Review: Blur's 2003 Album Think Tank

It was early evening Eastern Time, here in New York, on the night of July 7, 2005 when I stumbled upon Think Tank. My brain saturated with BBC and CNN coverage of the Tube and Bus bombings of that morning, I scoured iTunes for an album that, while being able to put me to rest, could also help extricate the extreme anguish and agression I felt at the atrocities we'd all witnessed on television and online. Music generally provides the best catharsis in trying times, and oddly enough an album from 2003 worked wonders.

Think Tank opens with an 11-minute dual-barrel disparity as the first track, the ominous "My Ambulance (White Noise)". Sneering over a robotic, cinderblock-heavy bassline and syncopated drum beat, the self-dubbed White Noise (perhaps another Albarn alter-ego?) sneers and rants about such ill-tempered subjects as the propensity of Americans towards gun violence to theorizing the potential harmlessness of a bomb on the London Underground.

At least that's how it seems, as the raspy English voice tends to lend itself to that of a rambling Hyde Park Corner speaker in the mental as well as vocal tenor. The ranting ends around five minutes in with what can only be described as a child-like hissy fit. What follows is the other side of the dramatic mask--a lush and weightless traipse of fuzzed-out guitar and pop-clack-pop drum machine, accompanied by Albarn's high English tone seeping the lines "I ain't got nothing to be scared of/Because I love you". It's an abrupt about-face, and a pace-setter for most of the album's tracks.

Blur set off to Morocco to record this record, and the evidence is all around, be it in the hushed and shabby natural sound of Arabic conversation at the end of some tracks or even the middle-eastern scales and instrumentation tucked into the bridges of some pieces. I only wish they'd brought along bassist Graham Coxon, who appears solely on the last track "Battery In Your Leg". Most of Think Tank's basslines are so automated and utilitarian that one imagines only Albarn and a drummer performing them as a duo in some dim Marrakesh cafe.

Aside from the handful of sparkling and partly-sunny songs that dominate the album, the true standout is "Caravan". It's a murky, dark chamber of a song, and sure enough I first heard it as television images of the bombed out Tube train near Aldgate Station emerged on the news. It's almost frighteningly fitting; intwined in the meandering bass and minimal, muffled clicking of the beat float ghostly piano and nihilist guitar lines.

In comes the distorted and subdued vocals, somberly sang as samples of regal military-band horns emerge and disappear into the ether: "And when it comes/You'll feel the weight of it/The day will come/You'll get away from it." It's the aural equivalent of being trapped amongst the dead 70 feet below the Earth's surface, in sweltering darkness. Fascinatingly morbid.

There are a few toss-offs to be mentioned--"We've Got A File On You" and "Crazy Beat" exude a punkish energy more fitting for Mr. Albarn's current outfit, Gorillaz. The amped and emotionally flat songs seem to explode forth from the deeper waters of the rest of the material, and unlike some acts, Blur can't present the balance gracefully. It's regrettable that these tracks were even included on the record, as Blur had otherwise done such a good job of shedding their early "lads on roller coasters, riding Vespas to the rave" vibe.

Nevertheless, it's a shame that while De La Soul cameos and hip-hop production have garnered the spotlight for Damon, this gem of a record seems to have slipped from the gaze of most. I ran into a friend on the bus a few days after July 7th, and he wholeheartedly agreed about the underrated nature of Think Tank.

It's a shame, because this album seems more relevant than ever considering the events in London and the world. It takes us through a myriad of emotions we're all feeling: somberness, angst, and most of all, recognisence that as we grow older, we must acknowledge sadly the things in life we cannot control.