| Let’s talk about Barry Lyndon. Whether referring to the unscrupulous 18th century Irish social climber from William Makepeace Thackeray’s 1844 novel, or the 1975 Stanley Kubrick film adaptation of that novel, the analogy to Coldplay’s Viva La Vida or Death and All His Friends is an appropriate stretch to make. The character Redmond Barry begins innocently enough, wanting to improve his station in life, but soon his unchecked ambition to transcend his common background, his mediocrity, leads him further down the path of indignity and ruin. In Kubrick’s film, the casting of the bland, frivolous Ryan O’Neal as Redmond Barry helped seal the fate of the film as a bloated, lifeless exercise in technical precision at the expense of warmth and character. The passing years have revealed the depth and brilliance of the film though and provided the ne’er-do-well Redmond Barry the redemption that befits a tragically banal soul driven into the absurdity of inevitable situations.
When Coldplay made it public that Brian Eno would be producing their forthcoming album, a strange sensation of incredulousness mixed with hope added up to something like anticipation. What would be the ramifications of one of the most important and unorthodox minds moving in musical vortices coming together in artistic fusion with the practitioners of some of the most insipid “adult alternative“ currently operating, supernova or non-event? Well, the answer lands smack dab in the center of those extremes as these two diametrically opposed forces merge in vacant spaces they very nearly cancel each other out, but like the big bang theory posits, there is just enough of an imbalance to set in motion a chain of events that lead up to this rather insignificant little moment. All is not for naught. Something survives. Worship the glitch.
Viva la Vida opens, rather predictably, like a U2 album with the brief instrumental number “Life in Technicolour”. In case you didn’t know, Eno has been working with U2 since Chris Martin was still in nappies and Coldplay professes their love for U2 almost as often as George W. Bush does. “Cemeteries of London” also sounding like U2, (do I sense a trend?) brings the Big Music back, full of repetitive martial beats, torrents of delayed guitars and vague, socially conscious wailing. “Lost” is the first sign of Coldplay’s own identity emerging, though the effective simplicity of the pumping church organ bears the fingerprints of Eno’s masterful economy. “42” begins as a haunted piano ballad before building into a polite frenzy of controlled upward spirals. The invigorating “Lovers in Japan/Reign of Love” is an obvious highlight, a beautiful performance of an inspired song pairing. The second half is pretty much a rinse and repeat formula of the first, the songs rolling nicely along with a graceful aplomb that was sorely lacking on previous albums. Perhaps this is due to the fact that they have abandoned the desire to craft those radio-friendly choruses and instead focus on sustained dynamics.
Brian Eno’s role in the studio is often speculated about by people who speculate about such things. The particulars of his involvement on an album such as this one may always remain a mystery but there is no doubt that when his name is attached to a project the results bear unmistakable “Enoesque” trademarks. The dewy, sunlight-dappled field of sound on Viva la Vida is rapturous in and of itself but his influence always extends beyond the sound of the music alone. As a provocateur he infuses the very fiber of a band with his creative energy, his oblique strategies and his intuitive and playful approach to sound/music theory. Either by inspiration or sheer intimidation he manages to bring the best out of musicians. Chris Martin’s litany of platitudes may still be better suited to greeting cards than rock and roll, but on Viva La Vida he reigns his solipsistic tendencies in and reveals himself to be a little more than what was at first assumed. The whole band in fact play like they mean it this time and that passion serves to obscure their awkward, over-reaching tendencies.
So the literary Barry Lyndon (nee Redmond Barry) redeems himself not necessarily by dint of his own actions but rather by becoming subsumed in the process of history. The film “Barry Lyndon” finds its redemption in pure aesthetic rarity, and Coldplay are temporarily redeemed partly because of the company they keep but also because, like Barry, they are able to exploit a grand opportunity when they see one. There is such a thing as a silk hat that is so exquisitely woven that the pig becomes almost noble in its attempt to earn the right to wear it. Reviewed
by: fallingman
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