On a cloudless October afternoon, Chris Martin stands on the Skydeck of Chicago's Sears Tower, the tallest building in North America, eyeing the 1,450-foot drop to the street. "I love things like this," he exclaims. Then he's off, peeling away from the window and pinballing across the blue-and-yellow observation area. Martin is often photographed looking serious and morose, but this exuberant display is standard for the 26-year-old Coldplay frontman. His energy, tightly packed into a rangy 6'1" frame, is electric. He doesn't walk -- he bounds.
In a rare moment of stillness, Martin stares out another window overlooking the John Hancock Tower and Wrigley Field and notices the Muzak-like version of "Moon River" wafting over the P.A. system. "This music is doing my head in," he moans. "I hate it when they take classic songs and ruin them. The people who work here must go bananas." He laughs. "That's probably how our road crew feels."
Today is election day in California, and Arnold Schwarzenegger's orange face is all over the news. But this being sports-crazed Chicago, reports that the Terminator allegedly groped 15 women are bumped off the front page in favor of the Cubs' unlikely playoff victory over the Atlanta Braves. "The mood here is great right now," Martin says. "Chicago is the best place in the world." He and guitarist Jonny Buckland, also 26, are in town for a few weeks laying down tracks for Coldplay's third album. Though it isn't due until fall 2004 (fans will have to settle for a just-released live DVD/CD package, which includes one new song, "Moses," and two unreleased rarities), Martin and Buckland already have 54 songs (yes, 54; Martin writes every day). And, after spending 15 months on the road promoting their second album, A Rush of Blood to the Head, they're eager to record.
Martin is quite pleased that Spin has named Coldplay Band of the Year. "Thanks very much," he tells me. Pause. "So is this going to be a story about how you've named us Band of the Year but take it back because we don't really deserve it?"
Actually, no. Since releasing A Rush of Blood in August 2002, the band -- Martin, Buckland, drummer Will Champion, 25, and bassist Guy Berryman, 25 -- have had a career-galvanizing year during which nearly every goal they set was exceeded. The album has sold 9 million copies worldwide -- 3 million in the U.S. alone. As the lukewarm success of fellow Brits Blur, Travis, and Stereophonics has proved, breaking America can be a struggle. To ensure that they wouldn't go the way of their compatriots, Coldplay crisscrossed the continent six times from May 2002 to August 2003, performing 155 shows -- in small towns like Bend, Oregon -- and glad-handing endlessly. "We whored ourselves around," Martin admits. But the prostitution paid off. By the time they played sold-out shows at the prestigious Hollywood Bowl and Madison Square Garden in June 2003, Coldplay had transformed themselves from Radiohead obsessives into a critically respected, celebrity-props-receiving mainstream sensation.
A Rush of Blood, which debuted on the Billboard album chart at No. 5, hovered in or near the top 30 for close to a year. Its three hit singles -- the plaintive ballad "In My Place," the bittersweet breakup weepie "The Scientist," and the dreamy piano-driven rocker "Clocks" -- have been inescapable: background music to weekend shopping at upscale boutiques and Pottery Barns everywhere. "Clocks" alone has popped up on The Sopranos, E.R., and Third Watch. R&B singer Brandy even wrote a song about Coldplay for her upcoming album. All the exposure helped A Rush of Blood handily outsell albums by established superstars like Madonna and Jennifer Lopez. Along the way, the band picked up two Grammys and three MTV Video Music Awards -- including Best Group Video for "The Scientist," which they performed live, after being introduced by Justin Timberlake as "the greatest band in the world."
"We were shit [on the VMAs]," Martin says. "We figured, 'This'll be easy.' Then I looked out at the crowd, and Eminem was looking at me, and I thought, 'God, he's going to hate this.' I lost all my confidence."
Coldplay have achieved a level of fame the band members only could dream of when they got together in 1996, as students at University College London. Martin and Buckland both worked as janitors in the residence halls to support themselves. ("I'd never experienced anything like it," says Buckland, "the smell of adolescence.") In 1999, they released their first EP, finished college, signed to Parlophone, and watched their debut, Parachutes, soar to the top of the U.K. charts in July 2000. The album, which spawned the unapologetically romantic guitar anthem "Yellow," has since sold more than 1.8 million in the U.S.
But it wasn't until after A Rush of Blood was released and Martin began dating Gwyneth Paltrow (he's recording in Chicago because the actress is here filming the movie Proof) that Coldplay became a band your little sister, your mom, and even your grandma had heard. Suddenly, they were being name-checked by Timberlake, Renee Zellweger, Jake Gyllenhaal, even P. Diddy. In short order, the British tabloids staked out Martin's London flat and were writing about his and Paltrow's alleged engagement and impending wedding at Steven Spielberg's Hamptons spread. She was compared to Yoko Ono after (false) rumors were spread that she would sing on Coldplay's next album, that she doesn't let Martin out of the house without a homemade macrobiotic lunch, and that she wanted him to take a year off to start a family. "My favorite," says drummer Champion, "was Gwyneth banning us from drinking and smoking on our tour bus."
Martin says he finds the rumors funny "as long they're harmless, but I really don't read this stuff, because it's irrelevant, indulgent, boring, and unimportant." Then, he adds, "Didn't you read anything nice [about us]?" Paltrow may be accustomed to magazines publishing photos of her scurrying down the street with a yoga mat, but the attention was new to Martin. Which explains why he exploded when a paparazzo snapped him surfing in Byron Bay, Australia. Martin reportedly demanded that the photographer erase the digital shots, then bashed his car's windshield with a rock and tried to let the air out of his tires.
"If someone was following you around all day, eventually you'd be like, 'Please, will you fuck off and get on with your own life?'" Martin says. "It is great to let out aggression. Everyone wants to smash up a car. If I'd known how much trouble that tiny bit would get me in, I would've done more," he says grinning. (Martin paid Aus$2,000 in damages, but the charge of "malicious damage" had not been dropped at press time.)
"At least no one is recognizing me up here," Martin says as he surveys the tourists milling around the Skydeck. As if on cue, a young, spiky-haired guy in an orange sweatshirt approaches. "Are you Coldplay?" he asks. "Oh, man, I'm a huge fan," he gushes. "My girlfriend and I had our first kiss to 'Yellow.'"
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