Putting Them In Their Place (A Rush Of Blood To The Head - Coldplay)

Member Name: indiecater

Product:	A Rush Of Blood To The Head - Coldplay
Date:	02/10/02 (265 review reads)
Rating:

Advantages: Sprinkling of guitar/vocal escapades to rival any intrepid explorers adventures.

Disadvantages: The search for the holy grail finds itself down a cul-de-sac.

The good news is that Coldplay have consolidated their billing as the shining lights most likely to. The downside is that they have yet to mastermind a revelatory record. While 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' is never less than an interesting listen it has the unfortunate knack of repeatedly kicking in the headway it so eloquently carves out for itself.

'Parachutes' was similiarly maligned. With a decent sprinkling of 2000's best songs ('Don't Panic' remains their most rounded effort to date) it faltered when the tempo espoused ill timed soul searching. The new album has songs to steal your heart but there are also a few ideas that are akin to the Kelly Jones' no mans land approach to songwriting. Sadly the task of listening can feel almost chorish at times. 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' also sees Coldplay lose that spark of originality with a new found injection of influences heavily impacting on proceedings. Paradoxically, this departure helps unfurl some exciting ideas.

The onus would not have been so heavily thrust upon Chris Martin's band had their forefathers Radiohead not so rapidly let their morbid alter egos take hold abd tarnish a perfect track record. The hordes needed an intelligent rock fix and Coldplay stepped into the breach with commendable creditionals and the know how to occasionally coin off the shelf classics.

'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' boasts a similiar graph of highs and not so as its predecessor. 'Politik', the opener, is at first a little insipid as the ponderous chords come poorly supported by Chris Martin's lacklustre delivery. You've got to wait a bit but the piano interplay at the core turns things around spectacularly. When the vocals and celestial interferences take off their hat to a time when dreampop seemed to be the way to go several intoxicating flavours emerge. The effect is similiar to drinking a pint of that pure elixir that enab
les a man to fly. Humbling, as you realise the talent these guys possess and how with the right execution they could consistently hit the G-Note.

'In My Place', despite its lump in the throat virtuso from Martin still relies on a decidely lame riff. Not that it's unpretty, it's just that it adopts the stance of a recently woken up idea. So much of what's good about Coldplay originates from their bright chord manoeuvring. It is the sparkle that polishes off what could otherwise go unnoticed but with 'In My Place' the guitars merely hover when you want them to soar.

Breezing in on an acoustic air 'God Put A Smile Upon Your Face' introduces notoriety with some warped playing. The chorus is as streamlined as you would expect but the lead up is a tad wearisome. At least the energy is there and the added instrumental malevolent tendancies shield the lack of pretty aural aesthetics.

Trouble, it seems, was ready to brew on the ill-timed 'The Scientist'. With Ian McCullough sitting on the singers shoulder a lot of the tension is diffused and the dramatics are left to a January-esque (see the Poptones label) combination of luxurious low slung guitar work and subtle percussion to save the day.

'Clocks' has a simple premise that sends a flotilla of butterfly's in a spin towards your neck hairs. The cascading piano riff is enormously uplifting and Martin's stripped vocal is the perfect foil to the delicate musicianship. Raising the ante and the quality quotient it sounds almost surreal when a lost Bono wanders into the scene every now and then.

'Daylight' is perhaps the best indicator of where Coldplay's potential could see them heading. Somewhat like a Rivaldo dive, the build up to the adrenaline soaked chorus is ponderous and close to tiresome yet when the tune hits full throttle clear melody pours forth like liquid on a winters morning at Foz Do Iguacu. If mome
nts like this distillation could continue for longer then we would have a very special album on our hands indeed. True to form, and in a musical sense tragically, the band choose to drive us in and out and around the Bends from here on in.

'Green Eyes' is perhaps as low as 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' gets. As out of tune as a toothless crone, as directionless as a mapless Mr Bean and possessing as much momentum as the first stone wheel (square) this is Coldplay peddling their wares around retirement homes to deaf pensioners in 30 years.

'Warning Sign' is cute melodrama put to music. Inoffensive and persistently soft of focus it saunters by without ever having a wholesome effect on the listener (well, this one anyway). At this stage Chris Martin's patter starts to grate a little. I mean here is a young man with more than a modicum of talent who continually bemoans his situation when a good lay would probably set his mind straight. 'Warning Sign' will still, no doubt, fill teenage hearts with hope but for us grown ups the message is less convincing, more contrived.

'A Whisper' is anything but. Big and bold cranking guitars engulf incendiary material within touching distance. This is Coldplay at last testing the water (even though U2 may have bathed there earlier) and pushing the boat out without first checking for leaks. It's exciting, dramatic and half a world away from the cutesy ballads they so often reach for, comfort blanket like.

What a blow then, to have to sit through the muffled pity inducing swagger of title track 'A Rush Of Blood To The Head'. OK, there are echoes of a great Radiohead tune, a Slowdive guitar haemorrage and a joyous frazzled chorus in there somewhere but I for one would not hazard the maze of mediocrity to find it. Dilly dally for too long on a fault line and someday the ground will crack and swallow you whole.

'Amsterdam' almost
peters to a halt after the half idea that is initially presented is flogged within an inch of its life. Then, unexpectedly at the 4 minute mark its shunts into life through a guitar barrage that provides the punchline that was so badly needed. For an all too short a time Coldplay's stargazing renders criticism null and void. This song illustrates how the band can frustrate and delight within the crank of a guitar chord. They certainly have the keys to unlock the gates, it's just that they habitually reach for the wrong ones.

Coldplay have a distance to travel before they become the finished article. They still lag behind such contemporaries (and this is where I may fall on my sword) as Doves and And You Will Know Them By The Trail Of The Dead, lacking the formers imagination and the latters aggressive take on melody spinning.

'A Rush Of Blood To The Head' is half a great album, half an alright one. It's a pleasant listen, at times exhilariating, elsewhere infuriatingly stoic. The band have moved on a little, but perhaps in doing so they have lost a little of themselves. Despite this it's highly likely that the best is yet to come and I for one will be there at the front of the queue to receive their next delivery. For the moment then, time is on their side but greatness remains just beyond their field of vision.

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