No, not Congo! Conge!
I’ve never cried so hard in all my life. Like Sir Edmund Hillary before me, I was over-joyed at the thought of the pinnacle which stood just ahead. I could see the peak of elation tempting me with open arms. I was ready to embrace unadulterated happiness, and revel under the sun from a spot closer than any human had ever stood before me. But then a sudden jolt–an avalanche–put an end to my dreams. I would never reach the summit of all joy. I would never smile and look down on the world below. I could feel frozen tears on my cheeks, an everpresent reminder of the tribulations that had befallen me.
I read that Coldplay were breaking up, and then I found out they really weren’t.
God dammit.
Like many of you, my introduction to the abomination that is Coldplay came during 2000-2001. The week I graduated from high school I went to see them and Grandaddy at Radio City Music Hall. I remember on the train ride into the city Ian was in the bathroom rolling a joint for the show and he got away with not having a train ticket, which I thought was hilarious. But, I digress… Grandaddy were an immense opening act with lots of cool sounds emanating from the stage and some neat little live tricks. Coldplay were the most vanilla, boring live band I had seen to that point in my life… And I’d seen TLC and Montel Jordan open for Boys II Men in middle school. I was so unimpressed I went home and literally dumped their album in the garbage bin.
I bootlegged the show. Maybe I’ll post it someday so you can hear for yourself.
“They ain’t goin’ nowhere,” I thought.
The next year they released another album with a really long pretentious title. I wrote a review of it where I said something to the extent of, “Coldplay has, at this point, probably managed to force suicidal thoughts into the heads of various members of Radiohead who feel responsible for begetting such a trite band. Also, now I hate Radiohead for spawning this generation of weepy, alterna-lite bands.” They even won a Grammy for that cold, uninviting excuse for a record! At the Grammy awards, Chris Martian (ever seen that guy’s head? Yikes!) got up in front of the crowd and spit out some “end the war” drivel in front of the American crowd and millions of television viewers. In an article for the campus newspaper I wrote, “Chris Martin can’t vote here. Somebody please tell him to stop trying to be political like Thom Yorke. The guy already stole all his music, he should try doing something original for once in his life.”
They released another album recently with a goofy title and artwork. It’s probably drenched in reverb and the band sounds like they’re playing in different rooms on different continents. I wouldn’t call Chris Martin’s voice “falsetto and emotional as it borders on the brink of collapsing,” as I would call it “unable to carry a tune.”
I wish they’d just end it.
Coldplay : Shit
