It’s always been cool to hate Coldplay and, at times, remarkably easy. But in both aspects however, the vitriol heaped upon them is done with little more justification than they’re a very big, very popular band.
The common ‘beige’ and ‘boring’ arrows slung in their direction are as predictable as the formulaic music they’re accused of peddling. But if you really want to hit Coldplay where it hurts, it’s in the vulnerable reveal that despite remaining globally ubiquitous for nearly 15 years, they’ve yet to produce a masterpiece with the cultural impact of the musical greats they so longingly admire and wish to be ranked alongside.
Big hits? Sure, one day there’s going to be an incredible Coldplay Greatest Hits package, but when it comes to albums, they’ve yet to pull a Kid A like Radiohead, let alone a benchmark like U2’s Achtung, Baby, though under the same philosophical tutelage of the great Brian Eno, Coldplay came close with 2008’s Viva La Vida.
Chiefly because the producer got them to march stridently outside of their comfort zone and with those risks brought some intriguing rewards.
So with Ghost Stories, their sixth and latest album signposting some bold new territory, perhaps Coldplay has at last delivered their magnum opus?
Well, as its title hints at, Ghost Stories may well spook their most dedicated fans, but more interestingly, it will alarm their biggest detractors who think Coldplay are doomed to repeating the same insipid narratives over and over. So is it hit or shit? Let’s explore the album’s highs and lows.
HIT:
At 9 tracks and 43 minutes, Ghost Stories is just a minute shy of Coldplay’s shortest album (debut Parachutes) and in turn, delivers the most focused set of their career, harkening back to their first two well-edited albums. Unlike the bloated X&Y, the fascinating yet vaguely schizophrenic Viva La Vida… or its poorly-paced successor Mylo Xyloto, this latest set is more concerned with honing in on an overall aesthetic that prioritises intimacy over grandiosity, restrained tunes that will handily break up the towering hook-laden anthems of their live set. From start to finish, Coldplay’s sixth album may just be their most concise yet.
SHIT:
By that same token, Ghost Stories also seems pretty starved for the big widescreen moments they’ve built their career upon. Kudos for steering inwards towards understatement and restraint rather than cranking out another ‘Clocks’ (with the exception of ‘A Sky Full Of Stars’ – more on that later), but it highlights a fundamental problem with the record. There’s plenty of artists that are far better practised at doing understated than this habitual arena rock band can, and they’re already doing what Ghost Stories attempts to much better.
The more Coldplay go quiet and strip it back, the more painfully apparent it becomes that these nine sleepy, electronically spun songs lack a strong spine, all dressing and no filling, and that they’ve yet to learn any of the tricks from the artist they’re so openly aping (most obviously Bon Iver on ‘Midnight’). Ghost Stories is the closest the four-piece have come to a Chris Martin solo album… and a Chris Martin break-up solo album, at that.
HIT:
‘Magic’ is an excellent addition to the Coldplay playbook and the album’s undisputed highlight, precisely because it achieves all of the purported aims of Ghost Stories in under a leisurely 5 minutes. It doesn’t immediately give itself away, in the way that ‘Sky Full Of Stars’ throws itself so desperately upon you. But instead folds its Coldplay-isms into slightly different shapes. Weightless piano flourishes and warm guitars gild the central bass hook and soundscape of dappled drum beats rather that suffocates them. And while lyrically ‘Magic’ is obviously in the same vague vein of Martin’s most clichéd wordplay, it’s still a winner; delivering all the maximalist command of a ‘Fix You’ but with a feather-light touch that skips the pomp and ceremony.
SHIT:
Pared back as it is, especially on the strings-and-acoustic ‘Oceans’ or the piano-led ‘O’, Ghost Stories is the closest the four-piece have come to a Chris Martin solo album. And as has come out in the media wash over his “conscious uncoupling” with his celebrity wife – a Chris Martin break-up solo album, at that.
Which is all well and good. Coldplay’s currency has always traded in broad Everyman territory and heart-on-sleeve yearning from day dot, but it’s difficult for Joe Blow to empathise with a man who has Jay Z on speed dial, names his kids things like ‘Apple’ and ‘Moses’, and seems to have a hefty safety net regardless of the separation’s circumstances.
That might be assuming a bit much, but not since a globally loved, millionaire ex-Beatle sung a hypocritical paean to ‘imagining no possessions’ has it been more difficult to overcome the stumbling block of circumstance to get to the heart of a musician’s plight.
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Even with a theme as universal as heartbreak as his canvas, Martin still daubs it with overly sentimental clichés that distance rather than draw the listener in. He has all the meek acceptance of a man who’s had his heart shattered, but none of the defiance. He sings of the ‘fire below’ rising (on ‘True Love’) but he’s merely telling us, not showing us. Dignified? Certainly. But if Martin secretly wants us to view Ghost Stories as a great break-up record he fundamentally fails because of his polite lack of anguish.
Sure, Martin is most definitely suffering -he’s only human – but through the lens of these songs, you’d only be guessing it – not feeling it. It’s timid bordering on inauthentic, helped in no small part by the persistent use of synthetic, unmoving instrumental backings. Ironic given that Coldplay are always made their audience – both lovers and haters – get especially emotive.
All the more frustrating considering this is from the pen of a songsmith who has a proven track record for writing life-affirming, blood-coursing anthems (the strident strings of ‘Viva La Vida’ springs to mind). The plodding nature of the production work and limp orchestrations found here (on ‘Ink’ and ‘Always In My Head’ especially) finds Martin aimlessly pondering the impact of permanence, yet having none itself.
HIT:
Jonny Buckland’s wonky guitar solo that yawns across the Jeff Buckley-quoting ‘True Love’ gifts a rather uneventful track with a must-listen moment. It’s a neat reminder that he’s the most criminally underrated element of the band; forever in his frontman’s shadow – perhaps more so than the rhythm section – but his playing is the central driving force of so many of Coldplay’s biggest and most indelible songs. Lovely.
SHIT:
Buckland’s brief but brilliant solo highlights another sore point. Returning to the theory of Ghost Stories as solo album – it’s a wonder what drummer Will Champion is doing with all these pre-programmed loops and triggered pads knocking about. Twiddling his thumbs in time, perhaps? Never have the members of Coldplay who aren’t Chris Martin felt so sidelined, their perceived absence certainly making the ear fonder for their collective presence.
SHIT:
For all their positive efforts to pace off into experimental sonic routes, Ghost Stories is not the bold reinvention it thinks it is or wants to be. There are some positive steps in the right direction, tip-toeing in the opposite trail of the grandiosity of its unabashed ‘pop’ predecessor Mylo Xyloto (Rihanna cameo and all) but even as they discover novel new dimensions to their established identity (on ‘Magic’ and ‘Oceans’) the quartet still seem to equally cling desperately to tried and tested formulas. if Martin secretly wants us to view Ghost Stories as a great break-up record he fundamentally fails because of his polite lack of anguish.
It’s vexing listening to Coldplay play against their natural instincts only to defer to borrowed sonic guises (‘Midnight’) or tried and tested formulas (ivory tinkling ballad ‘O’).
‘Sky Full Of Stars’ is the worst culprit, textbook Coldplay lyrics and interchangeable piano chords welded with soulless precision to Avicii’s proven EDM four-to-the-floor-mula, a banger ruthlessly calculated to snatch airplay, scale pop charts, and soundtrack sports montages without breaking a sweat.
It sounds as if the record label fat cats (or worse, the band themselves) were genuinely concerned that the ‘daring’ shift in style for Ghost Stories might shave a few hundred thousand off their bank accounts fanbase and commissioned ‘A Sky Full Of Stars’ as a kind of insurance policy. It’s that fucking clinical.
Final Verdict: SHIT
Ghost Stories is not a terrible record, but the smaller victories feel hollow in comparison to its more glaring faults. At best, it’s pleasantly likeable and admirably unique in Coldplay’s catalogue. At worst, it’s painfully underwhelming and aggravatingly innocent. Basically the same qualities that they’ve always been criticised of, just here dressed up in lighter sonic touches that might distract long enough for it dawn upon you.
It might be the cathartic album that Coldplay (re: Chris Martin) needed to make, but it’s not necessarily the album we needed to hear.
