I write this in the middle of a sensory storm of alternating devilish pain and angelic fluffy euphoria. On my left shoulder sits the mother of all urinary tract infections. On the right is an awesome and probably illegal cocktail of all the painkillers I’ve got lying around. Now you might expect the cosy, warm, super-nice drugs to be whispering, “Oh Coldplay are alright really.” And you might expect the urinary tract infection to be screaming die die die! atop hordes of Coldplay fans being crushed under a huge, pink, lank-barreled I HATE COLDPLAY tank driven by my aching uretha. But you’d be wrong. Both drugs and cock are agreed that Coldplay are the arthiritic and rickets-rotted knees of the world’s shittest bee. Me? I say a pox on both their houses. For while it’s true that Coldplay are an abomination, stating this in print is like dropping atom bombs into a bucket of already dead fish. (Steven Wells)
Tues., May 26, 7:30pm. $35-$97.50. With Pete Yorn and Howling Bells. Susquehanna Bank Center, 1 Harbour Blvd., Camden, N.J. 856.365.1300. livenation.com
Time for a big Bang breakthrough?