The entire instrumentation of the record begins and ends with the two voices, Ian’s Baritone guitar, and Amy’s drums. No overdubs, no distortion, no bass. Any fans of Fugazi’s final record The Argument will find no surprises here. The quieter songs on that disc form the basis of Ian’s guitarwork, while Amy’s drumming is filled with angular shuffles.

The lyrical content is vintage MacKaye–anticapitalist, anticonsumerism, antigovernment–but he’s never been more charming then here, particularly on “Dinner With the President,” wherein he asks why he’s never been invited over “(I live in town,” he says. “It’s not geography”) only to reveal the reason in the third verse (“I know just what I’d do…stand up and yell as the meal is served”).
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While there’s nothing here that approaches the sheer heft of Fugazi’s monolithic catalogue, it would be a mistake to dismiss the Evens. Ian is just as sharp and witty as ever, and Amy is as formidable a writing partner as anyone else.

For example, listen to the third track “Blondie,” whose structure is built on a wash of swelling keyboard chords paired with starting and stopping breakbeats. Anti-slutshaming anthem “Miniskirt” starts as a low piano led ballad before the drums and synths turn it into a dance track.

​Given that they’ve always done both sides of their sound well, it’s good to see them here expertly combining them to create some truly engaging songs.

Which was fine, because two things have always been true: 1.) Radiohead has always been too paranoid and suspicious of the ruling class to be the biggest band in the world, and 2.) Chris Martin “would give [his] left testicle to write an album as beautiful as OK Computer.” His words, not mine.

And A Rush of Blood to the Head is the closest Coldplay has ever gotten to that goal. That claim is going to piss off some people, most of whom haven’t listened to OK Computer recently enough to remember that its musical center is closer to “Let Down” than “Paranoid Android” (which actually sounds a little bit out of place). Rush of Blood, on the other hand, is a bit toothier than its reputation.

Wide-eyed in worldview and complacent in its composition though it may be, its not all “Scientist” and “Clocks” here. “Politik” is crunchy and wincing. Behind “Daylight’s” Arabic tinged strings is the most driving drum part Coldplay ever put to tape. “God Put a Smile on Your Face” throws its weight around by means of a ragged acoustic guitar.

“Green Eyes” and “Warning Sign,” with their perfect Mazzy Star vibes, would have been indelible 90s alternative hits had they been released eight years earlier. Whisper positively rips, remaining the loudest song the group has ever done. And “Clocks” and “Scientist”? They’re not bad tracks if you can isolate yourself from their overuse.

While Coldplay would go on to become parodies of themselves (I feel like I’ve said that before), here they are still making their mark on pop music, and who cares if that mark fits a bit snugly between a few other bands’ imprints? It’s a damn enjoyable record

​Acoustic guitars are woven through massive towers of delay and reverb, obscuring the vocals in the mix to the point where they are occasionally more of an additional texture than a verbal element. It is absent of percussion, except for “To the Shore,” the twelve minute standout of the album, which utilizes a galloping tom loop and arhythmic cymbal rush alongside a wash of single-chord guitar delay and feedback.
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Though now twenty years old, Further is timeless, at once nostalgic and futuristic. Next to album and label information, the spine reads the phrase “HOME TAPING IS REINVENTING MUSIC,” which may not seem like a huge deal now, with Garageband preloaded onto every Macbook, ten years after Arcade Fire’s Funeral and Clap Your Hands Say Yeah’s debut broke open the floodgates of self distribution on the internet, giving rise to the advent of free distribution services like Bandcamp.

But in the nineties, where bands like Nirvana, Radiohead, and even underground heroes Sonic Youth and Jawbox were relying on major labels to finance and distribute their music, a loud call for DIY ethics was a radical slogan as punk rock as anything Fugazi had to say on the subject, even if the music is about as un-punk as you can get.

But none of that makes Parachutes a bad record. It’s actually pretty dang good. When the opening tracks first blossoms into chiming, single note lead guitar and a refrain of “we live in a beautiful world,” it’s almost thrilling.

Much of this success can be owed to the group’s ability to reappropriate tried-and-true pop/rock tropes into something fresh. Chris Martin’s lyrics may not be the best penned, but his sky-high, delicate delivery more than makes up for it. Johnny Buckland might never rip through an incredible solo, but his minimalistic lead guitar style is flawless (see: the slide guitar in “Trouble”).

​And unlike most Coldplay records, there isn’t an out of place track on here. Rather, we have a gentle, beautiful record that serves as an excellent introduction to one of the most lauded bands of their time.