Originally published in The Edge
For what would certainly be the pinnacle of my career as an interviewer and the nadir of his as an interviewee, I hope one day to sit down with Chris Martin. Over afternoon tea in a swanky London hotel, we’d talk about how the whole Coldplay thing would have panned out had they never consciously uncoupled from the name Pectoralz when Guy Berryman came along. I’d be armed with the most pertinent queries from their ardent fanbase, such as what the hell Mylo Xyloto actually means, how one should best attempt to pronounce it, and why the 42-second title track that opened the album of the same name wasn’t just properly bundled into the start of ‘Hurts Like Heaven.’ If the venue didn’t have a strict policy against such a thing and the inevitable PR folks in the corner weren’t glaring at me too furiously, I’d present him with a goose to see whether his natural reaction would be to say a gentle boo with a smile or to crouch to its height, leap across it to the nearest pastel-tinted piano, and begin a tender falsetto. Why bother with this palaver? Well, after 16 years of being Coldplay for Martin and his silent accompanists Berryman, Jonny Buckland, and Will Champion, surely the time has come for a little fun. Continue reading “Live review: Coldplay at Wembley Stadium, London”