Post by gai on Jun 3, 2015 18:10:44 GMT
In Defense of the Indefensible: Coldplay's X&Y at 10
"Coldplay is absolutely the shittiest fucking band I’ve ever heard in my entire fucking life," wrote Chuck Klosterman in a bitter screed from his 2003 collection of essays Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. "Coldplay manufactures fake love as frenetically as the Ford fucking Motor Company manufactures Mustangs… I hope Coldplay gets fucking dropped by fucking EMI and ends up like the Stone fucking Roses, who were actually a better fucking band, all things considered."
Klosterman may yet get his way. Last year, Chris Martin announced what may be the band’s final LP, A Head Full of Dreams. It’s tough to name a band that at once is as popular (18.2 million albums and 33.6 million song downloads sold in the U.S. making them "the most-successful British rock band of the millennium," according to Billboard), hated (jabs at Coldplay are so commonplace, they’re a cliché ripe for parody) and simultaneously deemed "the easiest band on the planet to be completely indifferent to" by this website.
After the 2005 release of X&Y, which turns 10 this month, the members of Coldplay showed a pronounced healthy sense of British humor about their fame, music, and selves, be it a strategy against this mixed reaction, a collective defense mechanism, or a bit of both. Not that it did anything to ingratiate them to haters who had already made up their minds.
Put that cacophony of opinions next to the rapturous singalongs the band inspires from audiences around the world, it’s as if Coldplay is perceived as three different bands: horrible, meh, and messianic, all seemingly unreconcilable. No wonder the band wants to do something else. Their brand is incredibly fraught.
Yet! Coldplay’s resolution deserves reconciliation. Yes, Coldplay is corny as hell. They’re also a shrewd pop band that’s shown a willingness to experiment with results interesting (Mylo Xyloto) and less so (Ghost Stories). Also? They are a stadium band with hooks so anthemic, they’re aerodynamically engineered to soar and reverberate through arenas worldwide, sung back in unison by Westerners and ESL speakers. In an era of dying monoculture, what could be more precious? Coldplay’s role as critics’ whipping boy—the Nickelback of Britpop, Martin as a meme of reviled sentimentality and rockstardom—is unearned.
X&Y is where the chorus of ridicule started to swell. But it wasn’t supposed to be this way. X&Y was set to defy the high expectations ginned up by Coldplay’s biggest critical and commercial success to date, 2002’s A Rush of Blood to the Head. X&Y was supposed to transform the band’s sound, solidifying their status as one of the biggest rock bands in the world (it did) and make that New Radiohead leap critics were so hopeful about (it didn’t). The Radiohead comparison haunts the band years later. On a 2011 episode of "The Colbert Report", Martin responded to the oft-cited similarity with British self-deprecation and cutting wit. "We are not as good musically," Martin said, "but much more attractive."
Instead of the New Radiohead, Coldplay grew into the New U2 ("Everything I do is a Bono move—surely that's clear after 15 years," Martin told Billboard), taking on similar rock-star baggage like championing political causes and tabloid love: Martin’s marriage and family—followed by a much-ballyhooed "conscious uncoupling"—with Oscar-winning actress-cum-celebrity guru Gwyneth Paltrow.
Today, X&Y isn’t the landmark OK Computer or Achtung Baby is. But it has all the makings of a Breakthrough Record, an Important Record, a Statement. "Talk" interpolates Kraftwerk’s "Computer Love". There's fingerprints of inspiration from venerated artists like Brian Eno (who would go on to produce the band’s later efforts), Jeff Buckley ("A Message", "Swallowed in the Sea"), Kate Bush ("Speed of Sound") and David Bowie ("Low") throughout. On the hidden track "Til Kingdom Come" resides the spirit of Johnny Cash. The song was intended as a duet with Cash, who died before its recording.
Strip it of all associated proper nouns and bold-faced names, X&Y stands on its own as a great record—even by critical consensus. Its reception 10 years ago was generally favorable. Even Robert Christgau—the Dean of American Rock Criticsdeemed it his Dud of the Month for September 2005—had to give credit where credit was due, giving X&Y a B grade, calling it "the craftiest of their well-crafted albums."
Christgau called X&Y "easy to tune out" as well, echoing frequent critical charges of "bland"-ness. But it’s the byproduct of one of Coldplay’s strengths, a smokescreen speaking to the low-key versatility and wide appeal of Coldplay’s music. Unlike Radiohead and Thom Yorke, Coldplay’s not charging headlong into innovation with new business models and freaky ur-beats. Unlike Bono, Martin’s not tryin’ to throw his arms around the world (just his own feelings).
X&Y—like Coldplay’s music from the Parachutes jump—spritzes itself into a fine mist from whatever speakers you play them, permeating through the atmosphere. It’s innocuous but intentionally so, a vibe that a wide range of bands from Wilco (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) to Beach House (Teen Dream, in particular) to Steely Dan (pretty much anything) have dwelled in. Their relatively simple, airy and/or treble-y tunes deceive with "boring" sounds and/or songwriting. It’s a musical vibe that rewards the passive listening of a dinner party and active listening of lying down alone, eyes closed, with good headphones on.
There’s something to the idea that—as a culture, ultimately—we make popular the bands we think we deserve. Sometimes, they’re just not the ones we want (or will admit to liking). If you’ve read this to the end and still feel like shitting on Coldplay, just know that Martin, Guy Berryman, Will Champion, and Jonny Buckland are cool with it. Hell, Martin will join you. Since X&Y, the band has showed enough humility and self-effacing humor to indicate they know their music won’t win everyone over (just millions of people worldwide trollololol). But that doesn’t mean they’re not still hopeless romantics about love, loss, and being the Biggest Band in the World. Coldplay’s charm offensive charges on for at least one last album/tour cycle. And they will try to fix you.
x
"Coldplay is absolutely the shittiest fucking band I’ve ever heard in my entire fucking life," wrote Chuck Klosterman in a bitter screed from his 2003 collection of essays Sex, Drugs, and Cocoa Puffs. "Coldplay manufactures fake love as frenetically as the Ford fucking Motor Company manufactures Mustangs… I hope Coldplay gets fucking dropped by fucking EMI and ends up like the Stone fucking Roses, who were actually a better fucking band, all things considered."
Klosterman may yet get his way. Last year, Chris Martin announced what may be the band’s final LP, A Head Full of Dreams. It’s tough to name a band that at once is as popular (18.2 million albums and 33.6 million song downloads sold in the U.S. making them "the most-successful British rock band of the millennium," according to Billboard), hated (jabs at Coldplay are so commonplace, they’re a cliché ripe for parody) and simultaneously deemed "the easiest band on the planet to be completely indifferent to" by this website.
After the 2005 release of X&Y, which turns 10 this month, the members of Coldplay showed a pronounced healthy sense of British humor about their fame, music, and selves, be it a strategy against this mixed reaction, a collective defense mechanism, or a bit of both. Not that it did anything to ingratiate them to haters who had already made up their minds.
Put that cacophony of opinions next to the rapturous singalongs the band inspires from audiences around the world, it’s as if Coldplay is perceived as three different bands: horrible, meh, and messianic, all seemingly unreconcilable. No wonder the band wants to do something else. Their brand is incredibly fraught.
Yet! Coldplay’s resolution deserves reconciliation. Yes, Coldplay is corny as hell. They’re also a shrewd pop band that’s shown a willingness to experiment with results interesting (Mylo Xyloto) and less so (Ghost Stories). Also? They are a stadium band with hooks so anthemic, they’re aerodynamically engineered to soar and reverberate through arenas worldwide, sung back in unison by Westerners and ESL speakers. In an era of dying monoculture, what could be more precious? Coldplay’s role as critics’ whipping boy—the Nickelback of Britpop, Martin as a meme of reviled sentimentality and rockstardom—is unearned.
X&Y is where the chorus of ridicule started to swell. But it wasn’t supposed to be this way. X&Y was set to defy the high expectations ginned up by Coldplay’s biggest critical and commercial success to date, 2002’s A Rush of Blood to the Head. X&Y was supposed to transform the band’s sound, solidifying their status as one of the biggest rock bands in the world (it did) and make that New Radiohead leap critics were so hopeful about (it didn’t). The Radiohead comparison haunts the band years later. On a 2011 episode of "The Colbert Report", Martin responded to the oft-cited similarity with British self-deprecation and cutting wit. "We are not as good musically," Martin said, "but much more attractive."
Instead of the New Radiohead, Coldplay grew into the New U2 ("Everything I do is a Bono move—surely that's clear after 15 years," Martin told Billboard), taking on similar rock-star baggage like championing political causes and tabloid love: Martin’s marriage and family—followed by a much-ballyhooed "conscious uncoupling"—with Oscar-winning actress-cum-celebrity guru Gwyneth Paltrow.
Today, X&Y isn’t the landmark OK Computer or Achtung Baby is. But it has all the makings of a Breakthrough Record, an Important Record, a Statement. "Talk" interpolates Kraftwerk’s "Computer Love". There's fingerprints of inspiration from venerated artists like Brian Eno (who would go on to produce the band’s later efforts), Jeff Buckley ("A Message", "Swallowed in the Sea"), Kate Bush ("Speed of Sound") and David Bowie ("Low") throughout. On the hidden track "Til Kingdom Come" resides the spirit of Johnny Cash. The song was intended as a duet with Cash, who died before its recording.
Strip it of all associated proper nouns and bold-faced names, X&Y stands on its own as a great record—even by critical consensus. Its reception 10 years ago was generally favorable. Even Robert Christgau—the Dean of American Rock Criticsdeemed it his Dud of the Month for September 2005—had to give credit where credit was due, giving X&Y a B grade, calling it "the craftiest of their well-crafted albums."
Christgau called X&Y "easy to tune out" as well, echoing frequent critical charges of "bland"-ness. But it’s the byproduct of one of Coldplay’s strengths, a smokescreen speaking to the low-key versatility and wide appeal of Coldplay’s music. Unlike Radiohead and Thom Yorke, Coldplay’s not charging headlong into innovation with new business models and freaky ur-beats. Unlike Bono, Martin’s not tryin’ to throw his arms around the world (just his own feelings).
X&Y—like Coldplay’s music from the Parachutes jump—spritzes itself into a fine mist from whatever speakers you play them, permeating through the atmosphere. It’s innocuous but intentionally so, a vibe that a wide range of bands from Wilco (Yankee Hotel Foxtrot) to Beach House (Teen Dream, in particular) to Steely Dan (pretty much anything) have dwelled in. Their relatively simple, airy and/or treble-y tunes deceive with "boring" sounds and/or songwriting. It’s a musical vibe that rewards the passive listening of a dinner party and active listening of lying down alone, eyes closed, with good headphones on.
There’s something to the idea that—as a culture, ultimately—we make popular the bands we think we deserve. Sometimes, they’re just not the ones we want (or will admit to liking). If you’ve read this to the end and still feel like shitting on Coldplay, just know that Martin, Guy Berryman, Will Champion, and Jonny Buckland are cool with it. Hell, Martin will join you. Since X&Y, the band has showed enough humility and self-effacing humor to indicate they know their music won’t win everyone over (just millions of people worldwide trollololol). But that doesn’t mean they’re not still hopeless romantics about love, loss, and being the Biggest Band in the World. Coldplay’s charm offensive charges on for at least one last album/tour cycle. And they will try to fix you.
x
