Most people know Graham Coxon as the hugely influential guitarist in one of the finest bands of his generation. What few people will be aware of is that he’s made more records as a solo artist than he ever did with Blur, and has now been playing live under his own name for about as long, too – owing to that decade or so long break he had from Damon and co. in the Noughties. Both his back catalogue and live sets range from filthy yet anthemic post punk to pastoral, Davey Graham-influenced folk, touching on motorik Krautrock grooves and long atonal dirges along the way. If you’ve ever wished that Blur tracks left more space for Coxon to unleash his full six-stringed fury on them, you’re in for a monumental treat – to witness this guy roll around on his back summoning all hell from his Telecaster in a squall of white light and white noise is a sight from which Blur fans of a certain disposition will never tire. That is, of course, if he’s not got his finger picks on and treating you to a concept album about the birth, life and death of an English soldier set to operatic backing vocals and African percussion. But you know what? That’s absolutely lovely too. Just don’t shout “Parklife!"
rebuilt boys
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