Graham Coxon
The Sky Is Too High

Year 1998. With my ears still ringing from that indie rock masterpiece that is the self-titled album by Blur, I almost accidentally discovered the debut of Mr. Coxon, the charismatic six-stringer at the court of Albarn & co. Personally, I've always adored Graham's style, his sharp melodies soaked in alcoholic noise and a psychedelic aftertaste.
I ordered "The Sky Is Too High." It was only possible to get it this way, even though it was distributed by EMI. I picked it up a couple of days later.

- Have the copies of the British imports arrived? - I asked my trusted retailer.
- This morning... here you go. It costs a bit more, 45,000 lire - added the clerk.
- Holy shit! - I thought.

I emptied my wallet of the savings set aside for the occasion, picked up the coveted disc, and rushed home in a hurry.
I was cold.
I stripped the package of the usual cellophane and was amazed by the fabulous cardboard digipack with a magnificent illustration on the cover, done by the talented guitarist himself. Inside the casing, pencil sketches mingled with a very disorderly script, along with drafts of lyrics and whatnot. I powered up the hi-fi system. The CD was in the player now.
I pressed the play button. Three, two, one, and off. The first track is "That's All I Wanna Do" (a statement of intent, perhaps?) and it was everything I could hope for as an opening; already here you can perceive the sense of warmth and total immersion that will be present throughout the album.
Despite traversing different atmospheres, the general mood of the record is based on a form of low-fidelity songwriting. The ingredients are pared down to the bone: acoustic guitars are always present, there’s the legendary Telecaster that Coxon even brings under the covers, a few notes of keyboard, the author's soothing voice, and mysterious noise. Rarely, a jittery drum corrodes the peace. And all recorded entirely in analog. Stuff like reel-to-reel tapes, if you know what I mean. Enough to fall in love.
To give the right weight to this work, one should even avoid commenting on the songs because they are all little gems, so homely in attitude that it's like hearing them play in your room.

Nevertheless, we don't hesitate to praise the magnetic "A Day Is Far Too Long," a simple yet evocative ballad almost exclusively for voice and guitar, the crystalline melody of "R U lonely?," the restlessness from too much caffeine (?) in the unbalanced "I Wish." Or still, the sweet-bitter whisper of "Waiting," the sudden punk burst of "Who The Fuck?" (where our author even delights in playing drums) and the air of narcotic blues in "Mornin' Blues," indeed. That's all.
That the Blur later had to do without him is another damn story. And unfortunately, a certain one.

To be recovered with the pleasure of a little effort to track it down. As rare and essential as it is, an act of love.
Unforgettable.

P.S. Oh, I almost forgot... Thanks to this release, Coxon also founded a small independent record label named Transcopic, which is still active to this day.