Thanks for the link, LM. I love the photo caption:
"(Politely) tearing down the walls that hold them inside"
Also, Gibson Girl would do well to read this part, about Life in Technicolor:
"Eno's sweetly pastoral synth landscape sets the tone, and soon it all piles on: the jangly electric-guitar riff, the cheerful acoustic to sketch out the simple chords, the rumbling bass and drums to give those chords muscle and propulsion, the ecstatically clanging piano, a few joyful oh-oh-oh's from Martin just to remind us who's in charge here—a steady and true and exhilarating 150-second rise in volume and intensity that's pure "Where the Streets Have No Name," and if it doesn 't quite blossom into a full, magnificent anthem the way "Streets" did, the point is made."
Guess he's as crazy as everyone else.
Here's another gem:
"...Martin's normally sleek falsetto squeaking amid swirling guitar-hero blasts, as though he actually did give his left ball to write something as good as OK Computer and got ripped off."
"And when the pastoral Eno flourishes that started Vida off so promisingly return for a quick coda, Martin reverts back to his suavely crooning self, but blows it with his first four words: "And in the end . . . . " Bam, you're thinking Abbey Road, and while Vida is far from a dog, it's just another unflattering comparison that the record itself needlessly invites—an extremely overconfident way to handle a crisis of confidence. Big isn't necessarily good, no, and bigger isn't necessarily better."