Damon Albarn Page 3

  Eddie played him some Nico and Velvet Underground material, Damon thought it was cool and agreed to play the gig. Unfortunately, because he was in big demand for college musical projects, he had to miss the first three rehearsals. When he finally found some free time, Damon sat and listened to Oscar and Eddie play the songs they had been rehearsing. When they had finished he said, “Did you know you’re both playing in completely separate keys?” Eddie continues: “He just told Oscar to do this, told me to do that and in five minutes he put us all together. This fucking kid had sorted us all out, and it was my songs!”

  The night of the gig arrived and the band travelled to Gold Diggers in Chippenham, followed by a bus full of their fellow students for moral support. The gig went well and, at the end, the rest of the band left the stage so that Damon could play a song of his own which he had been rehearsing with just the fishnet clad singer. He shuffled up to the mike and rather sheepishly apologised in advance: “Sorry, but this is another slow one.” Eddie continues the story: “My songs are relatively sad and they were well received. Then Damon came on and did this song of his called ‘The Rain’ and it just fucking blew us away. There were 300 or 400 people in the audience and they were just amazed, it was a great ballad. That style of song was my vernacular, but ‘The Rain’ just blew us away.” Eddie consoled himself by talking to Nico, who made his decade worthwhile by allowing him to buy her a beer.

  Although most of his peers preferred pop, Damon still found huge inspiration in the classical form. Much has been made of his fascination with Bertolt Brecht which he said was “overwhelmingly articulate music. It had more influence on me than any pop record.” The influences of this writer – particularly in Blur’s music – is clear to see. Brecht wrote contemporary music that was intended to be highly popular, using simple forms and melodies, but with a quirkiness and chromatic nuance that made them unusual. The origins of much of Blur’s more unusual material can be traced back to this period. When Damon performed Brecht’s Die Drei Groschen Oper with the Berliner Ensemble, Damon’s old music teacher Mr Hildreth was in the audience, and afterwards he went out for a curry with his old charge: “There was a definite progression at that show, he was by now very accomplished, and technically very assured. When we ate afterwards, the shift in his interests away from drama back towards music was very clear.” For his part, Damon thanked Hildreth for shouting at him during school rehearsals and said, “it made me realise that performing was important and it prepared me for the harsh treatment given out at drama school.”

  After each college day, Damon would return home to the digs he now shared with Eddie and sit in his bedroom writing yet more songs. His hunger for knowledge was already reaping rich rewards in the breadth of his material, and Eddie is in no doubt that Damon’s parents should take much of the credit for this: “His upbringing is crucial, being so open, it gave him all these hundreds of influences. Someone like myself and a lot of contemporary writers, who come from a very working-class background, haven’t been educated in the same way. I went to comprehensive school just as he did, but my upbringing gave me a far narrower scope of reference. I think his parents’ lives were extremely influential – he could learn by their example. That shows – you can talk to him about certain things, such as music, art and books, but then he’s off, and you can’t really catch him, he’s gone. He seems to know so much more about other things.” Damon agrees, as he told the press: “I always thought my parents were dead right. I was going against the grain in a weird way, by continually following my parents. It just seems to have worked for generations in my family.”

  Despite the hilarious experiences they shared, both Eddie and Damon soon became disillusioned with East 15. The over-populated classes and under-funded resources did indeed fuel student dissent and absenteeism. Shortly after the aforementioned “no single person can change this” statement, Eddie and Damon left. Ironically, Damon had gone to East 15 to pursue his childhood ambitions in acting, but it had turned him into a music-obsessed 19-year-old.

  Once he had left East 15, Damon’s musical focus sharpened. Various odd jobs were taken to earn money for demos and to buy cheap drink, but Damon frequently got sacked for fooling around. He lost a fruit-picking job for doing wheelies in the farm’s tractor. He also worked as a barman at The Portobello Hotel, a famous rock star haunt where he served The Edge and Bono from the Joshua Tree-tastic U2 (all he remembers is that Bono was rude to him). That job didn’t last long either and Damon had to rely on shifts at Le Croissant in Euston Station as his main source of income. Fortunately, Damon had some £3000 inheritance money saved and this was spent on new gear and a basic demo. This crude tape was then taken to The Beat Studios in Christopher Place near Euston, whose key client was a post-fame Belouis Some.

  The owners Maryke Bergkamp and Graeme Holdaway were immediately impressed and agreed to manage Damon and give him free studio time in exchange for a job as a tea-boy. This was ideal for Damon, because he could work all day at Le Croissant, then head to The Beat Factory and notch up more studio time after-hours. The owners had more preconceived ideas for him – soon after taking the job, he was introduced to a high-pitched singer called Sam, and on the management’s urging formed a soul pop duo called Two’s A Crowd. The Beat Factory obviously had high hopes for them and a series of industry showcases were quickly arranged. The shows were heavily attended by record company scouts and there were lengthy negotiations over possible contracts. Some sources suggest that Damon sometimes appeared in full stage make-up as a mime artist. Unfortunately, the interest rapidly dried up and the ill-fated group split. This had been Damon’s first sniff of possible success, but he wasn’t remotely discouraged and just carried on writing.

  With the demise of Two’s A Crowd, Damon formed a band called Circus with a friend Tom Aitkenhead from Chippenham. This music was much more guitar based than Two’s A Crowd, but the band’s early progress was hampered by the failure to nail down a firm line-up. After several personnel changes, Damon got back in touch with Eddie, who was now living near Clapham Common, and asked if he would like to renew their previous musical partnership. Eddie was reluctant, as the Two’s A Crowd material he had heard did not appeal to him. However, Damon played him a demo of the new songs and Eddie loved them, and so agreed to join on the spot.

  The search for new members continued. Eddie roped in a work mate from Dixons electrical store in Marble Arch called Dave Brolan, who was an excellent bass player and superb guitarist. Eddie also recruited Darren Filkins, formerly of The Alternative Car Park (whom Damon had replaced for the Nico support slot), who had just returned from a year travelling around the world, so he took up lead guitar. The drummer’s slot was also easily filled. Damon knew of a renowned drummer from Colchester with whom he had some loose associations in the past. A call was made and the affable and charming final member came to his first rehearsal and introduced himself as Dave Rowntree. It was October 1988.

  The new Circus line-up immediately started recording the bundles of material Damon had written, and for the next two months worked hard in the studio honing their sound, with the aim of recording an album in the New Year. Everything went brilliantly, the songs sounded great, the members gelled well and the whole outfit was taking shape. Then, just two days before they were due to start recording the album, Darren Filkins announced he had won his first commission as a professional photographer. The band knew he had been trying for this but didn’t expect his ambition to remove him from the equation so suddenly. They were all devastated – except Damon, who shrugged his shoulders and said, “That’s his choice, I’ll phone my friend to do some guitar.” Despite Damon’s brave face, the band were hugely deflated. Their songs were well-rehearsed, intricate and ready for recording – whoever was brought in at such short notice would only be able to cover over the cracks, and their efforts would be wasted. Damon called his friend anyway, a chap who had done a little saxophone work on some odd meandering instrumentals of his in the past. Two days later
, this eleventh hour replacement guitarist walked into the studio, and introduced himself to the rest of the band as Graham Coxon.

  Chapter 3

  COME TOGETHER

  Towards the end of his time at Stanway, Graham had become more of an extrovert, something of a common room clown, which was reflected in a school report that politely described him as “a gregarious extrovert who would do well to channel his energies in the future.” Those energies were increasingly being used on his guitar. Saxophone was no longer his main instrument, having stopped at Grade Five. Once he moved on to The North Essex School Of Art, his guitar playing continued unabated and completely self-taught. Like Damon, he too worked various odd jobs, including a two month, twice-weekly spell at Sainsbury’s, as well as a pea-picking job which he later described as “a human combine harvester.” He also became a protest vegetarian for a while, but didn’t monitor his diet closely enough and ended up with malnutrition in Severals Hospital in Colchester. This was actually the local mental hospital, so Graham spent seven long days cadging fags from senile old men. It also lost him his job at Sainsburys.

  Graham then flitted through various bands, including a largely improvisational outfit called The Curious Band. He graduated from the North Essex School Of Art and enrolled at Goldsmiths College in south-east London, on a Fine Art course. Despite his love of music, Graham was still an accomplished artist, vindicated by the very fact he was admitted to this prestigious course – amongst his fellow art pupils would be the future Turner Prize winner and world-renowned artist Damien Hirst. Damon had kept in touch with Graham regularly since they both left school and Graham had contributed on the aforementioned instrumental demos. He had also gone along to a solo gig of Damon’s at Colchester Arts Centre as moral support, where by coincidence Dave Rowntree was in the crowd. Damon had enrolled at Goldsmiths as well, on a part-time course just to get on campus, so the two old friends saw plenty of each other. When Damon asked him to help them out at Beat Factory for that Circus album session, Graham was more than happy. When he turned up at the studio and found Dave on drums, he was even more comfortable – this was not the first time they had played together.

  Dave had occasionally called upon Graham’s services to bolster the brass section in his own band Idle Vice. One of Graham’s own loosely formed bands, Hazel Dean And The Carp Enters From Hell, had even played a small local gig called The Anti-Yuppie Festival in Wivenhoe alongside Idle Vice. The connection went even further back than that – when Dave had enrolled at Saturday morning jazz classes as a teenager, he found himself being taught by Bob Coxon, Graham’s Dad.

  Now in the studio with Circus, Graham was shown a couple of songs and explained the set up before the new line-up gave it a try. Eddie was stunned: “He fucking licked it, mental playing, unbelievable. He played this incredible guitar, we were completely blown away by it and then he said ‘Is that alright?’ Fucking hell, it was alright. We couldn’t believe what we were hearing. It was easy for him.”

  After that, Graham slotted in effortlessly, and the band managed to record the entire album live in just four days. The highlights of the record were ‘Elizabeth’, ‘Salvation’, ‘Happy House’ and an untitled track about the Queen. After this unexpected success, Eddie was so convinced of Circus that he left his well-paid administrative job at Wembley Stadium to work on the band full-time: “Graham really had done us a major favour. To this day it still amazes me how easily he took that situation on board.”

  With the album complete, the band arranged a celebration party – after all, they had got through what could have been a very tricky and potentially disastrous situation. Loads of friends were duly invited and the drinks were flowing, especially as someone had brought a large bottle of Irish moonshine. Graham had brought some friends of his from Goldsmiths College and he hurried one of them over to listen to Circus’s great masterpiece. The friend, Alex James, listened to the album patiently, looked at the massed faces waiting for his reply and said, “That’s shit.” Far from being offended by this, Damon and Eddie were impressed by the nerve it had taken Alex to say what he actually thought. They spent the rest of the night getting drunk on the 100 per cent proof illicit Irish spirits.

  Undeterred by Alex’s comments, Circus continued rehearsing and producing demos, and were encouraged along the way by Steve Walters at EMI, who advised them to get out there and gig. Shortly after, Circus played their first and only ever gig, in Southborough in Kent. The show was arranged by a friend of Eddie’s wife and, supported by Whale Oil, it went very well. After this, and with spirits high, they went back in to the studio to record yet more new material that Damon had written. This time, however, Eddie was in for a shock.

  Eddie was flabbergasted to hear that the new Circus material was light years away from anything they had done before. It was effectively a new band. He listened to it several times and came to a painful decision – at the next rehearsal he left: “I was okay with the level we were on before, but this new stuff was above me, I knew that and I had to go.” Despite the brave decision to leave his full-time job, Eddie, along with bassist Dave Brolan, left Circus and formed the excellent Shanakies (who went on to become The Apple) whose paths would again cross with Damon, Graham and Dave in some years to come.

  Circus was now just the threesome of Damon, Graham and Dave Rowntree. Dave was nearly six years older than Graham, being born in Colchester Hospital on April 8, 1963. He had a sister Sarah who was five years older. His father worked for forty years as a sound engineer at Broadcasting House, just up the road from the site of Keith Albarn’s shop. Rowntree Senior even did some uncredited engineering work on the much-awaited Beatles At The BBC album. With Dave’s mother being in the London Orchestra, it was another very musical household. Dave’s first instrument was a simple set of bagpipes given to him by his dad, who also introduced him to the wonders of jazz, and enrolled him at Bob Coxon’s weekend class. From there, Dave’s musical interest blossomed, and by his teens he was a very keen drummer. His debut was made in 1977 at a street party for the Silver Jubilee where, along with a neighbour’s son on piano, he performed an ear-splitting rendition of ‘Yellow Submarine’. He also took drumming classes, where he was taught by a gargantuan Scotsman who taped a sixpence to the drumskin and hit Dave over the head every time he missed. Not overly academic, Dave attended a mixed grammar school where he adopted the unused school’s drum kit as his own, before heading for a HND in Computer Science at Woolwich Polytechnic.

  By the time Damon and Graham were studying for their ‘O’ levels, a 19-year-old Dave had already donned a kaftan, grown regulation student long hair and earned himself the nickname of Shady Dave. He bummed around Colchester bedsits for a while and finally formed Idle Vice, the three-piece with his friend Robin on guitar and Jim on bass. The band played together well, and decided to move to London, so they switched from a Colchester bedsit to a Crouch End squat. For six months they frequented the London squat scene playing hurried gigs at various parties, mostly centred in and around Kings Cross. By now, Dave’s hippy long hair had been cropped into a thick black mohican, and he had developed an impressive tolerance for huge quantities of cider. At this stage, his wanderlust took over, so he upped and left for France, where he earned a meagre living for a while, busking and playing in small clubs. He didn’t settle however and, after visiting England for the winter, never returned back to France.

  He was now desperately short of money, so took a job as a computer programmer at the council, complete with mohican and shiny suit. During the same period, his girlfriend became pregnant, so he left Idle Vice and his itinerant lifestyle and appeared to settle down somewhat.

  That was until Damon asked him to join Circus. Dave liked the music and enjoyed the recording, but was disappointed to see Eddie and Dave Brolan leaving after their first gig. It was a major blow, especially as Damon and Eddie were such good friends, but nevertheless they had to find replacements. It was felt that Graham was more than capable to handle guitar duties
alone. All that was missing was a bassist.

  Alex James. Tall, dark, louche, confident … and, at that stage, crap on bass. His first guitar, a Fender Precision copy was bought for £50 out of Exchange & Mart with his sixteenth birthday money, and was more of a fashion accessory than a musical instrument. His first band, The Age Of Consent, had consisted of Alex splicing a pretend introduction by him on to an actual album, then telling his school friends it was his band – this worked great until one of them recognised four Fleetwood Mac tracks. He never studied music at school, and was even kicked out of recorder class at primary school.

  Alex was four months older than Graham, and spent much of his childhood in the grey, seaside dereliction of Bournemouth (years before the resort was re-invented as ‘the new Brighton’, it was a haven for purple rinses and expiring entertainment careers). He was born four years after his sister, Deborah, in Boscombe Hospital on November 21, to a father who sold fork lift trucks and electronic rubbish compactors, and a mother who did voluntary work, including the local Books On Wheels service. When his grandfather died, the James family moved into the late man’s guest house, where they shared their life with a weird menagerie of pets. A £100 piano bought for his eleventh birthday inspired his desire for a keyboard but since he couldn’t afford one, he opted instead for the bass.

  The quiet retirement resort quickly frustrated the energetic Alex. Despite his boredom, he excelled at school with 13 ‘O’ levels which were easily complemented by three top grade ‘A’ levels two years later. Before he headed off to more further education, he took a year out which included a job selling cheese at Safeway, where he developed his renowned taste for dairy produce of all flavours. Alex also worked as a labourer at Winfrith Nuclear Power Station, a frightening thought since he was also now experimenting with acid for the first time, and pretty much shagging anything that moved. He also formed an ill-fated band called Mr Pangs Big Bangs (named after his landlord), so by the time he started at Goldsmiths College, he was relatively inexperienced in music.