Coldplay

Less than a six months ago, I would have balked at the idea of attending a Coldplay gig. Pre-A Rush Of Blood To The Head, Coldplay were to my mind no more than the latest insipid Brit ballad band to fill the schmaltzy nice guy shoes of Travis and their ilk. Now I’m turning on my heels with the rest of the Doubting Thomases upon hearing their majestic and career-defining second album.

No better timing for a good show, as I’m hungry for musical salvation and thirsting for noise and melody to assuage my grief. All because I’ve spent a heartbreaking afternoon freezing my balls off while witnessing Shamrock Rovers lose their first FAI Cup Final in 11 years to Derry City by a single second half goal. Depressed? I’m inconsolable. Chris Martin and company, I need you now!

The Devon lads rise to the occasion magnificently. ‘Politik’ crashes from the speakers and 8,000 voices scream for Ireland. Coldplay do big spaces extremely well, and considering that the only acts that genuinely wowed me in this horrible dockside barn are Primal Scream, the Pixies and Metallica, that is a telling indication of their calibre in 2002.

Predictably, ‘Yellow’ lifts the roof off the place and chucks it in the Liffey. A visibly emotional and gushing Chris Martin leads a bumper dose of encores, highlighted by their finest moment to date; the sublime and wonderful ‘In My Place’. Although I’m almost certain I’ll be sick to the back teeth of A Rush Of Blood To The Head come Christmas Eve, this is an awesome performance from a band entering the orbit of the greats in a spectacular singalong style.

If only the Hoops had played as well earlier.