GIG: Coldplay - O2 Arena, 14th December

I know what you’re thinking. ‘Why the hell did you go to a Coldplay concert?’ The reason becomes evident in actually seeing them. Turns out they were fucking awesome. Surprisingly.

Easily filling the space-age hangar that is the O2 Arena three times in a row, just because they’re Coldplay, does not mean they are capable of choosing decent support acts for this massive tour for the same reason. The Domino State are the single most run of the mill collection of jumbled-up sounds I’ve heard in my life. It sounds as if they’re treading very finely inbetween the definitions of ‘indie’ and ‘rock pop’, instead opting out for the safe mark of ‘boring as fuck’. It does pick up in the last song, but not enough to rescue them from the fate of being utterly forgotten. Sorry guys, but there’s no room in the long run if you can’t make a decent song.

But they really don’t compare to the wonderful Jon Hopkins. An ambient DJ set with another fellow on violin, busting out some heavy beats topped off with ethereal soundscapes. All this is accompanied by a large video screen, playing a cyclic series of images in beat and intensity to the soaring music. By the way, if you had a sarcasm detector, it should have already blown up. Jon Hopkin’s set is possibly the most turgid, unfocused, meandering, downright boring thing I have seen in my life. You could feel the entire arena squirm in their seats. This is up there with Dirty Pretty Things at Wembley Stadium, 2007. Yes readers, it was that bad.

Strauss’ The Blue Danube is an exciting (though somewhat overreaching) introduction to the main act that is Coldplay, and wickedly loud at that. The four-man band accompanied by playback knock out massive tunes like In My Place, Violet Hill and Clocks in the first ten minutes, and making sure everyone is on their feet by the time gigantic guitars plod out Yellow’s signature intro. A ludicrous number of balloons the same colour fall about the place, exploding with burst of confetti. At this moment, Chris Martin has us in the palm of his hand.

Halfway through the set, mammoth anthem after supersize anthem, you remember how many great songs Coldplay actually have, despite the imposed tag of lameness from the more snooty rock fan. We’re treated to a technosized combo of God Put A Smile Upon Your Face and Talk, a genuinely poignant solo-piano The Hardest Part, then a stupidly epic Viva La Vida. Not a particularly great song at all from my perspective, but the ‘whoa-oh-ohhh’ chorus is nearly deafening, and makes me all warm and fuzzy inside.

Take note: big places like the O2 have awful acoustics. Luckily I bagged some seats down on the floor near-centre, so had the luck to fully appreciate the band’s sound mix. Their blend is crystal clear: guitars glimmer and shine just like they should, the surprisingly fantastic and solid drumming pounds in your chest, and Chris’ vocals sit nicely above it all. He doesn’t quite cut it at the beginning: but bless him, his voice finally sits about a quarter in.

The band now reveal their imagination in stagecraft; along with the usual B-stages, the quartet make their way across the huge cavern to a tiny platform amongst the audience halfway up the lower-level of seats. Despite the premeditated intimacy, an acoustic Green Eyes is positively magic. With Simon Pegg randomly featuring on harmonica, which is always a bonus.

The battering piano and drums of Politik reignite the main stage in the most epic of fashions, followed by some more Grade-B pulp from their latest album, then they fuck off. Eloquently, of course, but I use that expressive term because they did not play The Scientist. The motherfreakin’ Scientist, people. Oh hang on, they’re back. Those familiar chords sphere outwards, and an utterly moving combination of gorgeous vocal hooks, whispered dynamics, and crunching guitars toward the end make for an experience worth its emotional weight in gold. Or maybe silver: you never know how far the credit crunch could reach.

A few thousand ultra-violet butterflies descend from the roof for the closer The Escapist, and we are finished. A truly incredible show: amazing in every sense, but tainted slightly with the entire staged crowd participation thing. Mr. Martin gets us to sing along Freddie style at every possible oppurtinity, which takes away from when it happens naturally. And his particular penchant for replacing lines in songs to refer to the crowd they’re playing to (example: ‘Went down to London Town’ instead of ‘Went down to Violet Hill’) starts off funny, becomes slightly funny, slightly annoying, then finally very, very grating. However, it’s all made up for by the fact the majority of the crowd bawl out the Viva La Vida hook at many different intervals, completely unprompted, for a whole five minutes each time. Seriously. Even out into the O2’s foyer area after the gig’s finished. Truly great stuff, if you ask me.

The setlist rousing and perfectly paced, even with the exclusion of Trouble and Shiver, and adrenalin-pumped showmanship, makes this author absolutely surprised but amazed. I thought Coldplay were meant to be middle of the road? Well, maybe they still are - though perhaps they’re straying off that road at least in terms of playing live. I came to this gig not knowing what to expect, and I got just that.

Overall – 8.5 / 10