While Coldplay weren't the first band to knock off U2, they're the group who had the most reasons not to. Coldplay have already proven themselves to be champions; after all, they successfully held their ground against the rap-rock mafia of Limp Bizkit and Korn. Releasing a gentle, sparklingly attractive ballad such as "Yellow" in the middle of metallic dissonance and raw jock rage was a ballsy move, and it worked. Somehow Coldplay's Britpop lullabies were able to put Yanks in a trance instead of putting them to sleep.
Unfortunately, the spell has been broken with their third record. Although they didn't become the robotic snobs of Radiohead, Coldplay still managed to deteriorate massively on an creative scale with "X&Y." Some critics have compared this album with U2's "The Unforgettable Fire"; however, given Chris Martin's lack of passion in these new tracks it should be nicknamed the "The Forgettable Sigh."
On and on Martin drones from one dull song to the next, lacking any fuel that'll drive his generic lyrics into the hearts of listeners. Most of the time he sounds like Bono with jet lag, exhausted, barely able to communicate the feelings in his words.
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The group tries to rock, especially on "Speed of Sound," but they lack the arena-sized oomph that made U2 so powerful. Guitars chime a la the Edge; however, there are no moments of catharsis, a break in the monotony, just repeated notes that drag the tunes through quicksand.
After several spins, none of it stays in the head; the tracks fade like forgotten dreams. Oddly enough, this week I was introduced to the Filipino-Irish act Prettier Than Pink, and their song "Irish Rose" equalled U2 in its musical scope and emotional range. Given that Coldplay was bested by a group of women, they are now even bigger sissies than before.
If U2 had retired ten years ago, perhaps "X&Y" would've been welcomed for the sake of nostalgia. But with U2 still alive and kicking, "X&Y" is nothing more than a pale imitation.
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