Parachutes

Their debut album's secret arsenal comprises frontman Chris Martin's voice - prematurely aged for someone in their early twenties - and some supple, persuasive melodies. That and a great big side order of melancholy.

Parachutes is a fully realized and expertly crafted masterpiece, each song holding its own quite well, but when grouped with the rest, they make up an impenetrable fortress of sadly beautiful, melodic, glorious Britpop.

Refreshing and ultimately brilliant premiere.

Once you fall for "Yellow," the rest of the album will kick in, and fast.

There?s a magical sound potion that can cure lovesickness, and it?s called Parachutes, the first full-length CD by Coldplay.... Every song sounds like a hit.

If you usually enjoy pop music made by young white males with guitars, you'll almost certainly like Parachutes.

Nearly perfectly formed, a confident showing of pristine, heartfelt songs that stand up alone and gain greater strength in the context of the full album, which ebbs and flows in a great purge of emotions. [#3, p.120]

Shimmering guitars haunt tormented tunes, dark gravel growls vie with Thom Yorke-y high notes. Unquestionably, Coldplay could not have existed without an awe-stricken respect for Radiohead's The Bends, but they are also capable of escaping its shadow... [12/2000, p.94]

This is dreamy, regretful pop with melodies that dog you like a missed opportunity. [11/17/2000, p.127]

Showcasing the group's boundless warmth and flair for moodily dramatic pop craftsmanship--and, after no fewer than five EPs, proving its ability to sustain a mood over the course of a full-length album--the disc is likable from wire to wire, deviating from that consistency only to hit transcendent peaks with "Spies" and the perfect single "Yellow."

All told, it's incredible this is a debut album. Accomplished, yet subtle, it works perfectly as a whole in a way all the production skills in the world couldn't replicate.

Coldplay make straight-ahead, melodic Brit pop that strives for significance with a capital s, even as it has a hard time shaking its influences -- you can also hear the ethereal guitar chime of U2, a bit of Dave Matthews' breathy folk implosion, even a misting of Roger Waters-era Pink Floyd.