I’ll be on the Herd today at 12:25 pm EDT, and am tentatively scheduled to appear on Mike and Mike tomorrow morning at 7:24 am EDT. My hit on Phoenix’s KTAR from yesterday morning is downloadable here.

I’ve been a Doves fan since 2000 or so after hearing a few tracks from their debut album, Lost Souls, which they followed with one of the best albums of the decade, the epic The Last Broadcast, which was a huge hit in the U.K. but got very little airplay here outside of a car commercial that used one of the album’s singles, “Words.” Their newest release, Kingdom Of Rust, doesn’t quite live up to the peaks of The Last Broadcast but is more consistently above-average and improves with each listen.

Kingdom contains two standout tracks, several more strong ones, and a little bit of unfortunate filler (although I doubt Doves views them that way). The first standout is the title track, a rockabilly-meets-shoegazing track with mournful singing over an upbeat drum pattern – a juxtaposition that more or less defines Doves’ sound over their four studio albums. The other, oddly enough, is a download-only bonus track, “Ship of Fools,” with an intro that borrows from Blind Faith’s “Can’t Find My Way Home” (but not from World Party’s one real hit) before expanding into a less folky, more rock-oriented song with a haunting minor piano riff.

“House of Mirrors” has a late-60s, Pink Floyd in the Syd Barrett era feel, while “Compulsion” revolves around a late-70s/early 80s funk-meets-new-wave drum-and-bass combination. The opener, “Jetstream,” harkens back to their dance-oriented roots as one-hit wonder Sub Sub, with an insistent, sparse guitar lick that takes over the song halfway through and compensates for the under-sung vocals. The driving “The Outsiders” sounds more like a leftover track from Lost Souls, a song filled with thick, fuzzy guitar work that make the entire song crackle with energy. The only real duds are the album’s closer (sans bonus tracks) “Lifelines,” musically and lyrically a complete drag; and “10:03,” which doesn’t kick into gear until shortly before the three-minute mark and has some nails-on-the-chalkboard vocals from Jimi Goodwin. The lapses are more than covered by the two bonus tracks, the aforementioned “Ship of Fools” and the plaintive “The Last Son.”

The one thing that ties Doves songs together is an emphasis on atmospheric music that still drives forward, a musical equivalent to the narrative greed that sets great novels apart from good (and lousy) ones. When they nail a riff on top of that base of sound, as they do about a half-dozen times on Kingdom of Rust, they’re one of the best bands going.

If you’re not familiar with Doves’ work, you could also start with the following singles: “The Cedar Room” and “The Man Who Told Everything” from Lost Souls; “Words,” “There Goes the Fear,” and “The Pounding” from The Last Broadcast; and “Black and White Town” from Some Cities.

Coldplay’s Viva la Vida, or Death and All His Friends is the first full album I’ve bought in at least two years. I have always been a singles guy, whether those were songs released as commercial singles or just deep album tracks that I liked. The idea of the album as a cohesive artistic unit rarely succeeded for me, and I always interpreted it as more marketing/finance than art, since it was not terribly economical to sell songs individually when that involved moving physical product.

Then came the compression algorithm behind MP3 files, which allowed for delivery of single tracks at virtually no cost to the vendor, with some loss of audio quality to the consumer (although much audio quality had already been lost with the move to CDs, and most of us can’t hear the difference or just don’t care). The record industry decided to stick two fingers in its ears and one up its ass in a rather stunning combination of physical dexterity and willful ignorance, continuing to push albums and refusing to unbundled them for digital distribution for several years. I have always wondered why this didn’t constitute tying, a type of antitrust violation where the purchase of one product is predicated on the simultaneous purchase of another product even though the two products could be sold separately. Even to this day, some labels and artists refuse to allow their albums to be sold as individual tracks, which, in the existence of a significant black market for music, is like leaving the keys in your car on an urban street with a “steal me” sign in the window. (I have, in fact, done this, without the sign though.)

I bought Coldplay’s new album with the idea of reviewing it, rather than out of any specific desire to have the entire album. I loved Parachutes from start to finish, but felt that A Rush Of Blood To The Head was far less consistent (and we all know how important consistency is), with a fair bit of filler. I didn’t bother with X&Y because I don’t like the type of Coldplay song that my friend Nicole refers to as “mopeysuck,” like “Fix You,” and probably would have bought new Coldplay material as each single came out if it wasn’t for my intention to review the album.

Of course, that’s a long intro to lead up to the obvious point that I am glad I bought the entire album, because it’s good. It is an extended bit of experimentation by a band trying to break out of the musical corner into which they had boxed themselves, and while bits of it dance over the line into pseudo-prog-rock and there is one moment of undeniably twee music perhaps better suited to now-defunct fey Britpop bands like Geneva, Viva la Vida feels more like a transitional album for a band on its way to an extended run of commercially and artistically significant music.

Most of the middle tracks on the album involve multiple movements, a risky maneuver that can leave the listener liking half of each song. On “42,” a mopeysuck intro leads to a more uptempo instrumental transition followed by the peculiar but catchy singalong chorus of “You thought you might be a ghost/You didn’t get to heaven but you made it close.” Similarly, the two-part, seven-minute track “Lovers in Japan” starts with a driving background reminiscent of Mercury Rev’s “Delta Sun Bottleneck Stomp” (also uneven yet fun), but around the four-minute mark switches to the second part, a mopeysuck ballad with no apparent connection to the first movement, although I imagine they would just be split if released as a single. Every one of these songs has a great sequence in it, but only the two-part “Yes” – actually the song “Yes” plus a hidden track, sold as a single song in the downloadable version – delivers in both halves, although the transition is jarring and the connection between the two pieces is not evident.

The album kicks into high gear when “Yes” is followed by “Viva la Vida,” which should put Coldplay into Record of the Year territory (especially since they’ve won the award before – and you thought the baseball writers were predictable). It’s a classic combination of upbeat music as an ironic background to an extended lament, this time with a deposed monarch (or tyrant?) as narrator. It’s probably the closest Coldplay has ever come to putting an actual groove into one of their tracks. “Viva” is followed by the lead single, “Violet Hill,” a dark, almost gothic ballad carried by a Bonham-esque drumbeat – you might wonder if they’re on Violet Hill because the levee broke and they had to head for higher ground – with a distinctive modulation behind the chorus’ final line that provides a sinister contrast to the words (“If you love me/Won’t you let me know”).

What elevates the album despite the trademark strain of melancholy that always infects Coldplay’s music is the way that nearly every song possesses a sort of musical greed that drives it forward, or perhaps pulls the listener in and forces you to want to come along for the ride. There’s more layering than ever before, almost a 180 from the sparse arrangements of Parachutes and much of X&Y. There’s also a lot of what I could only call prog-rock leanings, like the Russian-sounding, minor-key violin solo in “Yes,” or the heavily syncopated transitional movement in “42.” If this is a sign that they’re heading full-on into Yes or King Crimson territory, then this is my stop and I’m getting off, but I’m hopeful that Viva la Vida is more of a sign of maturation in their music, and that we’re about to get their equivalent of The Joshua Tree or Revolver the next time out.