Review Summary: The effluent tap has been turned down but It's flow persists.
To ensure I give this album a thorough review I must listen to it multiple times. However, after one playthrough I began suffering from mental anguish due to the horrendous lyrical quality. My determination unwavering, I look to remedy this problem by looking up what part of the brain controls speech comprehension. The Wernicke's area is found in the temporal lobe on the left side of the brain of 95% of right-handers. Being a right-hander myself I now know the site I must inflict trauma on to get through future listens. After a precise king hit to the said area by my mate Garrius Fairweather I drag my semi-conscious body to my computer and listen to the album twice before the effect wears off.
became significantly more palatable, fantastic in parts. But there were still problems with consistency and a blatant identity crisis in the hour of music on this album.
A lot of people are praising this album as Coldplay's greatest of the decade and they are probably right. But I can't help but compare said statement to the equivalent of a man with acute IBS praising his bowel movements post colostomy bag installation. Sure they've gotten better but you're still shi
tting into a bag taped to your abdomen.
At this point you might be asking yourself; "So what can I expect from this colostomy bag?" Well, why don't you jump in this bag with me and I'll give you the grand old tour of what this artificial bowel has to offer!
An album that attempts to be all-encompassing of culture and preach unity by shoe-horning a few languages and traditional styles of music into the mix. An album bloated with so many 2 minute songs perhaps because of a reluctance to flesh them out or the song being so void of content there was no flesh to find. An album packed with filler as it jumps jarringly from one creative idea to the next and in the track "بنی آدم" case, mid-song. Everyday Life
tries half-heartedly to be more than the sum of its parts and fails spectacularly.
Coldplay begins this album with a delicate orchestral number that segues terribly into the following song Church
. This is one of the few solid offerings on this album. I enjoy the Moby- Porcelain synths and the overall cohesive package this song has. Trouble in Town
isn't too bad either and after two filler tracks and the mediocre Daddy
, we are treated to the album's highlight Arabesque
. Granted this song owes a lot of its success to not sounding like a Coldplay song. A song filled with groovy brass and sexy sax that also benefits from Chris singing half the lyrics in French.
With nine tracks to go my praise stops here. The following tracks commit so much sin, Chris has to visit a church and sing When I need a friend
with a bunch of priests in exchange for their forgiveness for the atrocities he's about to commit.
Cry, Cry, Cry
makes me want to die, die, die and Alvin from Alvin and the Chipmunks feature on this song does little to stifle my suicidal ideation.
Champion of the world
is praised as one of the better parts of this album but I see it as its most distasteful. With Coldplay's creatively stunted and confused offerings running dry, they decide to look to their musical peers for ideas to rip off. After taking the entire opening melody/groove from Scott Hutchison's song Los Angeles be Kind
Chris divulges his reasoning for doing so stating;
"I thought it (LA be kind) was going to go one way, but it went another. Anyway Champion Of The World is the song that came from following the other path"
Where one path was a fantastically written struggle of a man's acclimation to his new home, oozing in a collection of brooding instruments and sounds. The other takes us on a painfully sterilized upbeat journey with some vague message about not giving up. Chris saves his most abhorrent lyrics for last as he exalts;
"I have E.T. on my bicycle
Because giving up won't work
Now I'm riding on my rocketship
And I'm champion of the world!"
It amazes me how Chris can create lyrics so bereft of personification it may as well be said by Microsoft Sam. His willingness to sacrifice any substantial meaning or merit in his lyrics for catchy sounding phrases that flow well is disturbing. This is a trend Chris has done in the past and continues to do on this questionable album.
This track was dedicated to the late Scott Hutchison and I believe if his corpse heard this putrid emulation of his work it would have such a profound effect, that he would be promptly resurrected. Only to plunge himself fully clothed into the Forth once more. If it wasn't for my temporary brain injury, I would be diving in with him.
The pain this band has put me through with their post-Viva Lavida releases is saddening. They have bloated their catalog with arena anthem flash in the pan trash thus putting me off from ever going to one of their live shows. I'm glad to say that this album even at its one-hour runtime has not added as many chunks to the bowl of hot sick as previous material. Coldplay's stomach rests. But it will only be a matter of time before it starts churning again. Don't be surprised if the vomit that comes pouring out doesn't smell too great.