MacKenzie Wilson, All Music Guide

The London foursome Coldplay are constant critic's darlings in the band's native U.K., showcasing melodic pop in a slew of EP releases and constant live shows since the spark of the new millennium. Not as heavy as Radiohead or snobbish as Oasis, Coldplay is a band of young musicians who are still honing their sweet harmonies on the debut release Parachutes. Combining bits of distorted guitar riffs and swishing percussion, Parachutes is a delightful introduction and also quickly indicates the reason why this album earned Coldplay a Mercury Music Prize nomination in fall 2000. Frontman Chris Martin's lyrical wordplay is feministic in the manner of Geneva's Andrew Montgomery, but far more withered. The imagery captured on Parachutes is exquisitely dark and artistically abrasive, and the entire composition is tractable thanks to gauzy acoustics and airy percussion. Coldplay's indie rock inclinations are also obvious, especially on songs such as "Don't Panic" and "Shiver," but it's the dream pop soundscapes captured on "High Speed" and "We Never Change" that illustrate the band's dynamic passion. This basic pop is surely a refreshing effort in the face of big productions like the Spice Girls and Westlife. Parachutes deserves the accolades it has received because it follows the general rule when introducing decent pop songs: keep the emotion genuine and real. And Coldplay has done that without hesitation.

Dan Gennoe, Amazon.com

Music doesn't come more touching than this. With their debut single alone, the emotion-fortified "Shiver," Coldplay prove they can shift between elated and crushed in a breath, as singer Chris Martin pours out music's oldest chestnut (unconditional yet unrequited love) with the shakiest of voices and a backdrop of epic guitars. For 10 tracks on Parachutes, he adds new-found meaning to the most tired and overused rock sentiments--love found, love lost, love unrequited--over acoustic guitars and emotionally fraught rock. And for once, all the clichés ring true because Chris Martin genuinely sounds like a man picking over the bones of his life, coming up with just as many reasons to be cheerful as seriously depressed. Not that Parachutes is a depressing album--there's too much conviction to the guitars and hope in Martin's words for that. Instead it's a beautifully tender balance that comes as close to perfection as anything that's come before it.

Jem Aswad, Barnes & Noble

At first blush, this shy, introspective London-based quartet don't seem poised to be one of England's biggest sensations for 2K -- but they are. Parachutes, their first outing, entered the British charts at No. 1, ousting Eminem, and it vied for the prestigious Mercury Music Prize for Best British Album (losing to another hot debut, from Badly Drawn Boy). It's a little surprising that such a calm, albeit emotionally dense, album has caused such a stir. The young group's meditative rock often sounds like a cross between Travis, Jeff Buckley, and Bends-era Radiohead on mood stabilizers. But Coldplay never approach those bands' intensity or hysteria: Chris Martin's voice occasionally flips into a Buckely-esque falsetto, but his tone is always serene, and the tempos seldom step above a canter. On the first single, "Yellow," for example, over a slow drum beat and a shimmering mesh of acoustic and electric guitars, Martin's pleading vocals gently nudge the song forward to a dramatic, if restrained, conclusion. Although Parachutes isn't the sort of album to throw on at your next kegger, the songs have a melodic strength and quiet beauty that belies the group's youth and elevates Coldplay to "one to watch" status.

Coldplay: Guy Berryman, Jon Buckland, Will Champion, Chris Martin.
Producers: Coldplay, Ken Nelson, Chris Allison.
Recorded between November 1999 and May 2000.

PARACHUTES won the 2002 Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Album.

In 2000, a small wave of British pop bands clearly heavily influenced by Radiohead's brand of anthemic mope rock arose, with Travis, Muse, and Coldplay at the forefront. Coldplay are the most clearly Radiohead-like, compared to the poppier Travis and the more electronic-oriented Muse, and their US debut, the 10-song PARACHUTES, should appeal to any fans of OK COMPUTER or THE BENDS who found KID A too weird for their tastes. (Coldplay even swipe a song title, "Don't Panic," from Douglas Adams, as Radiohead did with "Paranoid Android.)
The soaring yet depressing single "Shiver" is a masterpiece of swelling emotion, and the fact that the other nine tracks, even the instrumental fragment of a title track, sound like variations on its theme is more a matter of conceptual and musical unity than a lack of ideas. This album deserves the hype it got on release.

Deborah Orr, CMJ New Music Report, issue 686, October 9, 2000

A shy, brooding bunch of Brits, Coldplay labors with hand-wringing melodies descended from the Walker Brothers on its debut CD, Parachutes. Frontman Chris Martin's commanding vocals are the emotional focal point here, as he lets go like a group therapy session attended by the triumvirate of sad, expressive singers: Mark Eitzel, Thom Yorke and Jeff Buckley. The best Coldplay songs (e.g. "Shiver") manage to juxtapose understated, spare instrumental backing (this band would've fit perfectly into a corner of the late, great NYC club Siné) with vocals that wash over the mix like a grand, sweeping indictment of whatever ex-lover Martin has on his mind. The tunes aren't quite as memorable as Coldplay's arrangements and formidable larynx-flexing, but they do segue from pretty Northern-accented ruminations to diva-guy thunderclaps, while also maintaining an air of artful sophistication.

Jacjie Flynn, DOT Music, July 2000

Just imagine the fuss if somebody truly amazing came along. Us critics would have to drag ourselves out from up Thom Yorke's arse and quickly concoct a whole new raft of superlatives to replace all those old ones we've so glibly frittered away on the nice-but-ordinary likes of Coldplay. Album of the Year, apparently, but ten years ago this bunch would have been happy scoring a perfunctory 30-second glimpse of their grubby new video on The Chart Show's Indie rundown. Nowadays they go straight in at No.4 on the proper, grown-up Top 40 and find themselves feted as the next big thing. 
True 'Yellow' is a cut above virtually everything else out there at the moment but please bear in mind that these are dark, doleful times we currently endure. Like the rest of 'Parachutes' though, it's initial doe-eyed cuteness all to quickly starts to cloy. As a conceit it's fairly affecting but a conceit it remains all the same. You can't help but dwell on the fact also that 'yellow' too readily calls to mind the sour hue of stained y-fronts. Oh yeah and it's a third-rate rip-off of The Boo Radley's mighty 'Lazarus' into the bargain. There, that should have killed the magic for you.Widely regarded as the next Travis, on this evidence Coldplay are more redolent of Embrace's early way with a tune. What they lack though, particularly on the quirky waltz-time fade-out of last track 'Everything's Not Lost', is Embrace's who-you-looking-at swagger. 'Parachutes' is just all so very, very polite and unassuming; 'We Never Change' might bravely plonk itself down at the old pianna in-between Tom Waits and Randy Newman but it too quickly realises that it really hasn't got a great deal to say for itself.
Album of the Year then but only for those poor battered souls who've just discovered the warm hug of well-spoken melancholy. It can't do any harm either that they were all probably too interested in Buzz Lightyear at the time to be aware of 'The Bends' when it came out.

Darryl Sterdan, Winnipeg Sun /  JAM! Music, September 15, 2000

Depending on which typically hyperbolic British music-paper you read, this Oxford mope-pop quartet are this year's Radiohead, this year's Travis, this year's Nick Drake, this year's Smiths or this year's Jeff Buckley. What they really are is this year's most unfairly overhyped young band. Truth is, Coldplay's romantically strummy guitar-pop and sweetly-sour falsetto lamentations of hope and sadness do remind us of most of the artists above. But while lush, cloudy tunes like Shiver indeed produce the occasional goosebump, Parachutes is nowhere near as transcendent or transfixing as any of those artists' finest work. It's a damn fine debut, but make no mistake -- after all that hype, it probably won't be long before Coldplay are last year's news back home.

It's all a question of what you want from your rock stars. The criticism most often levelled at Coldplay (certainly round these parts) is that they will never be the saviours of rock'n'roll. They will never cause front-page tabloid sensation and they really like their parents. Frankly, they're more likely to enjoy a nice cup of tea in front of the TV than throw it out the window. 
But, hang on. Weren't Oasis everything we could want from a rock band once? They fought, had rock star girlfriends, slagged people off and wanted loads of cash to blow on stupid houses. Fine, but those are exactly the things that have made them an embarrassment; an endless, dull cocaine comedown. Remember the disappointment you felt after 'Be Here Now'? Coldplay will never let you down like that. 
Like Travis before them, Coldplay care about what really counts. 'Parachutes' is all that matters in the world to singer Chris Martin. It only takes one listen to realise how he has poured every thought, every feeling he's had in the last two years into this record. With the focus so much on Chris' voice here, it's like reading one long, intimate love letter. 
Indeed, for all Chris' perceived mildness, there's nothing half-hearted about some moments here, moments which indicate there's more to him than anyone knows. For a man in his early 20s, the mind boggles over the tragic air of his love life; the number of feelings gone unrequited, the number of loves pined for. The band's biggest hit so far, 'Shiver', is a heart-rending case in point, its first line saying it all ("So I look in your direction, but you pay me no attention"). It's powerful because its sentiment is so simple. And, let's face it, so easy for everyone to comprehend. 
Again, in the devotional 'Yellow' ("For you, I bleed myself dry", no less) or the gorgeous regret of 'Trouble' ("I never meant to do you harm"), it's the force of feeling which counts. That's what brings the entirely favourable comparisons to Jeff Buckley, The Verve, even Radiohead. But it's far gentler than anything the latter have ever done. Unlike Thom Yorke, Chris exists in a place we can almost understand. A place that Fran Healy might have passed through, but is too happy with his girlfriend to really remember. 
All told, it's incredible this is a debut album. Accomplished, yet subtle, it works perfectly as a whole in a way all the production skills in the world couldn't replicate. Forget trashing rooms and rent-a-quotes, just listen. This really is all that matters. 
Let it be that simple for once.

Spencer Owen, Pitchfork Media

Pretty, lovely, fine, fair, comely, pleasant, agreeable, acceptable, adequate, satisfactory, nice, benign, harmless, innocuous, innocent, largely unobjectionable, safe, forgettable.
I have just summed up in 19 words what I am about to say about Coldplay's debut full-length, Parachutes, in 600. Aside from being seemingly tailor-made for the paper-thin adult contemporary market, what is it about this Britrock quartet that's driving them up the American charts? Is it their popularity in their home country, or their Mercury Music Prize nomination? Could it be their charming, boyish good looks? Perhaps, even, a reputation built by Noel Gallagher's projected insistence that they're "a bunch of fuckin' pansies, the lot of them?"
In reality, Coldplay's secret deadly weapon is vocalist Chris Martin. With the ability to mimic a Brit-accented Dave Matthews one minute, Jeff Buckley revived from the dead the next, and sometimes even a young Peter Gabriel, Martin's heartfelt delivery seems to be what's winning the hearts, wallets and alternative radio request lines of Americans young and old. That's not to say that the rest of the group isn't sharp. Guitarist Jon Buckland provides plaintive, strummed acoustic guitar with the occasional amplified wail, and bassist Guy Berryman with drummer Will Champion form a competent rhythm section.
Oh yeah, the songs. They're nothing special. Most of the 10 tracks on Parachutes are indeed pleasant enough, often consisting of standard alterna-pop fare with the occasional folky ballad. They're innocent and inoffensive in general, but in turn, they're also exceedingly generic and immediately forgettable-- so much so, in fact, that after a minute of one song, you've usually already forgotten what the last song sounded like. And that's even after a few listens.
Parachutes opens with "Don't Panic," the title of which is likely lifted from British mock sci-fi classic The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy, despite the fact that the song has nothing to do with it. This subdued, dreamy opener contains Martin's falsetto chorus of "We live in a beautiful world," which seems to sum up the overall sentiment of the record; the record also closes with the inspirational swinger "Everything's Not Lost."
Most of the other songs sort of drift in and out of consciousness, with the exception of the second track, "Shiver." It's the only truly decent song on Parachutes, but simultaneously, it's the only one that blatantly shows its influences. In fact, the influence can even be pinned to a single song: Jeff Buckley's "Grace." Martin has his Buckley impression down cold, complete with dynamic range and the trademark vibrato. But as enjoyable as the song may be, there's no question that Buckley did it better.
And of course, you've probably heard their smash hit single, "Yellow," by now. Indeed, it's the most obvious choice for a single, and it represents Martin's vocal stylings effectively, but it's also the record's weakest moment. Buckland's grating, slightly tuneless guitars seem jarring, especially when sequenced in the middle of a series of songs that generally lack dissonance. And the saccharine lyrics are those that might have caused Mr. Gallagher's hypothetical remark: "Look at the stars/ Look how they shine for you/ And everything you do." You'd practically expect the band to show up at your doorstep with a wilting bouquet and Hallmark card.
Parachutes is ultimately a promising debut for Coldplay, if by "promising," I mean, "promising them a windfall of cash and international popularity." If nothing else, it's harmless and pretty. Unfortunately, it's nothing else. If that's what you look for in your music, by all means, go for it. If you want substance, I suggest moving on.

Mark Blake, Q Magazine

Hovering around the bottom of a list of what the world needs now must surely be, more whey-faced, introspective guitar bands. At first glance, the evidence is not good: Coldplay are four sensitive souls - higher education and a pot noodle diet not too distant a memory - and clearly au-fait with the finer points of Jeff Buckley, Pink Floyd and, inevitably, Radiohead. So far, so Muse. Yet their debut album's secret arsenal comprises frontman Chris Martin's voice - prematurely aged for someone in their early twenties - and some supple, persuasive melodies. That and a great big side order of melancholy. 
Don't Panic, Sparks and the singles Shiver and Yellow have a spidery quality with Martin's Jeff Buckley-esque voice assured and agile, but never performing gymnastics just for the hell of it. Spies is goosepimply, 4am stuff with a foreboding acoustic guitar refrain, matched later by Trouble's desolate piano hook. So sad. You can only wonder what well of emotional trauma has been dredged for some of what's on offer here.
Though the final, "hidden" track, Life Is For Living, has an oddly uplifting quality, as if the sun has risen and all just might be right with the world today. Halls of residence will echo with this record for months to come, but the rest of the world could do worse than listen.

Matt Diehl, RollingStone, issue 852, 2000

Who will be the next Radiohead? Or the next Verve, or Travis? In England, the answer on everyone's lips is Coldplay. On its debut album, Parachutes, this youthful quartet resembles each of the above bands. Coldplay make straight-ahead, melodic Brit pop that strives for significance with a capital s, even as it has a hard time shaking its influences -- you can also hear the ethereal guitar chime of U2, a bit of Dave Matthews' breathy folk implosion, even a misting of Roger Waters-era Pink Floyd. More than anyone, however, the ghost of Jeff Buckley lingers here, as the go-anywhere falsetto on songs like "Shiver" demonstrates. Parachutes ultimately rises above its influences to become a work of real transcendence: On songs like the unrepentantly romantic "Yellow," the band creates a hypnotic slo-mo otherworld where spirit rules supreme. When frontman Chris Martin moans about "skin and bones/Turning to something beautiful," he could very well be talking about his own band.

© Frank Steven Groen