Cold comforts from the 'Play

Coldplay could be an academic exercise in rock and roll. Hmmm. They've certainly trussed together the relevant aspects of Pink Floyd, David Bowie and, er, Radiohead. Not to mention The Beatles, which I wouldn't, except for that song they do when they rip off the Come Together bass-line. Gosh.

But none of this really matters to Coldplay fans as new-found heroes spring towards the 21st century. Singer Chris Martin is turning into a one-man Ben Folds Five, while his worker-bees are learning how to reassemble the various parts of Ummagumma, Hunky Dory and Arthur into a coherent whole. Great.

As personalities, Coldplay are so dull that Dulux wouldn't advertise them in a let's-see-paint-dry contest. As a workman-like approximation of Britpop (yep) for the coming era, they're absolutely spot-on. Guitarist Jonny Buckland (funny how all young Anglo guitarists are called Jonny), knows his Meddle from his Dark Side of The Moon, while the rhythm section fuel Martin's foppish exercises in post-grad tunesmithery.

They have epics to bulk out nonentities. Yellow, Shiver and Everything's Not Lost get couples snogging; why, even the men bond heartily. Add in the nice Christmas lights and the atmosphere of bonhomie and I'd be a churl to suggest that, actually, Coldplay aren't that great.

Given the lack of competition among British rock groups, they're magnificent. But I'd rather go and see Supergrass any day of the week.

Coldplay, Jay Z, Girls Aloud, White Lies