Why Coldplay Will Never Be Good Again

The title of this post will probably cause people to respond in one of two ways--either in a "hey, I liked X&Y..." or "hey jerkass, Coldplay was never good to begin with! Bunch of whiners making crappy sappy sleepy-time music! Listen to something that rocks! (P.S. Ur Gay and Dragonforce RULEZ!!!1!)" Clearly, we traffic only in idiots around here. Or of course you'll just shrug your shoulders and go back to training for your new career in Chess Boxing. Whatever your (non-)reaction may be, it doesn't take away from the fact that you know I'm right.


I have always had a unique approach to being a Coldplay fan--namely, that I can't stand "Yellow". For most people, that trite piece of blah was their first introduction to Coldplay and how they got hooked to the band. I instead heard fairly obnoxiously mild midtempo-rock pop song with blindingly simplistic lyrics that had only a slightly interesting guitar part going for it. In other words, I was not a fan. I even remember how Coldplay was touring the Northwest extensively in those days, doing at least 3 concerts up in Port Land while "Yellow" was getting radio airplay. I had one friend ask me if I was interested in seeing them, and I responded with a quick "No way."

All that changed the second I heard "Shiver" on the radio. Though it wasn't nearly the hit that "Yellow" was, crossover or otherwise, it was the song that got me to follow Coldplay. This was an actual band here, and it was firing on all cylinders. Everyone played a part, from the titanic drums to the pulsing bass, and topped off by those beautiful shimmering guitars that played some of the most elegantly intricate and graceful leads that I had ever heard. Even the lyrics had something that a true high school loser could identify with, the silent love from afar (Everyone: Awwwwww!), which also were helped by a great performance by Chris Martin in the vocals themselves. When he launches into that bridge, you just get a certain feeling in your stomach once he hits "I sing it loud and clear", and it's enough to get a metalhead to ponder in quiet reflection for a moment.


It was soon after that I would pick up Parachutes and spend hours listening to a precocious little band that made perfect little musical vignettes, the kind of stuff that is (coincidentally) perfect for just gazing at the ceiling of your dorm room when you're feeling less than super--or just needing to chill out. And of course, as soon as I got totally into the album, Coldplay decided to not hang around the Northwest any more (except for going to Bend one time, and I am not going to go to freaking Bend). Whatever, I still had an album from a band that was interested in just making beautiful little music, yet was dense enough that I could spend hours poring over drumfills and basslines while pausing to get caught up in the majesty of the soaring guitars. Granted, a lot of this was because I was too lazy to get pot (and because I'm a nerd), but the point still stands.

Coldplay was able to keep it up with A Rush of Blood to the Head, expanding on their sound to fill the larger concert halls where they were now getting booked. It was a band that was still making delicate little music seemingly only for themselves--and you, the listener, were the only one invited to hear it--but with slightly greater ambition. That's why you have big crashing chords in "Politik", but backing delicate lyrics. It was an interesting meld between the simple and bombastic, and beyond "In My Place" (which I liken to a "Yellow, pt. 2") it genuinely worked. And then everyone else realized this, as "Clocks" and "The Scientist" became huge hits worldwide.

But the tragic part about Coldplay's success is that it invalidated the very quality that made them absorbing. When you're now The Biggest Band In The World, it's hard to make delicate personal songs that seemed to speak only to you. In other words, when you're now married to Gwyneth Paltrow, you can't be expected to write a beautifully depressing song like "Amsterdam" ever again. We're not going to believe it, and I'm sure you've moved on in your life from those dark times. Instead, you have to be conscious about your market and new-found audience, who don't really care about that personal connection that your early fans had felt.



So now that Coldplay is on top of the world, they'll never be able to reclaim their previous artistic success, because their very position invalidates what made them special in the first place. Before, it was just a bunch of innocent lads from London making good music, but now it's the aforementioned Biggest Band In The World. They'll be able to make interesting music, certainly--Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends accomplishes that, which makes it miles better than X&Y--but it'll never have the same magic as before.

Don't Mess With Dex -- Live With Local H

What does one do when you've just flown for 18 hours halfway across the globe? Well, I know what I would do--hop in a car and drive an hour away to some dive bar to catch a band whose heyday was over a decade ago. And you do not regret this decision, though you do remain confused by your continuously shifting verb tenses.

I had heard for years that Local H were one of those bands that just brought a ferocious live show, so when the opportunity came to see them for only ten bucks, I had the inevitable reaction of "Sure, why not?" It's not like we had something better to do in ol' Salem Towne. And hey, who doesn't love "Bound For The Floor"?

We had two opening bands that night, with one a promising new local band, and the other being a serviceable, well, opening act. I'll be keeping my eye out for Sharpening Markers, who had a great mix of punk energy and dissonant rock chords, with the vocal stylings reminiscent of Steve Bays of Hot Hot Heat (though for one song it shifted to Hutch Harris of The Thermals, and if you're reading this Sharpening Markers, keep doing this--it works well). My only complaint was the total lack of showmanship from the guitars--put some life into your performance, guys! As for The Photo Atlas, they had some of the better qualities of the indie/screamo movement, but they were noteworthy for the band members resemblance to people we know--the rhythm section looked like two goofballs we knew from high school, the singer like Trent Reznor's kid, and what was clearly Judd Apatow handling the guitar. We loved The 40 Year-Old Virgin, Judd!



Local H lived up to all expectations, as the two-man wrecking crew knocked through a blistering set, mixing in with the old and new. I myself was most intrigued to see how Scott Lucas's super guitar/bass combo actually worked--I had my doubts to the AllMusic story that he had installed a bass pickup in his guitar, but lo and behold, something on the internet was true. The group effectively mixed the old and new, showcasing cuts from the new album that fit in effortlessly with older classics, such as "California Songs", which brought the house down mid-show.

Perhaps the highlight of the show was the monologues from Scott. Sure, there were only a couple, but they were instantly memorable. As Scott's liquor began to take hold, he began to take issue with some audience member's idiotic requests:

"So you think you're old school, huh? You're about as old school as Will Ferrell?"
"Who the fuck do you think I am, Ian Mackaye?"
"If you keep this up, we'll just play M. Ward songs all night."
"Not even the good M. Ward songs, the ones with Zooey Deschanellanksd [unintelligible rambling]. Just the shitty ones."

Scott gets bonus points for the local reference, as M. Ward is a prominent fixture of the Portland music scene. As the drinks kept flowing (Scott: "It's her birthday, so I'm taking a shot!"), we heard the tale of a ruckus a few days ago in California.

"So I nearly got in a fight down in California a couple of days ago. Some guy had a problem with me, and as he gets more into it, asks me, "Do you know who I am?!?"
"I'm Dex!!!"

As for the music itself, well, the ending was spectacular. "Bound for the Floor" of course led to a massive audience response, but the mid-song shift into Chicago's "25 or 6 to 4" was genius, even if it left 99% of the audience clueless. It wasn't wholly out of character--they covered the song on their No Fun EP--but I ate it up, singing the missing horn parts in Joe Reefer's ear (thank you, pep band!). And wasting no time, Scott began a blistering cover of "Wolf Like Me" to close the set, proving what I had mentioned to Joe earlier that very afternoon: "I can tell you this at least: Wolf Like Me fucking rocks".