It's not always easy being a Coldplay fan. Sure, they've sold a gazillion records and have made some of the most gorgeous rock tunes of the last decade, but they're an easy target for hipsters who think they haven't been any good since "Yellow." One of my favorite music critics mocks them mercilessly. Plus, I have a lot of friends who love themselves some Radiohead, and you really don't want to get them started. (Example: My dear friend B. refers to Coldplay as "a photocopy of a photocopy of Radiohead.") And like a chump, I always take the bait and waste my breath defending Chris Martin & Co. as makers of artful yet accessible music, then launch into a diatribe about how there are far, far worse bands, and why don't people pick on them, goddammit.
Anyway, I was oh-so stoked when I got tickets for Coldplay's Viva La Vida tour stop in Tampa. Then somebody in the band got sick and the show was postponed. When friends started saying, "Dude, sorry your show got canceled," I got all shrill: "Not canceled! Postponed! It's not the same thing!" Well, it's officially canceled. After weeks of speculation, Live Nation began sending out the sad, sad emails about refunds.
Guys, how could you do this me? All summer long, I listened to friends' ecstatic reports about seeing U2 and Incubus and Bruce Springsteen, patiently waiting for my moment — mine! — to hear "Cemeteries of London" and "The Scientist" live. This is the thanks I get for (pointlessly) rebuking the naysayers? You don't call yourselves COLDplay for nothing.
Of course, you'll release another CD of soaring anthems, I'll eventually get to see you play live, and all will be forgiven. In the meantime, those tweets about your awesome gigs in (insert European city here) aren't helping me heal.
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