This new film about Oasis’s glory years is rousing, heart-rending and really f**king funny
If pop music is a broad church, then Coldplay are the Sunday School kids brought in to provide a little heart-warming interdenominational harmony. "Look at the stars", swoons Chris Martin, lost in innocent devotion, "Look how they shine for you/And everything you do", and you can almost hear an elderly spinster banging out a ham-fisted accompaniment on the organ.
It's amazing how they get away with this: big bad thrills prowl the pop fold and Coldplay, bless them, are lambs in lambs' clothing. You'd expect them to have been devoured by bands who were raised in the wild by the rock'n'roll myth, who don't admit to an intimate knowledge of Sting albums and who bite bloody chunks out of the listener's attention.
Yet, as 'Yellow' proves, there's something undeniably enchanting about them, something that, no matter how sweet and gentle, could still leave you in an emotional puddle if you were feeling the least bit vulnerable. The quiet strings, the rapturous guitar, Martin's gift for making terrible love cliches shine with fresh-minted life's-great-adventure awe - whatever moves 'Yellow' beyond the realm of drippy Thom Buckley pastiche, it's a true gift. A true gift, for God's sake. You'll be smiling fondly at small children in the street next. Damn you, Coldplay...
Delving into the murk and noise of their past, the Boston veterans’ second post-reunion album is a superlative indie rock collection
Two kings of the indie dancefloor unite for a warm, timeless take on 20th century pop and rock
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