Melody Maker, July 2000 (Interview)
THAT'S COLDPLAY'S MOOD, POST-'YELLOW'S GLORIOUS SUCCESS. WE MEET THE BAND WHO ARE FAST PROVING HOW NICE GUYS CAN FINISH FIRST.
The first major post-fame Melody Maker interview with Coldplay is moving gently along towards its conclusion: no voices raised, the band a little defensive perhaps, but what else do you expect from four ordinary ex-students who've suddenly been catapulted into the spotlight?
It's all been calm and considered, no jokes, little sarcasm, a few sweet insights. We've taken tea and biscuits and heard the odd revelation about bassist Guy Berryman's Scottish childhood. Suddenly, this happens...
"I'll tell you off the record," begins singer Chris Martin. "No, I'll tell you on."
We'd been talking about the inspiration for the previous single, the devotional "Shiver." Chris had previously joked that he wrote it while thinking about Natalie Imbruglia, something he disavows now as a "throwaway statement".
We'd moved on to talking about ex-girlfriends and what it's like to grow up insecure and unloved. Themes which seem sort of appropriate to Coldplay's star-struck, solumn, moody, guitar-led music.
I revealed that I'd been a virgin at the age of 23, so Chris retorts in kind. "I was a virgin at 22 and since then I've only been with one person and..."
Chris says something that he immediately regrets. A mad scramble for the tape recorder ensues.
"Shit!" exclaims Chris, trying to rewind the tape. "You can't print that."
"Keep it!" laughs guitarist Jonny Buckland.
"I swear," says Chris, clutching his head. "If you repeat that, I would...seriously...I would just kill myself."
Calm down, lad. Us print that and deprive the UK of its Brightest New Stars? Perish the thought. Imagine the scandal: This Week's New Travis (or Radiohead or whichever earnest band happens to be passing) In Joke Quote/Death Riddle. You needn't take everything so seriously.
Chris refuses to be mollified. He sits with his heads in his hands for several minutes. Finally to distract him, I mention that the final track on Coldplay's debut album "Parachutes", the seven minute-long "Everything's Not Lost", reminds me of The Flaming Lips.
"Do you think so?" he asks, clearly chuffed. "It's the mood, isn't it? When I saw them live, they were so intense and sincere. That's the feeling I want to capture with Coldplay."
Coldplay are now bonafide Top Five chart stars; the single "Yellow" has seen to that. The song itself is a resonant, mysterious, full of sweet guitar cadances and the odd nonsensical vocal line. There's a drum beat from the Cranberries' "Linger" (they were good back then, honest!). Guitars that swagger and stumble their way to the stars. And a self-referencing lyric that immediately shows off Chris' benevolent, self-effacing approach to life and the people he encounters.
"Yellow' refers to the mood of the band," explains the singer. "Brightness and hope and devotion. It's quite concise - you don't have to expand on it. It strikes a chord, gets across."
Coldplay are some of the nicest lads you'll ever be lucky enough to encounter - stockily good-looking, except for Chris who has a touch of Ashcroft's insouciant charm in his tousled hair. All had happy childhoods - not one broken marriage beween their parents. All four have travelled a stead, middle-class career path of boarding school, sports and music, even if they are all from different parts of the UK: Devon (Chris); Fife (Guy); North Wales (Jonny); and Southampton (drummer Will Champion).
"Will's dad is like the Michael Jackson of archaeology," says Chris. "He's big. My famous relative is the guy who invented British summertime - he's my great-great-grandfather. It really is true. His name was William Willet. He used to ride his horse early in the mornings in summer and no-one else would be up. He thought it was a real shame that people were missing these hours of sunlight, so he had the idea of shifting the clock forward so it stayed light longer in the evening."
All the lads were into music from an early age, although the musical influences varied greatly, from old school soul (Chris) to guitar bands like The Stone Roses and Ride (Jonny).
Funk-loving Guy probably had the most embarassing covers bands, though, formed when he moved to Kent at the age of 12.
"It was guitar and keyboards" shudders the bassist. "We played terrible, terrible stuff. The best musician in the group was really into Genesis. We would agonise for hours trying to work out horrible prog rock stuff with ridiculous solos. We never got anywhere near it - we'd muck about and make a noise."
"We had a music teacher called Mr. Tanner," says Chris. "He dismissed the idea that you had to be some kind of miniature Mozart to enjoy music. He bought these Yamaha keyboards for the school, those PSS140s, about 100 pounds. They were very easy to work, everyone could have a go. You could play with one finger and have a tune, so we did. That was the first band I was in.
Will, meanwhile, learnt to play a whole variety of instruments, including tin whistle, before fortuitously filling in for Coldplay on the vacant drum stool for their first proper demo. "Will is like a human jukebox," says Chris. "He's more a guitarist than a drummer. Me and Will used to sit on the stairs at our hall of residence and he'd know more songs than anyone. You name it, he'd play it."
And now Coldplay are on their way to fame, fortune and all the purple spangly things in-between. Makes you sick doesn't it? Boys who've had it so easy, having it easy still further. It shouldn't though. As has already been shown, Coldplay agonise unduly. They worry over the minutiae of life, upsetting others and themselves far mroe than they would if they'd grown up on council estates. This is what gives their music its brilliant inward-looking glare. That's why so many fans can already relate to it.
"There are so many things which are easily digestable but bad for you," explains Chris. "This fast-food music has no soul, no depth. That's why Radiohead are good. They need to be listened to."
You all had happy childhoods. Why, then, do you make such moody, tormented music?
Silence. The band look blankly back at me. I've clearly asked the wrong question. Or would you say that was a misjudgement, I add hastily.
"I don't think we see it that way," begins Jonny.
Oh, come on. The guitars swirl and eddy. The vocals soar and strain into the realm of falsetto. You've been frequently compared to Radiohead - and if that band aren't moody and tormented, then I don't know who is.
"Our music has moods, certainly," states Chris carefully, "but there's often a load of optimism in there. We're all human beings and not every human being is always joyful. Similarly, it's not always depression and darkness."
Your music is certainly more angst-ridden that, say, the new single from Britney Spears, though.
"It has more soul," corrects Guy.
"It has sincere emotion in it," adds Chris. "It has sadness, as well as joy. It's easier to write sad music. It's almost impossible to write a good, happy song without being cheesy, unless you're [famously cheesy soulman] Bill Withers."
What about most of the stuff on Motown, The Beatles, [chirpy Irish punks] The Undertones, [soul legend] Otis Redding? Damn, one of the greatest songs ever written is Louis Armstrong's "What A Wonderful World".
"Even then, you can never say it's pure joy," thinks Guy. "There's elements of the blues in Motown songs."
"We experience the same emotions as everyone else," states Chris. "We don't have to have gone through tormented lives. I don't think we should be made to apologise for our upbringings. If there's one angle people take against us, it's that we didn't have to struggle too much. Also, any reasons we might have why any of our music is unhappy or sad will just sound pathetic compared to your classic blues singers."
Fair enough. So what's your motivation?
"Some music comes from struggle," explains Guy, "but more basic than that is a fundamental love of music."
Are you ever political?
"I was more political 10 years ago than now," says Chris. "I took the weight of the world on my shoulders. We had a song that sounded like that Oasis song - 'I need to be myself/I can't be no-one else' - but the lyrics were about the tabloid press, how they hound people, rather than concentrating on important issues. It was a rage against showbiz marking the front page. I wish I had the guts to sing about those things now."
When I spoke to that wee feller from Muse in Melbourne, he reckoned that music is the new religion. That is, if the Internet isn't already. It brings people together, creates a sense of community and wonder in people's lives, has similar rituals. Or so he says.
"Music does things to you that you can't necessarily explain." begins Jonny, "but its not religion. If it's good, it's good - there's something magical when it all comes together, but it's not a religion."
Chris has been quiet for a couple of minutes now, sitting with his head bowed. Finally he raises it and speaks to me.
"Sorry," the singer says. "I didn't mean to have a go at you. It's just....you have to be careful about every last word you say or they'll turn it against you. I don't like the idea that you have to defend your background to validate your music."
Coldplay don't want to change the world. They just want to write a few decent chord changes...and what hell is wrong with that?
So what is Coldplay's background? The band met at London's University College in 1996. All except Guy have degrees in serious-sounding subjects: archaeology (Will); maths and astronomy (Jonny); and ancient history (Chris). Guy dropped out but staying in London for a year so that he could be with the band.
After stealing their name from a friend, the four lads began rehearsing together in 1998. The "Safety" EP - financed by friend and future manager Phil - followed shortly afterwards. Contrary to statements made elsewhere in the press, though, the band didn't form out of a mutual hatred for Whitney Houston. Shame.
"We've got a bad habit of saying stuff like that sarcastically," explains Jonny, "and it always comes back at us."
"I like Mariah Carey," adds Will. Perhaps sarcastically.
After "Safety", came a single on Fierce Panda, "Brothers & Sisters", in early 1999. Like many a single on that tiny, illustrious London label, it served as a useful springboard for the band to reach the majors - in Coldplay's case Parlophone.
October 1999 saw the release of the slightly overblown "The Blue Room" EP, whose five songs shimmered and rumbled like a fledgling offspring of the Verve and someone all moody and portentous. Oh, OK then, Radiohead.
After that you probably know the rest. Their next single appeared last March. Possibly their finest moment to date, "Shiver" recalls the trembling jangle of easly-Nineties bands like The Sundays, with easily enough individuality to connect on any number of levels. It also saw the band in the Top 40 - not for the last time. Britian has some new, home-grown guitar heroes to contend with.
What annoys you most about the last couple of months?
"All the things that can get in the way of your music," states Chris firmly. "Your inability to create soundbites, your appearance, your photographs, your background, the way you talk...it all gets in the way. The test is whether people will be able to sit down and listen to us in 50 years' time when all they have is our music. Everything else mucks it up. If you say one stupid thing about cocaine as a joke and it stops three people from listening to your music..."
The singer's voice trails off. Here's someone who clearly worries a fraction too much about what's around him. Chris should lighten up, learn to enjoy the ride more.
"But what about someone like Crispian Mills?" he asks, concerned. "That was a worst-case scenario - you say something offhand and no-one ever listens to your music again."
He was in an awful band though.
"It was the best thing that could have happened to them," agrees Guy.
There've been a few snide remarks about your religious beliefs. Are any of you Christians?
"No," says Chris. "I have a lot of respect for them, though."
"Anything that has such a profound an effect of people's lives has to be treated with respect," considers Will. "I'm not Christian myself."
Considering you're such a new band, you seem to have come in for a lot of criticism - people calling you careerist rock'n'roll for example.
"Well, we do want to play music forever," states the bassist sensibly.
Chris starts clutching at his head again: "It been about 50/50. It's all bollocks. This pisses me off, the shit."
"If this all ended tomorrow, we'd still be doing it," explains Jonny.
"And we'd be right back the next day too," adds his singer. "With a different programme and a genuine past."
So is there a nasty side to Coldplay? I've been sitting with them for 90 minutes in this deserted photographer's studio and, despites Chris' constant apologies for being so aggressive towards me, I can't detect one.
"Of course there's a nasty side to us," explains Chris, "but you don't show things for an interview. I can be a git. We find it much easier to be nicer. To be civil. Will is the nicest bloke in the world, but if you take his seat on the bus, then you've had it. This is as aggressive as we get. There's a nasty side to everyone - even dustmen."
"How do you mean 'nasty'?" Guy asks.
Well...do you, for example, take advantage of underage groupies?
"Absolutely not," says teetotal Chris shocked (despite what you may have heard, Chris is the only member of Coldplay who doesn't drink).
"I torture small animals," laughs Jonny.
"Yeah, that's right," says Chris with a sigh. "'WE TORTURE SMALL ANIMALS, SAY COLDPLAY.' Pull that quote and put it in capital letters at the end. Maybe it will sell a few more copies."
Everett True
COLDPLAY ON COLDPLAY
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