Coldplay: “A Rush of Blood To The Head” (Review)

The “sophomore slump” is a dreaded proposition for any band, especially one that burst into the hearts and radios of millions with a wildly successful debut album, and for this reason, purportedly, Coldplay’s A Rush Of Blood To The Head fell victim to an interminable mixing process and countless delays. Folks tend to get antsy in Mother England, though, where Coldplay have ascended to Britpop royalty in the two years since Parachutes, and consequently the band’s impending demise has been the subject of more rumors than that dreamy Prince William. Coldplay say bollocks to this, and maybe the lads are on the level, but Rush Of Blood is a sadly disappointing album that smacks suspiciously of a band trying hard to escape itself. “Politik” is empty minor-key murk that plods more than it rocks, and tracks like “The Scientist” and “Whispers” range only from the uninsipired to the damn-near unlistenable. Gaudy production touches attempt (unsuccessfully) to flatter the skimpy material, and such ornate grandiosities as “Clocks” and “Daylight” may soon find their way into car commercials, but not into the heads of listeners. Rush Of Blood isn’t a complete wash—“In My Place” and “Green Eyes” are awfully pretty tunes, but both lack the poise that made Parachutes’ “Yellow” a pop-radio anthem for the ages. Coldplay may continue to insist that reports of death have been greatly exaggerated, but A Rush Of Blood To The Head has denied them that rarest of luxuries: the chance to go out on top.

Originally published in Paper, September 2002