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Parachutes Coldplay EMD/Nettwerk, 2000
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Tracks
Reviewed by Bill Harrison
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Whenever the New Musical Express dubs a band as the next big thing, people tend to pay attention. It seems as though the NME has got their fingers on Britain's musical pulse and senses when, in all the steady beats of forgettable bands, the heart suffers from something like arrhythmia. That odd throb becomes the next cover for the new issue, with an exclusive to match. If this is the case, Coldplay has caused something just short of a coronary. Unfortunately, Coldplay walks dangerously close to being labeled as pop, just as Travis continues to walk the same line. Why? It cuts too close to Britpop. Britpop was a great thing... if you were a British band in 1995. The whole scene should be dead by now. There are only so many 60s-Britannia styles to go around and right now a lot of that same music is being worn like a three-time-hand-me-down that your grandfather sported while courting lasses. Oasis is in that straitjacket and refuses to let go: never mind how much liberty they think they take. Blur broke free; Graham Coxon went indie and Damon Albarn has since gone artsy. Suede got left in the attic and Menswe@r never got out. The British press seem stuck on 1995, as well. The British rock scene was the biggest thing on the music market (e.g. Oasis v. Blur). Since then, they have dwelled on this anachronistic pattern, suffocating those who disobeyed, but drowning out those they championed. Failures ensued, leading to the concept that anyone supported by those folks must be slagged as mere pilgrims on that same path, doomed to flag away and become a tattered cover of an old NME. Coldplay are the current darlings of that very same press, but such an association with that lifeless medium could be grossly unfair. With frontman Chris Martin's vocals, rhythm guitar and piano, Coldplay creates a heart-wrenching atmosphere of unrequited love and loss of control in Parachutes, their debut LP. For the most part, the album is slow of tempo and Martin's voice is moistened with either regret or want, further slowing the pace. Parachutes becomes increasingly saturnine and self-effacing as one proceeds through Martin's fragile and aching heart. Yet the experience resolves into a sort of restrained optimism. Throughout, Parachutes always aims for the heart-achingly beautiful, seizing the listener's core with simple melodies and emotive force. Their second single, "Yellow," sets the desperate tone of Parachutes' middle and the backbone to the album. Bleakness presents itself in a manner where the lover cannot penetrate the ethereal majesty of his beloved. Instead, it becomes crippling, You're skin, oh yeah, you're skin and bones, Despite the fact that his beloved consists of simply "skin and bones," they form some sort of majestic creature of whom Martin is not worthy. His devotion and adoration come to the point of losing life's fervor. Any sort of passion (in the form of his blood), something the lover is devoid of, he is willing to lose. Martin's inability in "Shiver" underpins his deficiency of person: So I look in your direction, Again, the lyrics perpetuate an attitude where the afflicted reaches out to an otherworldly being, only for Martin to lack his lover's substance. The song furthers the emotional rush brought on by guitar and quick strumming on the acoustic. The rest of the album diverges into two species. Tracks like "Trouble," "Sparks" and "Parachutes" follow in the direction of misplaced fidelity. Of the three, "Trouble" stands out with gorgeous piano and a guitar that airs in and out. The tune gauges the remorse echoed by Martin's voice and words, which do become separate entities in the course of the album's play. The verbal imagery of a spider web gives way to the band's next and more general theme of fruitlessness. Lack of control, external and internal, forms in the third track, "Spies," a good sample of Martin's lyrics and drummer Will Champion's subtle lead. The band goes off into a land of paranoia. The frustration felt is a physical fear of being watched and then caught with no means to intervene. "We Never Change," is an acoustic ballad, but with very different imagery and expression than any other track. The character is caught up in his wrongs and confesses that, regardless of his contrition, he will continue to stay the same. The album is tied together at its ends, "Don't Panic" and "Everything's Not Lost." The former opens the album, reverberating with clever drumming and nebulous echoes. Oddly enough, the introductory sequence describes the flow of the album. The lyrics start off filled with dread ("bones sinking like stones/all of we fought for"), but Martin attempts to convince himself that the world is not strictly desolate. Yet, in closing, he resolves that "everybody here got somebody to lean on." In the last track, Martin starts off with piano and then the band jumps in, forming a sound much like Spiritualized's airy optimism. This is the resolution that we've been waiting for. It's not a dirge. It doesn't leave a sense of gloom and unfulfilled wishes. Martin is not left confused. Hope exists, regardless of inability. Martin recognizes the despair in his futility. But what really makes this album shimmer and throb vigorously is Martin's conclusion. He becomes comfortable with his helplessness. The two ends of the British musical spectrum seem to exist as the alcohol-guzzling, family feud that is the Gallagher Brothers' Circus and the frustratingly enigmatic and untouchable genius of Radiohead. If these are the ends, where does Coldplay fit? Parachutes does plod along too slowly at times. Reflection on the listener's part turns into impatience. Coldplay may write great songs, but there's nothing conceptually new in Parachutes. However, that's no reason to fit these boys in a box labeled "Britpop flirts." It's too early for that. The main point of the album is to demonstrate that Martin is a gifted lyricist, the band has impassioned abilities, is making good music and has the talent and ability to expand outside of anachronistic constraints. As for debuts, I would rate it tops this year. It's got my heart all aflutter and out of whack. | December 2000
Bill Harrison is aspiring to be an inspiring musician. He writes semi-regularly for his school paper and for The Personal Fowl and actually enjoys Britpop immensely. |
Unfortunately, Coldplay walks dangerously close to being labeled as pop, just as Travis continues to walk the same line. Why? It cuts too close to Britpop. |
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