Coldplay, Ron Sexsmith & Eisley

Making our way through the throngs of various concert-goers — hipsters, housewives, sporting fans, Greeks and new school punkers alike — I was amazed by the variety of spectators drawn to Coldplay. Not surprising, though, for a band that was not only featured on the over-saturation hit machine, Now That’s What I Call Music Volume 6, but survived the dreaded sophomore slump, and recently sold out Madison Square Garden. This unassuming British quartet has found themselves peering outward from the top of the ladder in a relatively short time-span, and from their stage demeanor, that altitude seems to have had no effect on their attitude…though the arena rock presentation of their show was to leave me with an odd taste in my mouth. But first up was Ron Sexsmith.
Based around voice and acoustic guitar, but fleshed out with a standard rock band backup, Sexsmith’s songs appealed to the part of me that abhors rock’s pomp and circumstance, the insipid posturing and gloss that embodies a typical stadium show. Instead, his songs shared an intimate quality that transcended the barriers erected by the venue’s massive area. With color bars providing the only visual additive, displayed on the stage’s gigantic side screens, Sexsmith humorously issued a “true story set to a disco beat” that sounded suspiciously like The Cardigans’ “Lovefool,” before closing the show with a slow piano-based tune that featured bowed double-bass and a beautiful three-part harmony.
At this point, I came to realize that Eisley had performed prior to Sexsmith, and that the show began before its proposed start time. There’s something to be said for efficiency, but over-efficiency? Weak.
Now, no name says rock ‘n’ roll like Sleep Train Amphitheatre… Yet, the implications of the outdoor venue’s dubious moniker seemed somehow appropriate given the predominantly mellow vibe of this night’s musical repertoire. As dusk ceded to the breezy summer night, the stage went dark and then exploded in a frenzy of epileptic-seizing strobe lights and tense musical builds. Coldplay’s “Politik” erupted with its signature peaks and valleys, kicking off what was to be another well played set. These seasoned veterans of the stage gave the impression of being comfortably seated in their performances, issuing out song after song with precision and ease. Vocalist Chris Martin’s presence was, for the most part, natural and inviting, especially given the vast number of faces staring back at him, but his occasional bouts of run around the stage, jump-from-the-drum-riser antics struck me as being a little out of place, given the nature of his band’s music. As this was my first time seeing the band outside of a club atmosphere, the show’s aesthetic was a bit disconcerting: the whole stage production seemed disjointed. From my vantage point in the back of the amphitheatre, the sound was out of phase, the result of which sounded like a malevolent sound engineer sweeping a broad midrange up and down the audio spectrum — very distracting if you listen for nuance. Also, since I was so far back, the band was out of synch from their performance, cymbals crashing a full second after Will Champion hit them. Nothing could have been done about that, but it sure didn’t help the presentation much. Moreover, the lighting, although intriguing, was over the top, detracting from the band themselves (come on, they’re not Pink Floyd now, are they?).
Regardless, the band played with accuracy and heart, giving exceptional performances of “God Put a Smile Upon Your Face” and “Everything’s Not Lost,” among others. Touting fair trade as their cause, they implored us to visit www.maketradefair.com, said that the audience had far exceeded their expectations and wryly referred to themselves as “The New Enya.” I found it quite interesting how the group remained very personal while dealing with the stadium crowd; more power to them. And although the technical flaws were somewhat disheartening, Coldplay still proved their worth and prowess as a band on the rise. I just hope that this endeavor will prove to be their furthest foray into the nether regions of stadium rock, because at this rate, sequined jumpsuits and pyrotechnics are not too far in the distance…

– Maurice S. Teilmann

Bookmark: