Music is an enterprising beast. It fights its competitors, battles for a niche in the eco-system of echo and twitch. Like little Darwinian bastards, songs devour and grow or slink and hide. Coldplay have become an apex predator. A hungry mother issuing offspring that ravage the landscape with ever-eager bland admonishments to consume and pretend to voice feelings that are as plastic as the false leg of the modern day pirate.
Into this complex, and yet profoundly pointless landscape, Coldplay birth another vile, slug like creature. It blindly sniffs the air. It consumes the attention of all it can from better music, from art, from real emotion. This is the music of the end of the world. It is the Bing of Search. The last unwanted biscuit from a packet nobody liked anyway.
Do not click on the link below, I only make it available for contractual reasons.
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