Pop Music: Sweet smell of success - Blur have won the hearts of Britain's youth. Their lyrics may speak of butane sniffing, but their fans smell of nothing more noxious than soap. Joseph Gallivan inhales deeply . . .

Blur certainly have the popular touch at the moment. When their CD Parklife flashed to No 1 recently, it proved that their pragmatism was well- judged. They've gone from being a dreary C86 / My Bloody Valentine-style guitar act to being called 'the best British band since the Smiths' (Select) in a couple of years. For British, read copious, self-conscious references to Bank 'olidays, beach holidays, caps of tea and trarsers.

There was nothing self- conscious about the crowd that packed the De Montfort Student Union last Friday as they chattered through pre-show curiosities on the PA such as the Specials single 'Rat Race'. The air was heavy with the smell, not of reefer or even Silk Cut, but soap. The extended further education system has bred a new wave of student - clean, coiffed and not very angry.

When Damon Albarn strolled out in a boring T- shirt-and-jeans combo, he could well have been one of them. Where were the new mods we had seen so many pictures of, the style gurus? Consistency is not their strong suit.

Playing live is, though. The set was a romp through Parklife, kicking off with the instrumental 'The Debt Collector', whose whimsical fairground organ (played by Albarn) soon accelerated into a punky thrash. The lead singer was up and running - shaking hands, accepting notes from girls, even good-naturedly helping crowd surfers, but never losing his grip on the performance. They sang 'Jubilee', a song about an unemployed teenager who sniffs butane and plays video games, and 'Tracy Jacks', about a civil servant who does a Reggie Perrin then bulldozes his house because everything is 'just so overrated'.

The trouble is, their sociology of the Nineties is not as sharp as they claim. Lyrically, they never match the the Kinks' 'David Watts' or the Jam's 'Strange Town' or, for that matter, the Specials' 'Rat Race'. 'Girls and Boys' was greeted with great cheers, but this supposed critique of the Club 18-30 mentality ends up sounding more like a celebration.

Clearly no one in the crowd gave a flying drop- kick about that. After 45 minutes the first wide-eyed fans squeezed their soaking bodies out of the melee and headed down the corridor to the cold taps in the toilet. There, the ceiling bulged visibly and squeaked in time to the basic thump of the bass and drum as several hundred kept the dancing going upstairs.

This is where Blur start to make sense. Their solid rhythms, melodic basslines and singalong choruses simply mean good times in any language, or any decade. The next single is a pretty ballad called 'To the End', which typically drifts towards pessimism. It was already a hit, however, with the fans, who had the French chorus down word-perfect.

Depending on your age, Blur can provide the soundtrack to rebellious youth. Or, listening to their songs can be like standing outside Snappy Snaps, watching some stranger's photos rolling out of the developer. There they are. Personal. Slightly squalid. And badly focused. But briefly fascinating too.

(Photograph omitted)