Erupting like the dormant volcano they were, Blur and their return to the huge stages which stretch across the world have been a major triumph for the band and fans alike. The Ballad comes for them. Damon Albarn explores the calmer side as he did on his recent solo album The Nearer the Fountain. Pairing that with the writhing experience underscoring the steely nerve from Graham Coxon and the delicate backing rhythms of Alex James and Dave Rowntree respectively, The Ballad of Darren shoots for the skies and shoulders its way near to the top of Blur’s discography. Reflection and sincerity, clambering through an array of instrumental practices and flows, clearly and cleanly observed by the four-piece, makes for some of their best work in decades.

Collectively or otherwise, the members of Blur outdo themselves and much of what they did together or apart. An almost anxious turn is tipped on its head between The Ballad to St Charles Square, a recognition and acceptance of fury instead of the coy and wobbly introduction. Coxon is the spark for all of this, the madness of St Charles Square and the groaning guitar work underneath, holding it all together as Coxon lashes out at the ghosts which haunt the band. Barbaric is anything but its titular suggestion. Certainly capturing some internal conflict, the fear of resentment to those we hold dear, the feeling which is never lost now gone, and Barbaric mounts an intimate little aside. With its drum machine relics hiding in the background, there is a turn of confidence from Albarn, whose continued lean toward Gorillaz experimentation rubs off here.