Somewhat unexpectedly, ranking the top three of this list emerged as one of the more difficult portions of any of these lists I’ve written thus far, and with some degree of surprise to myself (and, I’m sure, to the chagrin of some longtime fans) I’ve wound up putting Parachutes at No. 3. Coldplay is one of those bands where you have to take a step back to realize just how different each of their albums is from the last; some of the sameness of the singles can gloss over the fact that they’ve innovated slightly with each subsequent release, never pushing their sound too far but always returning with something noticeably different. As a result, we’re left with a Top 3 that could be organized in any variation depending on what version of Coldplay you prefer, but also — and perhaps more crucially, I’d argue — we’re left with three albums that carry a much wider spectrum of moods than we’ve come to associate with Coldplay.

In some ways Parachutes is what is stereotypically tagged to Coldplay — moody, atmospheric, but not overly dark. As time went on they got associated with a slightly sappier form of melancholy, and Parachutes remains a portrait of a younger, more personal band. Coldplay was always earnest, but it was an insular earnestness here rather than a rafter-reaching one. Though it wound up having its own world-conquering capabilities all the same, Parachutes doesn’t audibly have that ambition in the same way as their later releases. It’s intimate. An ultimate rainy day album.

Some will read the above paragraph and cite all those reasons as why Parachutes is still Coldplay’s best album, and for a long time I would’ve steadfastly agreed (and some days, I suppose I still would). Going back through their catalog, years removed from the overexposure of their singles or interviews alternating between charming and grating, I’ve come to appreciate Coldplay as pop artists pure and simple, to prefer their big gestures even if they’re sometimes more embarrassing or over the top than the small-screen grandeur of the Parachutes aesthetic. After all, “intimate” and “restrained” would be some ways to describe it, but so would “less self-assured.” With hindsight, Coldplay was always gunning to be massive stars, and within that context Parachutes sounds more like a warm-up for bigger crescendoes than it does a deliberately alternative debut.

So that’s why it’s ranked here, but outside of all that what remains is still some of Coldplay’s best work. “Don’t Panic” rightfully remains a fan favorite, and there are true forgotten gems in “Spies” and “High Speed.” Martin’s voice being less fully formed plays to these songs’ benefits — he has an almost ragged approach on “Sparks” and “We Never Change,” and a lot of Parachutes sounds world-weary before its time. Unfortunately, it seems the band may have internalized some of the criticisms leveled at them upon the release of Parachutes, the reviews that fixated on how evident the influences of the album were. Martin at one point basically disowned the thing, and nothing but the hits seem to make it into the live rotation anymore. That’s a shame, because it remains a gorgeous album, and it’d be great to hear what a contemporary Coldplay’s more finely honed skill set could bring to a new set of songs this deliberately small and intimate (interestingly, this was apparently the intention leading into album No. 5 before it became Mylo Xyloto). More than a decade later and with Coldplay already having weathered a few changes of the mainstream guard, it doesn’t matter that Parachutes didn’t have its own immediate, distinct identity alongside the band’s contemporaries. It’s one of the releases from that time that has endured, and stripped of context Parachutes stands alone as a remarkable debut album.