Coldplay or Oldplay?

Tuesday night I had the pleasure of spending an evening with one of my favorite boyfriends. While most of you recognize him as Chris Martin, mega supahstar and front man for Coldplay, I simply know him as “baby”. (When Gwyn isn’t around, that is).

We rendezvous-ed at an intimate little out-of-the-way place known as Oakland Arena where he crooned to me over a romantic light and graphics show as sweetly and lovingly as he does in the privacy (pronounced with a short “I” as any proper mistress of a British rock star knows) of my virgin-white ear buds. It was an evening to remember. The only flaw in this perfect evening was the 19,198 onlookers. (I shared Chris with my friend ASkor, so she doesn’t count in the disappointing debacle I’m about to outline for you).

Let me start by saying this: I hate – nay despise- the people of the world who feel compelled to tell you how out-of-the-uber-hip-loop you are for liking Coldplay (said with a sneer and downward voice inflection), a “mass appeal” band as I believe someone last described them to me. You know who you are and all of you reading know who they are too. They’re the people who’ve extended their music snobbery well beyond the acceptable years of high school and college. They’re the people who actually liked Coldplay about 3 or 4 years ago before anyone in our (slow to pick up the good Brit bands) country had ever even heard of them. The people who are so insecure they have to constantly tell you how cool they are, what new “films” (God forbid you call it a “movie”) you should see, people who mock you for watching Project Runway, for fuck’s sake, or for indulging in a harmless 10 hour marathon of “I love the 80s”. (What’s WRONG with these people?)

It’s one thing if you never really liked a band before they reached pop super stardom. But you poser-type people who liked them and then try to cop a ‘tude once more than 17 people listen to them? You people really piss me off. How can I prove that you ever liked said bands? OK, you got me. I can’t. But I was in the 11th grade once. (Actually, my music snobbery didn’t kick in until freshman year of college) I know your tricks. We all had our wear-all-black, fall-in-desperate-love-with-a-hackey-sacker-from-the-theater-department-who-worked-for-the-college-radio-station period, right? (Didn’t we?)

On a scale of 1 to 10 with 1 being the uber-hip music snobs, the Jack Black shooing the dad out of the record store for trying to buy a Stevie Wonder CD in “High Fidelity” and 10 being the soccer mom who still wears high-waisted, pegged jeans, has permed hair, teased bangs and loves (LOVES!) Celine Dion, I’d say I’m about a 4. I’m not super hip. I’ve accepted this. I wear Banana Republic and H&M. But I’m not all that un-hip either. I’m cultural. I know what the kids are listening to yo, and I like a lot of it. And a few times I’ve even pointed the kids to things they didn’t even know about. Go figure.

BUT.

I had no idea – ZERO – of what I was in for when Chris, ASkor and I met up on Tuesday night. The people. At this concert. Were shocking. SHOCKING, I tell you. As God and ASkor are my witnesses, I think Olive Garden may very well have been the official sponsor of the Coldplay concert. And on top of that, I think Applebee’s, Chili’s, Chevy’s and possibly even Bob Evans mixed with a little Cracker Barrel bused in their clientele special, just to see that new band from Ain-glind (that’s my phonetic attempt at a middle American accent) with the fella married to the Esty Lauder model that the kids are listening to these days. Good Lord. The place was teeming with suburbia types. I think I even saw some acid-washed jeans. What the fuck?

On top of that, people started filing out before the show was even over. BEFORE the encore. BEFORE “Fix You”. You know, that incredible fucking song that’s on the ONLY Coldplay CD those people even have or even know exists. Filing out, I tell you. Like it was the bottom of the fricking 7th at an A’s game. Because they wanted to beat traffic. Oh. Holy. Jesus. They probably also hit the early-bird all you can eat special on the way up from Fresno.

Don’t get me wrong. The show was amazing. If you like Coldplay, you like Coldplay. But somewhere between their old gigs at The Fillmore (which made you feel like you were discovering this unbelievable new band in your friend’s really huge garage with a bar) to their show at Oakland Arena (which made me want to ask where on the mall directory Chico’s was) they started selling ring tones. And letting their music be used…in commercials. And thanking the guy at iPod for selling so much of their music. Thanking The Man! (yes, I have an iPod but why should a badass like Chris Martin have to kiss that guy’s ass?)

So maybe now I can identify with you #1s on the scale of 1 to 10. Just a tiny bit. Maybe the truth is that once a band hits it big, it isn’t the band you don’t want to be associated with but the fans. Truth? Anyone?

Now if you’ll excuse me, Fayette Mall from Lexington, Kentucky circa 1986 just called. And I’ve gotta figure out how I can screen that shit out.