It’s possible that for some admirers, complicated feelings accompany Damon Albarn’s first solo appearance in Australia. Those hoping to see a reunited Blur at the Big Day Out earlier in 2014 were disappointed in spectacular fashion, the Festival itself seemingly imploding after the band’s public vote of “no confidence” in the organisers. Last here in 2010 with the Gorillaz’ Plastic Beach extravaganza, it looks like Australian fans of post-Blur projects have become the preferred beneficiaries of Albarn’s touring plans.
Rapidly moving on from the Blur reunion shows, Albarn promptly released his first solo album, Everyday Robots, in April; a gently maudlin, low-key blend of wistful piano-composed tunes and producer Richard Russell’s creaking studio electronics. Featuring a downcast Albarn on the cover, looking like middle-aged Mod who just attended a rep cinema screening of Quadrophenia with his mortgage-laden mates, you could be forgiven for expecting the accompanying live shows to be similarly dolorous.
It’s perhaps with the premonition of seated, piano-led songs to come that an early audience politely but diffidently greets support act Fraser A. Gorman and his guest guitarist Davey Lane. Apparently as nonplussed by the size of the Palais as we are by an Americana-influenced songwriter warming up for Albarn’s British balladry, Gorman nonetheless acquits himself well.
A short set of earnestly performed songs, proudly referencing touchstones like Dylan and Reed, are warmly delivered by Gorman and given an electric edge by the ever-capable Lane. At times the economical skills of the You Am I member almost eclipse Gorman’s songs, but the Surf Coast troubadour’s likeability and reverence for his source material shines through, providing a charming, if incongruous, beginning to the evening.
Fears of the main show being an exercise in mopey introspection are dispelled by the stage introduction of The Heavy Seas, Albarn’s rock-solid touring band. Powered by Gorillaz live collaborators Mike Smith and Jeff Wootton, versatile drummer Pauli the PSM and dapper guitarist Seye Adelekan, a bass-heavy energy brings a grinning Albarn out to greet the expanded crowd, who immediately stand in their seats. In torn denim and slightly heavier than when he capered about in Damien Hirst’s ‘Country House’ video, Albarn has a rumpled charm appropriate to the arrested grandeur of the Palais. Working the crowd like a consummate frontman, he’s chipper, expansive and generous to the fans, and its rapidly clear that tonight’s primary goal is entertainment.
What follows is a showcase of the extensive Albarn songbook, tackling Gorillaz, The Good, The Bad & The Queen and Blur alongside his solo compositions. In fact, songs from Everyday Robots are a minority in the final setlist, outnumbered by their older brethren.
While the varied selection doesn’t provide us with a glimpse of the inner life of Damon Albarn, as Everyday Robots was somewhat misleadingly touted as doing, it does vindicate his reputation as a restlessly inventive and gifted melodicist. Touching upon his pop experimentalism, interest in African music, obsession with the character of Britain and the political itches he often needs to scratch, it’s a well-crafted medley of intelligent highs and lows – admittedly conducted by a cheeky 46 year-old who gleefully yells, “Come on, it’s Friday night for fuck’s sake!” at semi-regular intervals.
Initially lulled by the solo album’s languid ‘Lonely Press Play’ and title track, the audience is soon enough banging its knees on the backs of chairs to a Gorillaz triple-play of ‘Tomorrow Comes Today’, ‘Slow Country’ and ‘Kids With Guns’. It’s already beginning to look like a proper rock gig, with Adelekan mounting the stacks and Albarn high-fiving an ecstatic front row.
By the end of The Good, The Bad & The Queen’s ‘Three Changes’, Albarn has everyone eating out of the palm of his hand. He’s aided and abetted in this by the virtuosic prowess of The Heavy Seas, Pauli the PSM’s expertly tempered rhythms locking perfectly with Adelekan and Wootton’s fretwork and Smith’s chameleonic synths.
More highlights come with the beautifully drowsy, acoustic-led ‘Hostiles’, a pounding rendition of ‘Kingdom Of Doom’ that squeezes in a few bars of The Clash’s London Calling, and a stirring rendition of ‘You & Me’ – the song that made media ears prick up by referencing Albarn’s “productive” flirtation with heroin in the late ‘90s. “Tin foil and a lighter / My ship across”, he sings, with a notable lyrical switch from “The” to a personal pronoun. However, there’s no real sense of biographical revelation in this, of a secret being exposed, or any acknowledgement that being a privileged, middle-class heroin user isn’t the common experience; instead, it’s just another cleverly wrought pop song with an emotive refrain. As such, it’s perhaps the only moment tonight that’s openly vulnerable to cynicism.
With The Heavy Seas taking a break, Albarn provides a plaintive solo version of the extraordinary ‘Out Of Time’, perhaps the loveliest ballad he ever wrote and sadly anchored to Think Tank, the Blur album often dismissed for its lack of Graham Coxon. It does, however, give Blur-ites more bites of the cherry by leading into upbeat B-side ‘All Your Life’ and a sing-along ‘End Of The Century’ – featuring an Icelandic trumpeter – as a wrap of the main set.
The encore selections exemplify another Albarn trope, that of collaboration. For an artist ostensibly on a solo tour, it’s the talents of the people he brings on stage that sometimes shine the brightest. Introducing Melbourne emcee Remi as someone he “met for the first time today”, Albarn/2D’s zombie-stoner choruses in ‘Clint Eastwood’ act as the perfect springboard for Remi’s verses (including a bonus Canberra shout-out) – themselves able substitutions for Del The Funky Homosapien’s original rhymes.
For the jaunty ‘Mr Tembo’ Albarn enlists a gospel choir from Tasmania, unintentionally revealing that fatherhood has changed him in at least two ways: one, he’s happy to perform a song about a baby elephant, and two, he likes making dad jokes (“Tasmanians. So that’s what they look like.”) The choir remains in place for rousing final song ‘Heavy Seas Of Love’, with Albarn singing both his and Brian Eno’s parts before gently guiding what has been a joyous and uplifting gig to a close. Graciously leading all of his collaborators in a stage bow, he looks like he’s thoroughly enjoyed giving Melbourne this show – and Melbourne in turn is appreciative of it.
While such a gig could never sate a diehard Blur fan, it did, however, provide a timely mid-career opportunity to assess Albarn as a songwriter and performer. Even with a new album to promote, he still felt compelled to honour his audience with a little bit of everything from the last 20-odd years – a choice you could view as either humble or quite the opposite. But that’s his appealing contrariness. He’s an egotist who dresses like he’s just been thrown out of home, a melancholic artiste who dances jigs around roadies and jokes about jetlag heightening his “carnality”, and a spotlight seeker who surrounds himself with attention-grabbing talents. Combined with his mercurial ability to shift gears and write new material at a prolific rate, it seems likely he will continue to delight and infuriate for some time to come.
Check out the full gallery from the show here.
