Listening to anything Coldplay released after Viva la vida or Death and All His Friends should be done in utmost secrecy. Draw the blinds, lock the door, and listen at low volume. Do not use these songs as the theme to an Instagram story nobody cares to see. Part of the ongoing problem for Coldplay is not their direction but how they travel to whatever goal is set. Chris Martin may have wished the band to be the biggest pop sensation around, and they achieved that dream. Parachutes is a pop music masterstroke from the band, which, despite its limitations, put Coldplay on the map. They developed that well up to Mylo Xyloto, which dares to ask the question “where now?”. Martin and the band do not have an answer, and what occurs is a rapid decline into albums of filler, trying and failing to capture whatever popular sound is around, be it BTS or bicycle-powered gigs.
Advertiser-friendly sounds are what Mylo Xyloto opens with. In many ways, this is the beginning of a rapid end for Coldplay as a likeable pop force. Hurts Like Heaven is meaningless fluff with a guitar solo wedged into place, too soft and quiet in the mix, drowned out by percussion. Meaningful reads on the world are also flushed out with this new, flashy Coldplay. Paradise, even if it were not overplayed beyond all meaning, remains a gruesome song tailor-made for those who have given up on their dreams. Where there was once sincerity to Martin’s lyrics, it is replaced by a hollow adaptation to continued stardom. The very best lyricists can contain their sincerity despite changes to their surroundings and sound. Not Martin, though, who has been open about how Coldplay is influenced. Whatever is popular, they will pursue, and this is a death knell for Mylo Xyloto. Stripped-back pieces like Us Against the World are devoid of any deeper meaning.
Insufferable moments like Every Teardrop is a Waterfall turn the generally acceptable pastime of listening to music, of relaxing, into pop performativity. Coldplay taps into fairytale-like stories with Princess of China, but offers zero in the way of inspiring storytelling. Rihanna may feature, but this is during a period when she would record just about anything if it meant remaining on the charts. FourFiveSeconds was released just four years later, after all. But that Primark store music had a little more of a standing than Mylo Xyloto, which feels messy because it cannot choose a sole theme to steal from. Much of Mylo Xyloto feels hollow. There are a few moments of respite, though, with the simple but vaguely touching Up in Flames using that “one man and a piano in a quiet room” to its advantage.
Throw a few strings into place, and there you have it, the classic Coldplay formula, which has rarely changed, unless they need to pursue a popular genre. It is disappointing to hear how rapidly Coldplay declined, but not at all surprising to see they are continuing down this slippery slope. A sole standout in an otherwise uneventful album. Uneventful implies there is a sole event taking place here. Mylo Xyloto is the bottom of the pop music barrel. It is not what it does not do, or even what it does, but what it stands as a reminder of. The slow decline of culture in the 2010s, particularly the music which had affected and moved members of the public, was beginning to amplify because of social media and traction found online. It was set for a boom, and Mylo Xyloto offers a reason to return to simpler times, away from Coldplay.
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