan’. While the latter was a noisy throwaway affair, the former is a majestically melancholic delight led by Albarn’s sparse piano chords and Rowntree’s thunderously reverbed drums. Despite the frontman lamenting the modern world and the passing of time, the track is strangely affecting and anthemic. A brilliant number that showcased blur were older and wiser but still able to craft a beautiful pop song. Sam Walker-Smart

‘Song 2’

In their Britpop pomp blur were the living embodiment of a certain brand of Britishness, one that was thrilling but also limiting. ‘Song 2’ is the sound of those limitations – and its attendant Britishness – being ripped away. A thrilling grunge-pop juggernaut, it blends vaguely menacing non sequiturs – “I got my head shaved / By a jumbo jet” anyone? – with a riff that was one part Mudhoney and two parts raw, primordial sludge. A daring 180 about-turn that can still thrills stadiums today. Robin Murray

‘Trimm Trabb’

blur as songwriters have always adored structure, embraced the edifice. So often compared to Ray Davies – the master of the pithy three-minute vignette – they rarely break open those assemblies, but when they do it’s pretty special. A highlight of their self-titled album, ‘Trimm Trabb’ is a meditation on consumer culture that mirrors the skewed majesty of Syd Barrett, Graham Coxon’s freewheeling guitar lines rejecting any definition placed upon them. Damon Albarn’s vocal has a Yoko-esque dissonance to it, while the final freakout is a thing of unrestrained joy. Robin Murray

‘For Tomorrow’

Famously sculpted on Christmas Day in the aftermath of an exhausting – and alienating – American tour, ‘For Tomorrow’ revels in the sights of London. A song about reconnecting with the city, it rides a “seamless line” to the Westway, Emperor’s Gate – where Damon Albarn’s parents once lived next door to John Lennon – and Primrose Hill, a breathless visit to that other London, the place of magic and transformation that exists beyond the tourist-led postcards. Overtly 60s in its appeal, ‘For Tomorrow’ must have seemed like an immaculate festive bauble – with blur gifting Britpop to their nearest and dearest. Robin Murray

‘This Is A Low’

It’s a lie to suggest that blur’s approach to British identity has been celebratory. Sometimes desultory, at others dismissive, the band’s shifting relationship with this country moves through as many shifts as the songwriting they use to communicate it. Often taken as the apex of Damon Albarn’s UK fetishism – the lyrics hinging on the Shipping Forecast – it’s a song about loneliness and reflection, a longing for community and an awareness of isolation. It’s also one of Damon’s all-time best vocals, a bravura work of emotional depth that refuses to stay still, meandering its hazy course around the British Isles, come good weather or bad, endlessly seeking a final port to dock in. Robin Murray

‘The Narcissist’

There comes a point for any successful band when their main point of competition becomes their own back catalogue. 2015’s riveting yet jarring ‘The Magic Whip’ entranced by daring to break from formula, the sound of an iconic group yet again locating new space to manoeuvre. Yet we don’t often return to it – a sign of how difficult the record can be, but also how un-blur it actually is.

‘The Narcissist’ is their first new song in eight years, and it makes no qualms about the throne it is seeking. In every respect a Blur song – the enchanting vocal, the wonderful arrangement – it also feels natural, totally unforced. Gliding back into our lives, ‘The Narcissist’ could easily be configured as fan service, yet it’s so much more than this – it’s the sound of Blur relishing their role as one of this country’s truly great bands. Robin Murray

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Photo Credit: Kevin Westenberg