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Wednesday, November 9, 2005

Least Remarkable Revelation Of The Week: That My Morning Jacket Record Is Pretty Great
One of the first things we watched in our new apartment was a bit of Coldplay's performance of Talk at the MTV Europe awards. And therein lay the most maddening thing about Coldplay. Or at least a testament to the remarkable acoustics of our new living room.

At this very moment, Coldplay are a strictly average band who just released a strictly average record that includes a strictly average song called Talk. And yet. That performance of Talk (we think it was in Spain) was altogether amazing. In fact, it was entirely reasonable for you, assuming you knew nothing of this band or its music previous to that performance, to think you were witnessing one of the great live performances in the history of rock n' roll. Or at least in the history of crap music awards shows.

Sure, they were shamelessly stealing from U2's Rock God For Dummies handbook (Chris and Johnny doing the whole "lead guitarist and singer on a catwalk" thing... Chris grabbing someone's cellphone and singing into it at one point because, you know, the song is called "Talk"... get it?). And, yes, it helps that no one makes better use of those radiating rays of stage lights that shoot out from behind the band into the audience. All of that helps. But, ultimately, it falls to the band to pull it together and pull it off. In that regard they certainly have the personnel and talent; all things being equal they should be the Radiohead that everyone can like.

But, alas, they are not. They are, instead, the Gwyneth Paltrow of bands (irony!). The pre-championship Chicago Bulls with all of the pieces and too few of the results.

What they need then, obviously, is Phil Jackson. Or at least the musical equivalent. Which is probably Rick Rubin.

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