Over the last year I've been debating to myself, mostly in the shower: what was the best band of the '90s? This is what nerdy rock critics do. My criterions were consistency, growth, longevity, experimentation, and trend- setting wake. I was thinking of bands whose careers spanned the decade perfectly, from zero to zero. It's a bit analogous to baseball's meaningless crown of "most hits in the decade," which was thrown to the Chicago Cubs' Mark Grace this year. Of course, the player whose career fit perfectly in the decade would win the crown. An amazing hitter who came up in '93 was already three years behind. In the end, I settled on Fugazi and Blur, who both released debut LPs in 1990 and still continue to develop as artists, much to the chagrin of their detractors and "old school" fans. Oh yes, hatred was one of my criterions. Complacency and ubiquity stem from mediocrity. The truly great always have stones waiting to be thrown by cocked arms.

Now it's my difficult task as a writer to convince you, the readers, that Blur is the best band of '90s. And fuck, b-sides like "Rednecks" and "Dancehall" certainly aren't helping. Let's start with the obvious-- Blur released the greatest body of singles in the '90s. While this accomplishment is less respected in stuffy indie rock circles, and west of the Atlantic, the variety and unpredictability of Blur's singles deserve praise even from stubbornly staunch Mogwai fans.

The career kicked off with "She's So High" at the height of the post- Happy Mondays, post- Stone Roses "baggy" craze. Many wrote them off as assembly line boys with bangs. Lyrically, "She's So High" did little to dissuade critics, but there was something hypnotic in the incessant guitar and slowly boiling bass. Yet, the b-side, "Sing," which never saw U.S. release until its inclusion on the "Trainspotting" soundtrack, hinted at brilliance. A solemn piano stomps away with synchronized snare splashes under chrome swirls and a strangely upbeat bassline. The contrasting depression dream drone and angelic "ah- ah- ah" choruses meld into shoegazer pop perfection. To this day, Blur have recorded few more soul- lifting songs. "There's No Other Way" and "Bang" offered more of the Charlatans- esque maracas 'n' ecstacy formula, which, in contrast, the Charlatans have rarely steered from since.

It wasn't until "Popscene" that Blur revealed their punk flourishes and British invasion heritage. An echoing drill grows into blasting horns and fidgiting guitar. Those who have witnessed Blur live understand the rowdy impatience with which they tear through their catalog. Spraying sweat and Evian, Damon Albarn pounces like a Ritalin- craving spider monkey. And the rest of the singles from Modern Life Is Rubbish also oozed energy and hooks. "For Tomorrow," a label- mandated afterthought in the songwriting process, became an instant British classic. "Sunday Sunday" grew from what was to become the stereotypical "Digsy's Diner" formula a few years later (thanks to Oasis) into an organ- and- slide guitar orgasm. Oh, did I mention that Oasis wasn't even around yet at this point? So much for that media war.

I first saw "Girls and Boys" on MTV's "120 Minutes" after a Rollins Band video. Dave Kendall announced the second coming of "Bluh," but I had no idea what he was on about. I was deep into a punk rock phase and some London pretty boy swinging his hips by a pool was the last thing I wanted to see. It sounded more like the second coming of disco. A year later, I heard the disc thanks to recently returned study- abroad roommates and fell in love. Punk rock instantly became an obsolete wail. Somehow, "Girls and Boys" was punk rock. Social commentary, a sawing guitar riff, and kraut-rock bleeps-- it was all laid over the most insanely catchy bassline ever set to tape.

"Parklife," the second single and title track from the album, could perhaps be the most inherently British song ever written. It reeks of tea and puddles. Phil Daniels from Quadrophenia rants about "the dustman." Yet what most American Blur detractors miss is how subvertly satirical the entire song is. Thanks to the massive Britpop wake from the song, it was dismissed as pro- Britannia fluff. But those with a little German knowledge share a sly smile when Phil shouts, "It's got nothing to do with your Vorsprung Durch Tecnnik!" The next single, "To The End," with help from Stereolab's Gaul temptress, stands as Blur essential "slow jam."

To this day, I fail to understand why Blur hate The Great Escape with such intensity. Apparently, interwoven personal issues are to blame, as well as the over- publicized Oasis feud, but it's arguably a better- produced record than the previous two. "The Universal" predated Radiohead's millennial anxiety. "Charmless Man" zipped along with their best guitar hook to date. "Stereotypes" crunches keyboards over kinky wit. Oasis never had such instrumental diversity and charm.

The rest of the Blur single history is much more recognizable to American audiences. Ever been to a hockey game? I think you know what I'm talking about. "Beetlebum" and "Tender" stand as Blur's greatest Beatles homages. Fittingly, the soon to be released "No Distance Left to Run" exposes more emotion and closure than ever before. A plaintive blues riff whines along until strings and gentle drums lull the unrest to fantastic sleep.

Yet the bulk of this 22 CD box set is a hodgepodge of b-sides. Blur released everything recorded, for better or worse. Many of the songs predicted future musical directions like tarot. "Garden Central" and "Es Schmecht" fit nicely with the experimental guitar noise- driven 13. "Beard" and "Ludwig" ramble like '60s jazz kitsch. "The Man Who Left Himself" drifts on weeping guitars and handclaps, much like "Tender." The "Sunday Sunday" single is loaded with choatic pre- Blur demos, from when the band was actually known as Seymour. Those who scratch their head at Blur's recent "artistic" direction need only look to the band's first recording to see that it was all in the script. Overall, there are at least two more great albums of material in these b-sides, not to mention a ripping live album.

I can't deny that I'm a huge Blur fan. My "Top 100 Favorite Albums of the 1990s" list will attest to this. Yet, you can't accuse me of bias, because this collected material is precisely the used fuel for my devotion. The personal dynamic of a blessed guitarist who loves Unwound and Antioch Arrow, a tabloid twat that's secretly the brilliant musical glue, the quiet computer- and space- obsessed drummer who somehow adds hardcore punch, and the fascinatingly egotistical manboy who we can't take our eyes off of, make for an inimitable musical and sociological cocktail. It's the kind of stuff that only comes along once a decade. So is it worth the $200? Not unless you're a diehard. Is it worth trading in 40 crappy old CDs that you never listen to on Spun.com? Perhaps. Is it a testament to a creatively restless pop band? Jesus, man, didn't you hear a word I said?!

-Brent DiCrescenzo