London, 1992, had a smell of its own — a mixture of wet gasoline, cheap coffee, and young ambition. That afternoon, the sky seemed to press down on the city, as if it were far too curious about what was about to happen inside a television studio far too famous for a band that, until then, could still fit entirely inside a cramped van. Outside the recording set, Damon Albarn was smoking his third cigarette in less than fifteen minutes. He wore a gray suit that looked as if it had been borrowed from someone a size too big — shoulders too wide, sleeves nearly swallowing his restless hands. The tie hung loose around his neck like a commitment he refused to make. When someone from wardrobe tried to insist that he tie it properly, Damon only gave a crooked smile and said he’d rather look like a badly dressed man than a well-dressed liar. On the outside, he looked like his usual self: relaxed, mildly bored, with that air of someone who observes the world from half a step back, always ready with a joke if things went wrong. Inside, however, something was beating far too hard. It was fear. Pure, raw fear, without a chorus to soften it. That was their first big interview. Their first televised performance. The kind of thing that, if it went right, would change everything — and if it went wrong, would live forever, replayed in reruns and sharpened into jokes by critics with cruel pens. Damon took a deep drag and felt his stomach twist like a cassette tape being chewed up and reversed. He tried to ignore it. Tried to joke his way through the nerves, the way he always did. It’s just another stage, he told himself. Just a few more cameras. Just a few million people. But his body didn’t believe him. Without much warning, the world tilted. Damon leaned forward, bracing a hand against the cold wall of the building, and then it all came up — the rushed lunch, the bitter taste of anxiety, the humiliating reminder that he was far too human for such a historic moment. When it was over, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and let out a short, almost offended laugh. “Great start, Albarn.” He muttered.