The Worst Band of All Time - Honorable Mention (pt III)

First off – speaking from a very personal point of view – I hate this band. I hate this band more than any other band walking the earth right now, and I’ve literally hated them from the first note I heard. Maybe even before that. I hate them the way Christians hate the devil.  I hate them the way Jews probably hate Hitler.  I sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to my wife shaking my sweaty, rigid body: “Wake up, wake up! You’re having a bad dream!” “I am?” “Yeah, you were screaming ‘F*CK YOU, COLDPLAY’ again!!”

You know this already. Chances are, if you’ve been here before and you’re not blind, you’re aware that I have a massive problem with this band. In fact, the astute reader is probably already confused: “But D.H.,” he or she is thinking, “…you hate Coldplay. Shouldn’t they be your Number One Worst Band of All Time? Number Two if not? I can’t believe they’re only an honorable mention…if there’s someone else out there that you hate more than Coldplay, it’s surprising, because you rip on Coldplay every chance you get. No one else gets that kind of treatment.”

It’s true. I do. I have hated them since time immemorial. Actually, wait – not true. I remember the exact moment when I started hating them. Let’s take a little trip back in time: a twenty-something DroidHayabusa flew overseas to visit with his then-girlfriend (some b*tch who had to go to college in a foreign country because none of the colleges in America were pretentious enough for her). As soon as the plane landed, he could see it in her face: he had been duped. He had been tricked. He was going to get dumped on this trip. Thousands of airfare dollars down the f*cking toilet. Want to know one of the first things out of her mouth when I got off the plane? “Oh…you’ve never heard of Coldplay?? Oh, wow, well by the time you go back home, you’ll know all about Coldplay.” The b*tch did not lie. In addition to getting dumped in the most spectacular, expensive manner during a trip that I thought was going to be two weeks in paradise… the soundtrack to My Two Weeks in Hades was provided by Coldplay. So can you begin to imagine the depths of my hatred for Coldplay?

But! But you know that old adage: no such thing as bad publicity? I don’t want to accidentally do these chumps a favor by naming them the worst band of all time, because I’d be in effect a) mentioning their name in a public forum, and then b) expressing that they’re the best at something (even if that “something” is “being the worst”). So, I’m going to file them under “honorable mention.” This way, I get to express all my pent-up rage and fury towards them, maybe give them all something to think about while they’re holding the shotgun up to their faces (a ritual which I would perform daily if I had to get up in front of tens of thousands of people several times a week and perform “YELLOW”), and all the while not contributing to suggesting these idiots are the “best” at anything. As far as limiting accidental publicity towards this idiot band, that’s going to be the best I can do.

As I was saying: this band is awful, but they take awful to a whole new level. Most bands suck just because they’re catalog is filler-heavy or just plain shitty. These guys, however, take sucking to a whole new level by incorporating an element which has no place in art: calculation. Art should come from emotion, from guts and heart; in this way, it is almost forgivable to be a young band who allows a new breakout band or artist to influence you more than they maybe should. It’s the excitement of the thing; you can if nothing else observe that the young band has their hearts in the right place. No one is interested in a person who approaches music in the calm, calculated manner of a financial planner.

These clowns, however, did something akin to Dr. Lecter’s attack on the nurse where his pulse never breached 85 (by which I mean it was calculated and executed with such a cool hand I’m surprised Coldplay members aren’t at least studied sometimes by the men in white coats): they set out to nearly replicate U2…an old band. A band that, at this point, is still one of the biggest bands in the world, but is far past their prime, let alone breakout phase. A band that’s been around long enough to where you can poach their sound and a good portion of their share of the market and – as we’ve observed (in horror, if you’re the kind of person who pays attention) – it worked. No one called them on it. Much like the parasitic Japanese dodder, Coldplay attached themselves to U2’s foundation and – once they were capable of sustaining themselves – fired their tendrils off all over the globe. Now every man, woman, and child on Earth is under the stranglehold of this horrible act, having the life sucked out of them a little bit at a time.

Even I admit: I might be reaching here.  Who gives a shit, though?  Fuck you, Coldplay.

We allowed this to happen, fellow humanoids. We just sat back and collectively said: “No, it’s OK to not be yourself while creating art. We will tolerate it.” Good job, teammates. So what do you think will happen next time a group of soulless sociopaths get together and decide to pull a similar stunt? As I’ve stated before: we’ll be screwed, because there will be no reason to not throw their hats into the ring and become a Red Hot Chili Peppers knock-off act, or a Pearl Jam clone, a faux-Metallica, or a Bon Jovi replica. Why not? With Coldplay, we established a track record of rewarding that kind of theft.

If I had to come up with something positive to say about Coldplay – and you should know that in order to do this, I had to imagine myself strapped down to the chair from Hostel and listening to the sound of pliers clicking in the background – it would be this: at least they didn’t suck as bad when they started out as they do now. At least there’s something of an edge to their earlier work. I can imagine that there is some sort of artistic merit to that “When I Ruled the World” hogwash, particularly when held up next to “Charlie Brown” or “Paradise” for comparison. WTF happened??? Did they all naturally manage to become even more boring and harmless all at the same time? Or did they actually discuss and agree to it, like at a band meeting or something?

“Guys, guys, guys…we need to do a serious self-overhaul. Like yesterday.”

“What’s wrong, Chris??”

“In ‘When I Ruled the World,’ we use the word ‘missionaries.’”

“So what’s wrong with that, Chris??”

“Gwenyth tells me that ‘missionary’ also means…well, she started laughing while she was describing it so I don’t really know, but it was definitely something to do with…having sex.’”

“OH MY GOD! Our careers could be over! I can’t believe we’re still standing!! Let’s hire someone to write an algorithm; we’ll call it the ‘Naughty Filter,’ we’ll play all of our recordings through it prior to their release just it to make sure nothing like this ever happens again…”

“While we’re at it, I noticed myself tapping my foot to that same song not long ago. Can we maybe scale back a little on the energy side of things as well? Face facts: we’re not some metal outfit, guys.  We're no Don Henley.”

“Agreed!”

Ninja's Note: Here's a Fun Fact for you, avid reader.  Professional Bono impersonator Chris Martin is married to Gwenyth Paltrow. They have two kids, and without even having to do any research I can assure you their kids are named "Pretentious and Obnoxious Child Name #1" and "Pretentious and Obnoxious Child Name #2."

Now - it pains me (in the same way an orgasm pains me) to make anyone feel singled out...yet I feel I would be remiss if I missed this chance to point a finger squarely at their vocalist, Mr. Chris Martin.  But after all...he deserves a little more scrutiny than the rest of the band, doesn't he?  I don't believe he insists on being known as the primary musical force behind the band, but surely he is: how else could he justify taking a double share of the profits?  Oh, you weren't aware of that?  Yeah, all non-Chris Martin members of Coldplay get 20%.  Mr. Martin gets 40%.  So I think a little singling out is warranted.  Or, as I like to say: "Time to earn some of that money, you chump."

I'd be a giggly motherfucker too if I'd made millions of dollars in spite of the fact that I had all the personality and charisma of an Elvis impersonator.

Look.  Mr. Martin - could you just drop the Bono act?  It's seriously embarassing.  Sometimes when you're on the radio, I can't tell if it's Coldplay or U2.  You're that good at mimicking Bono's voice.  At this point, I don't believe your years spent studying and practicing Bono were necessary.  You could probably have attained the dizzying (and completely unwarranted) heights of fame to which you are accustomed singing in your own voice.  Best of all - had you done that, you'd have people impersonating YOU today.  Wouldn't that be more satisfying than anything money could buy?  Oh, also you'd have your personal integrity.  Sure, the band would still be an obvious ploy to cut into U2's market, but at least all the fingers would be pointed at the whole band.  You wouldn't have any additional onus aimed squarely at you.

I'm going to sign off now.  That's it for me.  I'd like to leave you with a little snippet I pulled from Wikipedia just now:

“The recording sessions for The Blue Room were tumultuous. Champion was briefly fired from the band, but Martin later pleaded with him to return after kicking him out, and because of his guilt, went on a drinking binge. Eventually, the band worked out their differences and put in place a new set of rules to keep the group intact. Inspired by bands like U2 and R.E.M., Coldplay decided that they would operate as a democracy...additionally, the band determined they would fire anyone who used hard drugs.”

I'm sorry...aren't rock stars supposed to drink for FUN?  This idiot drank out of guilt???  Are you fucking kidding me?  Rock stars are supposed to fight and fire one another!  Also...ROCK STARS DON'T HAVE GUILT.  Everyone knows that!  Also - rock stars are supposed to take hard drugs.  Keeps us interested and engaged.  God dammit it's like these guys are TRYING to lower our global expectations of what we want from our music as well as the artists themselves.

I can no longer handle it.  Remember, all: Every time Chris Martin makes an ATM withdrawal, a genuine artist blows his or her brains out.

With that, I will leave you with the words of the immortal Dr. Crane: "Goodnight, Seattle."

- D.H.

PS Oh yeah, and the words of me, "FUCK YOU, COLDPLAY.  Kiss my nut sack, Chris Martin."