My, how they’ve grown. Two years ago, Coldplay were just another indie band, loved by their supporters yet vilified by many for making weedy, bedsit music for the miserable. ‘Yellow’ marked the beginning of the sea change, a record to span the divide of critical and commercial success. From there, Parachutes began its slow burn, eventually ending up as a million seller worldwide.

Yet even as they watched their stock shoot through the roof, Coldplay didn’t really appear to grasp what was happening, with Chris Martin especially seeming to gaze in wide-eyed amazement at it all. When they passed this way last year at Slane, their growth in stature as a live act was matched only by Martin’s humility at their reception.

By the time they headlined Glastonbury this summer, the goal posts had been moved again. Gone is the comfortable world of Travis, Badly Drawn Boy and Doves. In its place is tabloid intrigue, an increased focus on Martin at the expense of the rest of the band – and, unavoidably, there is also a huge weight of expectation. All before the first notes of A Rush Of Blood To The Head have even been heard.

Though not exactly a shocking departure from what has gone before, there certainly are developments. Everything is noticeably louder, and the initial impression, from the opener ‘Politik’ at least, is that the melodies are a little more complex. ‘In My Place’ is a touch more familiar, no doubt as a result of its incessant airplay over recent weeks – but that rampant exposure has done nothing to diminish the shimmering beauty of one of the year’s best singles.

‘God Put A Smile Upon Your Face’, with its huge drum sound, is next, ushering us onto one of the album’s truly astonishing moments, ‘The Scientist’. Opening, à la ‘Trouble’, with a mournful piano and Martin bearing his heart to an unknown love – “Nobody said it was easy… No-one ever said it would be this hard, take me back to the start” – it gradually builds to a subtly epic conclusion, the singer cooing gently to himself as the music fades from view. If, and when, the U2 comparisons start to flow, this is where they will originate. It could well be Coldplay’s ‘One’; simple but massively effective.

One of the things that becomes clear as the wonders of A Rush Of Blood To The Head unfolds is that Coldplay are making a truly startling sound within a basic rock format. It helps that the production is up there with the best you’ll hear all year (alongside Rick Rubin’s work on By The Way), but the band themselves have pushed the outside of the envelope musically. Martin’s piano is particularly effective, rolling sonorously through the upbeat ‘Clocks’ and the less successful ‘Daylight’, – the latter a slightly uncomfortable attempt to introduce experimentation and eastern strings.

‘Green Eyes’ heads in the opposite direction, built around a rather plodding acoustic strum that sounds a bit obvious next to the album’s more sophisticated moments.

The beautiful cello part that introduces ‘Warning Sign’, however, indicates that we’re back on steady ground, opening a beautiful track that offers proof that Martin’s self-confessed failure in the ways of romance is inspiring him to ever-greater song writing heights.

What while ultimately make of break A Rush Of Blood To The Head is that it sounds like Coldplay and no-one else. ‘A Whisper’ gives a hint of what they might move onto from here and its interesting – a noisy, swirling number featuring a low-key vocal repeating the title over and over again. Whatever influences they have are kept firmly in the background, with even the largely solo piano and vocal closer ‘Amsterdamn’ (on which Martin sings, without a trace of irony, “my star is fading”) is unmistakeable. As the band join in for one last, soaring time, you realise that this really could be the beginning of something amazing and that, if this rate of development continues, Coldplay really could become one of the greatest bands in the world.

As Martin whispers “you cut me lose” at the death, the message is clear. Travis, Radiohead, Oasis and all the rest of the current British major league pretenders Coldplay are off and you won’t see them for dust.

Bono, Edge, Larry and Adam, watch yourselves.