Viva La Vida

After announcing semi-retirement, Coldplay is coming out with a new album this June. They’ve dubbed it, Viva La Vida. I know, I know. Excuse the Shake-your-bon-bon Martin references. Oi! In his Rolling Stone Interview Chris Martin defends it by saying that he took it out from Frida Kahlo’s painting.

This piece of news brings in a pleasant wave of memories.

I loved, no --scratch that--- worshiped them when their first album graced my unknown planet. Parachutes was the soundtrack to my burgeoning appetite for the black mood. I was 19, in my junior year of undergrad, and terrified at peeling away the drama of my untold future. Despite being told how creatively beneath they were to Travis’s melancholy or Radiohead’s genius, I embraced them even more. I dismissed every criticism as an unsympathetic slur to my person and defended them with teeth and smiles. I took in every bit of Chris Martin’s protest on people’s wasteful talk on music. I agreed with him and took it to truth-- without realizing then that it would later on shape my approach to music and my indifference to its politics. I still abide with the same rule; I have never threshed out the joy of pure sound and beautiful lyrics. You really cannot. You really just have to feel. I sang “Everything’s not lost…” under my breath and believed the promise of those words. I imagined requited love to bleed for you in Yellow’s ridiculous but magical lyrics. And I still do. An understatement, but that album made my life.

When A Rush Of Blood To The Head came out in 2002, I was starting anew with an adventure and non-fictional demons -- argumentative and non-relenting executioners as professors (he.he. I kid) and vengeful reading lists. It filled in the void. And kept me sane, however weird that might sound. It was also at this time that I suffered major crushing on Chris Martin. His whining was his charm. I had that silly grin on my face after beating out the cd player to play Warning Sign for the umpteenth time. All this, despite learning the tragedy that is Paltrow-Martin. He. He. Although, call me morose, but I’ve always said this, that marriage was Coldplay’s weak link. Chris just spun to an uncharacteristic whiner whose falsetto almost grated my nerves throughout X & Y. That album almost took out the rabid fan in me. I hope Viva La Vida rescues my delirium. I wont judge it until I hear it. I hope it offers something in the spirit of See You Soon, a really short tune that spins enchanted gibberish, and return to how I discovered them --- raw, pure and fun.