Damon Albarn

by Martin Roach

  Plans were being laid for the new Blur album and a new producer would be needed. The choice was William Orbit, who’d provided an alternative version of ‘Movin’ On’ for the Bustin’ + Dronin’ project, essentially a stopgap set of remixes that was originally meant for the Japanese market only, but eventually received a low profile release in the UK. Orbit was the man of the moment, having just pushed Madonna to the top of the charts with the ambient mood piece ‘Frozen’. The album he also shaped for her – Ray Of Light – would provide her with the kind of edgy vibe she hadn’t commanded for years. Madonna was effectively an indie artist by now, releasing records through her own Maverick label – the Orbit collaboration worked and won her a clutch of Grammy awards. Edge, success and mainstream awards – not an easy trick to pull off. Through the summer of 1998, in studios in London and Iceland, Orbit pushed, prodded and cajoled Blur towards the next stage of their career. “It was such a personal thing going on, we needed to have someone who didn’t really know us … William was a bit of a psychiatrist through all of this.” “There were certain days when I’d get home and I couldn’t even get upstairs,” Orbit recalled to The Face. “I’d be suffering from sheer emotional exhaustion from trying to carve out a musical consensus, from trying to harness all this talent.” Graham Coxon believed that Orbit totally changed the band and their approach. “Working with William was like having a make-over on Richard and Judy,” said the guitarist in an interview with Q. “A complete surprise. It was like feeding your personality into a computer and saying: ‘Here’s your sound, Mr Coxon.’”

  The result of all that harnessing of talent was the new album 13, recorded at 13, Mayfair Studios and Sarm West in London and Studio Syrland in Reykjavik. And if Blur was the ‘Britpop Is Dead’ album, then 13 is unashamedly the ‘Justine’ album, a fact that Frischmann was made all too clear about prior to its release. “I bumped into Damon,” Justine told music journalist and author John Harris, “and he said … ‘Brace yourself.’” Damon Albarn – an artist so often criticised for hiding behind characters and stories in his songs, was about to bear his soul. Big time.

  From the start of 13, ‘Tender’ – with its shaky, delta blues stylings – tells of a lover that Damon loves too much; a ghost who lives only for the night. Sharing vocals with Coxon and the London Community Gospel Choir, Albarn’s singing slides from delicate falsetto to determined growl as he urges himself on through the pain she’s causing – he can get through it, to a new life on the other side. An unlikely lead single – albeit slightly shorter than the seven minutes forty seconds here – it reached No.2 in the charts. In true style, ‘Bugman’ is scheduled next to wipe things clear; like a grungier version of early Roxy Music, with a false white noise ending and a wig-out finale, it’s there to wipe away the melancholy of the previous track. ‘Coffee & TV’ – famed for its walking milk carton video – has Coxon on verse and Albarn on chorus, lyrically recalling the two things the guitarist used to help him quit drinking. It oozes charm and wit and it’s amazing it only made No.11 in the charts. Blur’s manager Chris Morrison caused a controversy at the time, claiming the band had been denied a Top 10 placing for the single because of a cock-up on the sales logging front. Albarn is back in charge for ‘Swamp Song’ – another blues, this time in the style of Elvis fronting The Fall – as he pleads for hedonistic pleasure. Perhaps it’s a nod to the flat-sharing wild times with Jamie Hewlett. With its aloof classical structures, ‘1992’ is an aloof slice of electronica with Coxon using every effects pedal he has at his disposal to disrupt the calm. ‘B.L.U.R.E.M.I’ – you can tell by the look of the title – is the Blur punk rock moment before ‘Battle’ weighs in for a stay of almost eight minutes. From its synth pulse opening, it’s clear we’re back on the domestic front; a life summed up in the oft-repeated one word title as chaotic as the jam that the band provides as background and the prog rock finale. Pastoral soothings are then used in ‘Mellow Song’ to find a way through the previous jumble; it’s as if Damon is lying on his bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what’s to become of him in the new life that’s around the corner, as the echoing notes tumble from Coxon’s guitar in a reminder of that other great art rock four piece, The Passions, on their tale of similarly doomed romance, ‘I’m In Love With A German Film Star’. ‘Trailer Park’ is back to The Fall vs Presley – Mark Elvis Smith if you like – as Albarn laments losing his woman; not to another man, but to the Rolling Stones. Its fade out is rather reminiscent of ‘Is Vic There?’ by Department S. ‘Caramel’ also had a familiar ring, reminding the listener of ‘Driver’s Seat’ by Sniff ‘N’ The Tears. You’re left satisfied after four minutes – it then continues for nearly another four. The cool beats and piano cascades of ‘Trimm Trab’ has Damon sleeping alone – the reason why is explained in the next track. There’s no sadder piece of writing about the lonely ache of a relationship than ‘No Distance Left To Run’. Like the failing love affair it documents, there’s very little to it; Damon’s voice, Coxon’s guitar, James’s walking bassline, Rowntree’s brushes and a single finger picking out an electric piano lament. It’s also a measure of brevity at just over three and a half minutes. Perhaps that was why it was chosen as a single. Hardly a radio friendly strummerlong, it still managed a No.14 chart placing. ‘Optigan 1’ shuffles us off into the sunset and 13 is done. Hindsight gives it a place among the best work – if not the best – of their career. At the time, there was admiration as well as puzzlement. Q magazine’s take was that 13 was, “a dense, fascinating, idiosyncratic and accomplished art rock album.” Rolling Stone had it down as, “their sloppiest, most playful set yet.” NME was impressed and frustrated in equal measure. “Blur’s most inconsistent and infuriating statement thus far. Infuriating, because divested of four solid-gone clunkers 13 could pass muster as the best of Blur.”

  13 is not unusual in that it documents the break up of a relationship – are their many albums that don’t reflect that in some way? What made the whole experience stand out was Damon’s willingness … eagerness almost … to use his pain to good effect. “This record, hopefully, takes the positive and the negative side of that whole relationship and turns it ultimately into something,” was how he explained things to The Face. “It was a very big thing for both of us. Hopefully one day we’ll be able to look back on it and go, ‘Well? Cheers, love.’” Not everyone was quite so impressed. “[When] the press started rolling in, it was a bit of a surprise how that campaign was handled,” Justine told Q. “Talking about it an awful lot. Almost selling it on ‘the poor boy’s had his heart broken.’ The only thing that broke Damon’s heart was not getting his own way.” “You know the press in England,” was Damon’s justification to NY Rock. “There were already enough rumours flying around. I thought it best to take the bull by the horns, you know, to get out there and tell them. You could say I came out with raised arms and was hoping they wouldn’t shoot.”

  With the new album released, 1999 was another harsh year of touring for the band. Most of Europe, America (north and south) and the Fuji Rock Festival in Japan were all visited – so was John Peel’s birthday bash in Suffolk. But it was the Reading Festival in August that got tongues wagging again. During a set dominated by songs from 13, Albarn told the crowd that the band were going to take a break – there’d be two more UK gigs before the end of the year – a B-sides show in Camden and a London Wembley Arena show where they’d play all their singles back to back. Then what? A spokesman for the band compared the statement to U2’s reinvention in 1989, where Bono had told his audience they were going away to “dream it all up again”. “There seems to be such a different feeling in the way we make music now,” Albarn told Q. “It’s hard to imagine going back. It has to get more free-form from now on.”

  As the sunset coda of ‘Optigan 1’ suggested, better times were just around the corner. The party may have been over at the bachelor pad with Jamie Hewlett, but Suzi Winstanley’s international artistic lifestyle would open up new vistas for Damon Albarn
. The world was there to be explored … properly explored, not just as a travelogue from a tour bus window … and like any good adventure, it would need a soundtrack.

  Chapter 14

  EVENTS TAKE A CINEMATIC TURN

  By March 1999 – within a year of beginning his relationship with Suzi Winstanley – it was revealed that the couple were expecting a baby. Damon’s long held and explicitly stated ambition to be a dad was going to be realised. With this news came the decision to come off the road. In an interview with music website Muse.com, Damon explained the reasoning behind what appeared to be such a drastic decision for a tour hungry performer to take. “Once I knew I was going to have a baby, I did everything I could to speed up the process of decommissioning, so to speak. Today, the subject of parenthood is the only one that truly engages me, it’s given me a sense of purpose. And what that means is that you know when to say no, really. I don’t really believe in not working. But I believe in working and for the quality of life when you’re working to be good.” The pair had moved into a house in Notting Hill. They managed four days of privacy before The Sun newspaper printed a picture of their new “very big house (but not in the country).” Partner Suzi Winstanley was appalled by the press intrusion into the pair’s life: “It’s all very well for him, because he courted that in the past, although he’s not interested in it now. But it’s got nothing to do with me, that’s his life before he met me. So I just keep my head down.” The couple managed to keep their baby out of the public eye for the best part of nine months, until Damon and Missy were papped on a west London street. The pictures were splashed in The Sun under the headline “Doting Damon”. “It’s changed the way I apply myself,” he told Radio 1 on being asked how being a dad had changed his attitude to music. “You can’t be so liberal with your time spent working, so you have to be a lot more constructive. So it’s made me more constructive.”

  As is often the case with new parents, it was time to take stock. It appeared that the time could indeed be right to fulfill a few more constructive ambitions, for Damon to start stretching himself further, to prove there was more to him than even the Blur and 13 albums had suggested. As for Blur the band, events would unfold that would mean they would never be the same unit again. That spring, drummer Dave Rowntree had sounded a warning note in an interview with Q about the nature of the interpersonal relationships within Blur. “We’re together for the music. We wouldn’t be great friends if we weren’t in a band and it would be stupid to pretend otherwise. Because we all get on each others’ nerves. You’re bound to after ten years.”

  As the 1990s were heading for the Noughties, British pop meant a very different thing to the spin it was given five years earlier at the height of the Britpop wars. With the big guns of the Spice Girls and Take That out of commission, lesser mortals had taken their place, throwing all the right shapes but missing the pure pop target by a mile. “I’m no longer interested in touring the world and being a pop tart but I love pop music,” was Damon’s view to Metro as he stepped back from the limelight. “Pop’s very fickle, but there are always good songs – although there seems to be a lot of cover versions around at the moment. Bands such as [floppy-haired boy band] A1 should be banned. They won a Brit, which sends out the wrong message, but it’s an industry thing to sell more records.” As ever though, Damon’s competitive streak was never far from the surface: “Blur won four in 1995 which is more than anyone else has [at that time] in a single night. People forget that.”

  Collaborations would provide a stepping stone to areas outside his apparent comfort zone. He was no stranger to working with other singular pop talents. As well as his keyboard playing and apparent co-songwriting input to Elastica’s debut album under his Dan Abnormal persona, there was a co-writing credit with former Specials’ singer Terry Hall on his 1995 ‘Rainbows’ EP. Albarn’s loyalty to Hall would continue, with contributions to Hall’s Laugh album in 1997 and The Hour of Two Lights in 2003. Albarn’s first solo piece, ‘Closet Romantic’, had graced the must-have soundtrack of 1996, Trainspotting. Increasingly, he seemed to be more comfortable in the company of others. From the sections marked ‘sublime’ and ridiculous’, he’d also recorded a version of ‘Waterloo Sunset’ with his hero Ray Davies and contributed to a 1997 Gary Numan tribute album alongside Matt Sharp of US alt-rock band Weezer. The album was called Random. Working with other pop musicians? All well and good. Most singers can manage that. Next up, holding your own against Britain’s foremost living classical composer? Try that Mr Noel Gallagher …

  With his repetitive cycles and rhythms, Michael Nyman has always been the one classical artist that rock musicians found it easiest to ‘get’. Despite his bookish appearance and owlish glasses, Nyman has always been approachable to worlds outside the classical. His first recorded piece – Decay Music in 1976 – even has a cool title like a rock album and he initially performed under the guise of ‘The Campiello Band’ and later, ‘The Michael Nyman Band’. He’s recorded over 100 albums, of which the best known are his soundtracks, initially with Peter Greenaway for his breakout film The Draughtman’s Contract in 1982 and later with Jane Campion for her film The Piano, ten years later. The soundtrack album for the latter film sold three million copies worldwide, figures that put most rock acts in the shade.

  Nyman and Albarn had already experienced a brief coming together, as part of a Noel Coward tribute album brought together by Neil Tennant of the Pet Shop Boys. The unlikely pairing’s contribution to 20th Century Blues was a virtually unidentifiable version of ‘London Pride’ which reportedly nearly didn’t make the final cut of the album. In the end a tweaked version did appear, alongside the likes of Sting, Texas and Suede. But collaborating with Nyman for Albarn’s first full soundtrack – for the 1999 ‘period cannibal’ film Ravenous – would be a slightly more daunting proposition than a one-off tribute track. Ravenous, set in Sierra Nevada in the 1840s stars Robert Carlyle and Guy Pearce. It’s a schizophrenic piece – Face director Antonia Bird was brought in late to the production after original director Milcho Manchevski departed – and the film didn’t exactly set the box office alight, perhaps because of confused marketing; it was far too splattery to be a black comedy but had too many sly gags to be an out-and-out horror flick. The LA Weekly review just about nails the problem: “Although the hinges connecting the film’s elements – slapstick, political satire, thriller, gross-out shots – sometimes squeak loudly, they hold the movie together nicely.” Director Bird has been generous about Albarn’s involvement. “It’s about collaboration. I think that that is what making films is about, it’s about creative collaboration. That film should be about [Robert Carlyle], me, Guy and Damon Albarn.” What interests us though is the soundtrack. “It was collaborating with Michael Nyman on the soundtrack to Ravenous which gave me a confidence I didn’t have before,” said Damon, relishing the experience of not being the cleverest person in the room for once. “I realised that I would rather be able to call myself a composer than a pop star.”

  The generous Nyman has since given Albarn the lion’s share of the credit for the twang and drone Ravenous soundtrack, while insisting that it wasn’t a collaboration in the truest sense, telling Soundtrack.net that, “Damon Albarn composed 60% of the tracks, and I did the rest. He had gotten a hold of the film before I did, and as it was his first, he was very excited by the prospect and chose the scenes he liked and wrote music. I, on the other hand, being a bit more tired and not so excited and involved, just sat back, and the cues that he didn’t do, I did. It wasn’t a collaboration in any sense whatsoever except for the fact that you see the composer credits as being ‘Damon Albarn and Michael Nyman.’ My stuff was totally self-contained.” Although the pair didn’t sit down and actually write pieces together, they did put together a team of people – an orchestrator, programmer, music editor and so forth – to turn the music into a soundtrack that would work as an accompaniment to the film as a commercially available OST (Original Soundtrack). Nyman has since descri
bed Damon’s ideas as “instinctive, fresh and quite stimulating” but that they also needed work. Damon was very open about who was the more experienced composer in the relationship, telling Muse.com, “I learned a lot from Michael. I basically had a month in which to learn a lot of stuff. He gave me a realistic view of it, which is very important. I did a lot more of the music on Ravenous really that Michael did, but he was always there more as a teacher. I think he would agree.”

  “I was actually very shocked at how courageous, independent and imaginative Damon was,” is how Nyman summed up the experience to Esquire. “He has a very good musical instinct. He’s fearless and he’s got supreme confidence so he’ll get on all right in the world of composing.” “I was rather disappointed,” says Nyman generously, “because the one thing I wanted to gain from that opportunity was to add something to his music, and have him add something to mine. But by the time I came on board, his music was so good and self-contained that the only thing I could do was to point him in the direction of an orchestrator!”