Coldplay: Viva la Vida

By Steve Morley

The British band Coldplay’s third album, X&Y, was the biggest worldwide seller of 2005 despite being panned by the influential New York Times; their latest, Viva la Vida, topped the charts in 36 countries after its June release. The secret to such international success might be the heart-on-sleeve theatrics of frontman Chris Martin, whose quest to live down his once-geeky adolescence fuels his drive to create music as ambitious as it is accessible. Just as likely, though, it’s the band’s comparatively polite approach to rock that makes it so widely acceptable to all but a handful of hardcore critics. Martin and his mates hold the opinion that old-style rebellion is obsolete as a motivating force for rock music. The spirit of rock and roll in the new century, they contend, should be one of freedom—one that’s not brazenly anti-establishment, but unfettering and possibly even heroic, following the model of Bono and U2, a band Coldplay has often emulated. On Viva la Vida, Coldplay strives to be taken seriously by its critics, using that independence to experiment with their proven formulas and attempt a conceptual set of messages encompassing mortality, power and guarded hopefulness in the face of uncertainty. (“Just because I’m losing/ Doesn’t mean I’m lost/ Doesn’t mean I will stop…”)

The attempt to secure critical acclaim shows on tracks like “42,” which morphs from soft-focus piano balladry to grinding semi-dissonance and finally sing-songy pop-rock that cameos an apparition who “didn’t get to heaven but made it close.” This near-miss suggests a scorekeeping Creator consistent with the singer’s legalistic religious experiences, a theme also expressed in “Yes,” which laments loneliness and sexual temptation. Martin’s fear of divine reprisal—confessed in a 2008 Rolling Stone interview—appears most affectingly in the baroque-pop title cut about a grandiose, Lucifer-like fall from grace to the peals of “Jerusalem bells.” (“For some reason I can’t explain/ I know St. Peter won’t call my name/ Never an honest word/ But that was when I ruled the world.”)

Martin’s distaste for right-wing politics shows up on the grim pop-rock processional, “Violet Hill,” which depicts an oppressive, military-like state where “priests clutched onto bibles hollowed out to fit their rifles.” Elsewhere, Martin declares “sometimes even the right is wrong,’ as if to imply that conservativism—and by extension, legalism—isn’t always the ideal point of view.

Selected tracks have a romantic subtext as well, evoking lovers in a time of conflict—perhaps their own or a surrounding one, like the dramatic backdrop of Berlin Wall gun towers in David Bowie’s fictional “Heroes.” It can sometimes be hard to tell whether Chris Martin is adopting a stylish pose like Bowie, or, like Bono, aiming to fuse art and revolution. Viva la Vida may not always hit the bull’s eye, but its restless, neo-romantic rock has nonetheless sounded a shot heard ‘round the world.   

Audio Clips

"42"

"Cemeteries of London"

"Lost!"

"Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love"