Finally Coldplay’s long-awaited fourth studio album is becoming a reality.
Last week, frontman Chris Martin revealed that the new album would be entitled Viva la Vida or Death and All His Friends and would be released on June 16th.
The tracklisting is expected to be finalized and posted on the band’s official website within a few days.
Porcupine Tree’s sixth studio album has long been out of print. But 2000’s Lightbulb Sun is slated for a grand rerelease on April 21st with an accompanying DVD that includes a 5.1 surround sound mix and other “bonus features.”
Lighbulb Sun, as far as I’m concerned, was Porcupine Tree’s official graduation from being a weird band to being a good band. The album is often described as being informally divided into two sections. The first half of the disc is the poppier, more commercial section and the second half is more progressive. There are great tracks in both sections, however. The title track is a haunting ballad sung from the perspective of a sickly, bed-ridden little kid missing out on his own childhood. “Shesmovedon” sports one of singer Steven Wilson’s greatest vocal moments during the lush harmonies on the choruses. And the thirteen-minute “Russia On Ice” is perhaps one of the greatest achievements of the band’s illustrious career.
Considering the limited time offer from Porcupine Tree’s official store that promises an extra CD with a few more rarities, the rerelease of Lightbulb Sun is definitely worth a preorder.
Over the next few days, I’m going to present several albums that don’t get the kind of recognition I think they deserve. These five records are all fantastic, and throughout the week I’ll be paying them their well-earned respect. They won’t be offered in any strict order, but I tried to arrange them starting with the best known and ending with the most obscure.
Panorama (1980)
The Cars
Panorama was actually pretty successful in its day, reaching number 5 on Billboard and eventually going platinum. But modern critics seem to view it as a blemish on an otherwise illustrious career. Many current fans of the Cars are casual listeners who simply enjoy the stuff they hear on classic rock radio.
But Panorama has a dark, experimental mood to it that is missing from most other Cars releases. From the groovy yet eerie intro on the title track to the desperate shrieks at the end of “Getting Through,” to the deceptively upbeat synth riff on “Up and Down,” the album is solid the whole way through. Because of the brooding, moodier texture to it, Panorama feels more genuine, possibly because Ric Ocasek’s unconventional, often dispassionate lyrics are finally matched by their musical backdrop. And that musical synergy offers a unique side of pop rock that I haven’t seen successfully recreated anywhere else.
The Cars’ eponymous debut and their 1984 release, Heartbeat City, are usually cited as the band’s high points. But The Cars is too influenced by the album-oriented hard rock of the seventies and Heartbeat City is too influenced by the synth-drenched new wave of the eighties. The best the Cars have to offer is Panorama, halfway between the beginning and the end of their sonic evolution. It’s both punk rock and synth rock, but it’s a perfect stylistic fusion of the two. It’s forty minutes of genius.