Graham Coxon - Happiness In Magazines
On Happiness in Magazines, Graham Coxon maintains the same fascination with guitar oriented, simplistic indie rock that he has had since Blur’s self titled American breakthrough.
Despite the critical acclaim of Think Tank, my love of Blur quickly waned with the parting of Graham Coxon. His coy demeanor was the perfect antithesis of Albarn’s egotistical posturing (even if it is in jest). And his rock and roll sensibilities helped balance out Albarn’s Paul Simon propensity for world music diddling. Coxon’s understated but beautiful “Coffee and TV” remains one of my favorite Blur songs. However, I hear that Coxon may return to the ranks of Blur once more, which fills me with giddy hope, I must admit. Despite my adoration with his work in Blur, I wasn’t sure what to expect of this album, given the spotty results of his past solo work. But without Blur, it seems Coxon no longer feels compelled to be the antithesis of his former band.
It seems slightly presumptuous to title the first track on an album “Spectacular,” especially immediately following a much touted parting with one’s alma mater. But with Coxon’s self-deprecating sense of humor, it is more likely a tongue-in-cheek turn of phrase, rather than an ego stroking declaration. On Happiness in Magazines, Coxon maintains the same fascination with guitar oriented, simplistic indie rock that he has had since Blur’s self titled American breakthrough. I think perhaps Coxon was just not made for the limelight, as Blur’s rise could probably follow his decline in satisfaction with the band. In more obscure shadows, he is free to make his pet albums of stripped down power-pop.
The guitar-work on this album makes it clear that Coxon is a vital performer in the worlds of both popular and independent music. He has an ear for screeching multiple guitar tracks, barely reined in for the purposes of a song in addition to the ever catchy melody. On his solo albums, Coxon exudes an energy he seemed to be forced to restrain in Blur, screaming his lyrics in songs like “Freakin’ Out” and “People of the Earth.” Despite a defined, accomplished tone, the album does contain a couple of stylistic hiccups. The two most confusing tracks on the album are so starkly different from the others that I am not yet sure what to make of them. First, there is the rare moment of quiet in “All Over Me,” replete with a string quartet over a melancholy acoustic guitar and synthesizer. It seems like the most likely to yield a hit, but that doesn’t seem to be the point of the album. The second is “Hopeless Friend,” which unabashedly rips several musical lines from the Who’s mini rock opera “A Quick One While He’s Away.” Though I must admit, if you’re going to steal from somewhere, that’s the best place to start.
Even with all his American indie influences, fellow Brits such as the Who are frequently recalled in the music (though not so outright as in “Hopeless Friend”). He approximates punk rock from a modern standpoint in several songs, which is really the only way to play punk after the bastardization it underwent in the 80s and 90s. He even goes so far as to namedrop Lou Reed in “No Good Time,” another song paying musical homage to Coxon’s British Invasion forebears. If there was any justice on modern radio, this album would become a hit instead of the next faux-garage rock “The - insert plural noun” band that I am secretly fearing. But perhaps Coxon is happier in the underground; it has worked for him so far.
(Astralwerks)