Graham Coxon at The 100 Club

Having been pulled from the jaws of financial collapse by Converse a few months back, The 100 Club has now joined the long line of venues fed by the hand of sponsorship.

Until recently, the ‘iconic’ venue offered little more than apparent nostalgia that only really appealed to those who once owned a ration book. Riding on the coat-tails of the past will only last for so long, and in 2011 when romanticism and rock and roll are quick fix folders you download off the internet, you need to ensure excitement at every turn.

This seems to be something taken on board by the Oxford Street residents. Alice Cooper is booked to play this coming Sunday, Macca played there some six or so months ago and tonight, and Graham Coxon has forgone his usual Camden haunts for a punk show under the sidewalk of the capital.

The Blur guitarist is as brilliantly brief and humble as ever. Quickly chirping “a’right” to the crowd of competition winners, hacks and industry heads, Coxon kicks his heels and spits into crisply clear punch-drunk numbers, with ‘Standing On My Own Again’ getting an early airing. Its mountainous crescendos of grit-laden guitars and Coxon’s fret-play throw them in the direction of indie-rock, but when transferred live, as is often the case with band’s weaned on Weller and The Clash, their urgency to formulate riotous proceedings eclipses the undertones of melody. Far from this being a downer, Coxon’s live performance benefits from this transition, adding a little more bite to his bark.

The majority of tracks come from the first two records, ‘Happiness in Magazines’ and ‘Love Travels at Illegal Speeds’, with a present shying away from his more subtle moments on ‘The Spinning Top’. ‘I Can’t Look At Your Skin’ and, for obvious reasons, ‘Freakin’ Out’, thrust into action to confirm Coxon’s aptitude for instant, sharply honed, distinctly London rock and roll.

Without his glasses on, Graham’s well-known image is slightly shifted, and with his Harrington also absent, you could be mistaken for thinking this is just a normal, average, mundane man; but he’s clearly not. Slipping out a slight grin every now and then, he looks to be enjoying himself, and despite the stationary glare of the crowd, they could well be having a bit of fun themselves.

The beautiful thing about underground venues like The 100 Club is that there could be a goddamn zombie apocalypse kicking off outside and we’d be none the wiser. They provide hubs of solitude for a snap-shot evening where beer and sweat and the dirtying of new shoes come together. We benefit from no windows and a sense of ragged, unorganised community because it seems so uncontrived. But most importantly Graham Coxon is made for places like this: up close, personal and unmistakably authentic.