Feeling Sorry for Chris Martin – no, it’s not a new Jason Segel film; it’s more a sentiment I can’t say I’m altogether used to. I mean, it must be tough being a multi-million-selling celebrity, and millionaire musician. Never do you worry about the reality that you’re stuck in the rut that is a dead-end job, nor find yourself grumbling over a 5p rise in London bus fares. Nor any other trivial issue we mere mortals concern ourselves with, for that matter. But when you see monstrosities such as the cover of a certain magazine revealing the ‘secrets’ as to why he and his wife split, it’s tricky not to feel at least a twinge of sympathy for the kale-loving, naming-children-after-fruit everyman that is Mr. Martin.
OK, so he’s gone through a painful breakup. And with this breakup, everybody knows who his wife was, with the whole thing having been played out in the most public of arenas. So far, so normal. So, how does he deal with it, therefore? Does he A) go and drunkenly lash out at photographers, stumbling out of the likes of Boujis at 4am, B) go AWOL, don a loincloth and grow an enormous beard in French Polynesia for three years, or C) make an album of glum, blippy songs that leave no stone unturned in the pantheon of great breakup clichés? You’ve probably worked out which option he went for already…
Artists have always made breakup albums – Marvin Gaye infamously made an album acting as a divorce settlement for his ex-wife, having put most of his amassed fortune up his nostrils. Martin hasn’t quite gone that far – I don’t think he really needs to – but seeing how publicly his separation played out, it’s only fair that his dealing with the fallout happens in a similarly public space.
Enter, stage-right, Ghost Stories…
Wunderkind producer Jon Hopkins has been roped in again – as have, oddly enough, the likes of Timbaland and Madeon – and were it not for Martin’s ubiquitous yodel, you wouldn’t necessarily think that certain songs had a great deal to do with Coldplay. Some work, their sparse arrangements suiting the generally downcast mood: Always In My Head sets the quietly epic tone, with its aptly miserable opening gambit, “I think of you, I haven’t slept”. Magic doesn’t beat about the bush much either, its mantric, “can’t get over you” heartache tattooed on its sleeve. It fits the shimmering trip hop to follow, too.
Most of the songs, however, don’t really work: A Sky Full Of Stars, the ravey nadir of Ghost Stories, hears our heroes reverting to type, having so manfully dragged themselves out of the generic furrow they usually plough. And any of True Love’s M83-ish potential is swiftly throttled by Martin’s wailing vocal, while Another’s Arms sounds like something even Moby would’ve chewed up and duly spat out, its “late night, watching TV” blokiness a dismal portrait of everyday monotony in the newly single Martin household.
Essentially, Ghost Stories is an exercise in catharsis; a wistful look back at what could have been. Despite the altogether more electronic impetus to the music, it also shows a more human side to the globetrotting, stadium-hopping behemoth that Coldplay have become. And so, while some of these songs prove overtly personal, they’ve avoided the generic sentiments espoused in songs like Yellow or Fix You. But the most important word in that previous sentence is ‘some’, because for the most part, Ghost Stories doesn’t offer much sustenance to the listener, instead deploying vapid platitudes to make up the numbers. Sonically, underneath all the swish production, little new ground is charted either – à la Madonna’s teaming up with William Orbit for Ray of Light way back in 1998, Jon Hopkins hasn’t readily taught the old dog many new tricks, no matter how much ‘extra magic’ he may have brought to the table. But that doesn’t matter; what does is that the cathartic thrust of Ghost Stories will be pleasantly enhanced by the fact that it will probably go on to sell millions. See, Chris? Every cloud, and all that…
Released: May 19th, 2014 [Parlophone]
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