Four albums in you have to change the formula. The old calculus having had every last drop wrung-out of it. The corpse having had every last piece of flesh stripped off. The buzzards having moved along. Pick your metaphor and mangle it accordingly.
A new math then.
For two years brains were wracked. Songs written and re-written. Babies born. Hair lost to age and frustration. On the other side of an ocean of time the boys have sailed into port with a masterpiece. Clean. Polished. Ready to be put up on the shelf - somewhere ahead of #2 but behind #1. (Number 3 piled squarely in the bin beside the dirty nappies and organic kitchen scraps.)
The album then.
Trying to describe an album song by song is eclipsed in its silliness only by a remake of Red Sonja. You're either gonna to like it or not, because, well, you do or you don't.
But I will say this. Brian Eno has helped. It's a new sound; a few curve-balls mixed with a solid dose of the old Coldplay. It will reawaken a lot of interest in a band that had gotten it a little too perfect in many ways. There are a few classics and of course there are some duds. But the good very much outweighs the bad. Chris' vocals are strong - no hint of anemia from that macro-biotic diet Gwyneth has him on. He's singing lower in the register, which will go a long way in NOT annoying so many who hate falsetto*. And let's face it, the rest of the band play instruments.
~ 6.5 grams of organic fair-trade coffee out of a possible 7.
LISTEN HERE
* I love falsetto and can hit every note perfectly. The more drunk I get the better a singer I am. This goes double for dancing.