In Defense of Coldplay
The other day, a friend and I were chatting away and when Coldplay came up — she immediately bashed the band that I secretly and publicly adore. I was curious about why she had joined the legions of former fans — that admittedly couldn’t get enough of Clocks when it was all over the place more than a decade ago — when it was sensible to worship the album that became a global fiesta.
It seems that there is a long-standing movement that has been building against the British wonder boys who had me at A Rush of Blood to the Head — both the title of their 2002 follow up to the illustrious debut Parachutes (2000) — and the highlighted track that I used to assuage any guilt I felt about ending it all for the glory of a dignified exit.
2001 revealed itself as one of the most challenging months of my adult life. My beloved grandmother passed away and when the news was delivered — I was all alone — in an apartment I shared with a roommate that forced me to perfect the skill of sleeping with one eye open.
I was also in a crisis of confusion and disillusionment as my burgeoning writing career was stalled by the limitations of absent networking tools and the #Magic of #BlackGirls who are willing to pass the baton to those that are eager and worthy of such a privilege.
My days — were desperate ones — that had me sobbing at rejection letters from every single publication I was pining for — which sickeningly included the likes of Vogue and all the other brands that I can confidently attest — didn’t deserve me.
But back then — I was stuck in limbo and my personal life was just as uninspiring as I kept attracting the type of guys that couldn’t adequately console me during my darkest hour.
So, when 2002 manifested with the ego of the town crier announcing the impending end of my…