Coldplay - Ghost Stories

Listening to the new Coldplay album is akin to dragging your cock down a roughcast wall, but without the perverse pleasure that the act may draw from the more deviant among us.

Calling it abysmal would win you an award for coming first in an understatement race.

It is mind boggling that it has been receiving a great deal of praise in the national press.

I've deduced from the fawning that the majority of national mainstream critics either have their ears painted on, or are in the deep pockets of Mr Martin.

There are actual diseases, real fuckin’ diseases that severely impact on your life expectancy, that I would welcome into my system before I let this album ever get anywhere near any stereo equipment I have.

Some will claim that as the album revolves around the death of his relationship to that woman who won the award at the Oscars for most traumatic acceptance speech ever that we should tread carefully around the subject, but put this pile of steaming shite into the ring with Trent Reznors Pretty Hate Machine and it would be a David and Goliath battle with Trents Goliath picking bits of Coldplay out of his teeth for months to come.

It’s an insipid, turgid and overblown wankathon for the masses.

Woe is fuckin’ me writ in neon.

It does have some uses though.

If you want to end a relationship but don’t have the backbone to pack your partners bag and leave them in the driveway them just buy this and play it daily.

Within a week you will find a note on the table stating that there is no future for you both and that if you try and find them then they will have you killed.

Remember how really fuckin bad Kula Shaker were?

This is worse.

I fully expect to read of someone’s gaff being broken into and the poor bugger had everything stolen apart from this CD.

“Last time they broke in they did the toilet on the mantelpiece, but this is worse”.

It’s entirely possible that Gwyneth sucked whatever talent they had out of them as she needs something to fuel her acting career.

Maybe she’s a talent vampire and Coldplay were the young virgins that she fed from and now that she drained them of everything they had in them this is what is left.

Instead of poison pen letters to neighbours the sad and eluded will start dropping this CD through the letterboxes of their perceived enemies.

From here on in no one is going to use the words “jumped the shark” anymore. Anything that goes that step too far and is bereft of any enjoyment will be referenced as “coldplayed”.

“Did you see the new Star Wars film mate? Lucas seriously coldplayed it.”

There’s only one way back from this.

A bloody apology, and a promise never to make music again.

PS - And the landfill award for 2015 goes to Coldplay and Ghost Stories.
Chris Martins' global footprint is now the size of Bono's ego.