WARMING UP TO COLDPLAY
Foursome became the world’s comfort blanket
Twenty years ago, four wide-eyed students in a band called Starfish played their first gig in front of friends. Within months, Starfish changed their name to Coldplay and four years later, they headlined Glastonbury and became one of the world’s biggest acts. To date, they have sold more than 70 million albums and played stadiums from London to Lima and Mumbai to Miami.
How did these four unassuming individuals become a globe-straddling phenomenon? And why, despite chart-topping albums, Hollywood lifestyles and a phenomenal live reputation, has the band never quite managed to shed the tag of being a bit straight and uncool?
Back in the ’90s, initial reaction among industry talent scouts — the A&R men — was mixed. Jon Chapman, the former Island and Virgin Records A&R manager, saw Coldplay in 1998 and recalls singer Chris Martin’s “nervous contagious enthusiasm.” A&R legend Mike Smith, said recently that he found Martin “quite annoying.” Even Dan Keeling, Parlophone’s A&R man, who signed Coldplay in April 1999, was initially “unimpressed” when he saw them in 1998.
“There were 30 people there,” Keeling says. “The band looked very studenty; Chris was wearing a grey jumper that was three sizes too big. A couple of members wore stonewashed denim ... They hadn’t nailed their sound. Far from it. So I left. They were just another band.”
But when Keeling saw them in early 1999 in Manchester, they’d vastly improved. The songwriting now showed promise in so many different areas, Keeling says: in the vocals, the playing, the drama. He particularly remembers a “brilliant” Buckley-esque song called Bigger Stronger. “I couldn’t believe they’d come on so much,” he says.
Great songs drove Coldplay’s success. Lyrically, they groaned with pathos, hope and togetherness. Crucially, the band understood dynamics; songs often built to a rousing singalong climax.
Admittedly there were other factors at play in the band’s phenomenal journey — some of them distinctly un-rock ’n’ roll. For a start, there was the fortunate timing.
Coldplay was signed in an “in between” phase in music: specifically, the four-year window between Britpop’s final retro swagger in 1997 (very un-Coldplay) and the garage rock revival spearheaded by The Strokes in 2001.
But not being tied to any particular scene was, perhaps paradoxically, the key to their longevity. By never being part of a fashionable movement in the first place, Coldplay has — almost by definition — never been out of fashion. Their very “inbetweenness” has become part of their success story.
They were polite and worked hard. Martin spent early gigs apologizing — it was “the Hugh Grant, English thing,” Keeling says — and his teetotal lifestyle let him focus on songwriting, thus creating a virtuous circle. Sensible business decisions — such as equally splitting royalties and investing in the company behind the flashing wristbands they give out at shows — gave the band ballast.
Of course, they have attracted criticism, too. Creation boss Alan McGee famously called their output “bed-wetters’ music.” But, following the horrors of 9-11, the world craved “safe” and Coldplay’s music fit the bill perfectly. The band was writing its second album when the attacks happened.
In dark times, who could fail to be soothed by the sonic balm of 2005’s Fix You?
Coldplay became the world’s comfort blanket: warm and reassuring.
Too often they’ve given detractors reasons to sneer: the Bonoesque moralizing about ending poverty, the Les Miserables-lite costumes for Viva la Vida, the gawkiness, the smugly worded “conscious uncoupling ” when Martin separated from Gwyneth Paltrow, and EMI’s share price plummeting in 2005 due to the band’s album being delayed, for example.
For all that people love to hate about them, it is hard not to be impressed and moved when seeing them perform. A Coldplay show is a riot of colour and communal positivity. Such is the level of production that their gigs end with rolling credits. Coldplay’s live prowess has coincided with a cultural shift: as physical music sales decline, people will shell out for visceral experiences. They want memories, not stuff. The year Coldplay started, Americans spent $1.5 billion on gig tickets. In 2017, they spent $7 billion. Coldplay has ridden this wave.
Their sound has also moved with the times, becoming more pop and mainstream and less guitarled. Perhaps keeping things vague and shiny is a way of keeping their appeal broad and their momentum going. In this sense, 20 years on, Coldplay seem to be playing an astute long game that sums up modern music. They know that surviving as a band means adapting to shifting musical tastes. And they know that the future lies in immersive live music. And if this means occasionally substituting heart for colour, and replacing vulnerability with spectacle, then it’s a price they seem willing to pay.