Music Spectrum

I don’t know if I really care that there’s a storyline in Coldplay’s Mylo Xyloto. That’s a strange thing to say for a guy who really cares about lyrics. But Coldplay has always seemed to me more about atmosphere than substance. I appreciate their lyrics, I am intrigued sometimes by the words, but above that, there’s the atmosphere. There’s the piano and keys. There’s the acoustic guitar entering in. There’s the broad strokes and grand melodic themes.

Mylo Xyloto is no different. Yes, there’s a storyline of two lovers, but what draws me in are the atmospherics. The album has symphonic qualities in the Britrock. Chris Martin uses his voice as another instrument in the mix, sounding even more like Bono at times than normal. Is that because Brian Eno was producing? Eno certainly adds his touch to the album, although this is no Unforgettable Fire. The album has elements that work like drum fills to break up the tracks, but it can’t quite escape the feeling that this is one drawn out musical theme throughout.

However, I do enjoy the Big Country-like bagpipes-as-guitars on “Every Teardrop is a Waterfall,” a track that keeps increasing the presence of the drums until everything falls away for a big march/dance finish. The Edge-like electric guitar that punctuates “Major Minus” kicks the thing into high gear. “Charlie Brown” works with typical anthemic air, raising your arms to the sky as the sound works on your heart—and it’s here that you realize how often worship bands are trying to recreate that same feel for different purposes.

Coldplay
Capitol Records

Ah, the gray days of winter are here, and they bring back the hankering for the Mighty Lemon Drops, especially World Without End. While not necessarily winter music, that’s when it always made most sense to me, enhanced by the black and white photo of the band on the cover underneath bare trees. The music chimes in, drives forward, but still has a gray, brooding mope. Most often compared to Echo & the Bunnymen, the Mighty Lemon Drops were often my companion driving around the suburbs at night caught up in the emotional mess of high school.

2011 saw the return of the Mighty Lemon Drops guitarist/songwriter David Newton. Yielding an EP Paint the Town with the backing partners known as Thee Mighty Angels, the music recalls the gray mope of the Mighty Lemon Drops, although there’s less angst. “It’s time to paint the town,” Newton sings over stretched out guitar, keys, and pop-influenced rhythms. “Bittersweet” begins with a bit more edge in the guitar, but there’s still a way in which you want do a pop frolic to it. Newton has perhaps grown out of some of the angst and now brings that new perspective to the music today. “Everything is Just So” reminds me of the Britpop rock in Spearmint or the Free French. Newton’s EP closes out with “My First Band,” a duck back inside the garage for instantly accessible guitar riffs and keyboard bounce, telling the story of hopes and dreams of starting a rock band.

David Newton & Thee Mighty Angels

2011 saw the re-release of sorts of Farewell Flight’s 2008 album that eventually got shelved. I was really pleased with the original album, so it was great to see Farewell Flight leaving the tarmac again with the help of Mono vs. Stereo. I think the only disappointment was that the new album no longer featured “A Lullaby for Insomaics” as the opening track.

Here’s the original review I wrote back in 2008. . .

Driving home in the rain—changing over to freezing rain—I found hope in the words of Farewell Flight’s “A Lullaby for Insomniacs” (Sound. Color. Motion.).

Tilt your glasses steep
And drain them if you’re like me,
Filled up with apathy,
Worn out, expecting defeat,
Concur if you’re at home
And you’re getting drunk alone,
In front of the TV,
Stone-faced and falling asleep
And smile ‘cause this one’s for you
And the trouble you’ve gotten into,
The darkness you’re still working through
And the dialogue that’s haunting you

Farewell Flight’s introduction song that calmly comes out of a melancholic space, akin to Del Amitri’s “Tell Her This,” leads into their album of Coldplay-inspired Britrock vistas. The words of this lullaby are hopeful in acknowledging those who are coming out of darkness, working through whatever hurts are haunting your soul. It’s a song that points to the more hopeful themes elsewhere in the album, and yet, it begins where a listener is—ready to hear someone sing their life, as Morrissey put it.

Before the short lullaby fades to a close, Luke Robert Foley sings, “I’ve made my bed/And I don’t want to sleep in it.” I take that line as meaning, “I’ve made this mess through my own actions that contribute to the darkness, but I don’t have it lie in it. I don’t have to stay here. I can emerge into a hopeful place.”

Farewell Flight then obliges with the strains of hope that lift up the rhythm of track 2, “Widower”—which even in its sadness rises like an anthem from the ashes. It’s that hope that points to the true phoenix: Jesus Christ, His Resurrection, His empathy with our state of recovery, His Spirit helping us work through life, and His forgiveness that exorcises the haunting dialogues from your daily guilt loop in your head.

Farewell Flight
Mono vs. Stereo