X&Y was reportedly one of the more troubled recording processes Coldplay has been through, with the band firing their producer and supposedly tossing at least two earlier iterations of the album before arriving at the version that saw release. Perhaps it is no coincidence then that X&Y is also the most forced of any Coldplay record. Though the band has rarely been shy about reaching for the anthemic, X&Y marked the point where they seemed to fully represent all the criticisms that had been sent their way. In that regard, there’s a way in which it can be viewed as the most stereotypically Coldplay-ish Coldplay album, or maybe even the album where Coldplay was aping themselves. This was of course pointed out by many a reviewer and listener alike upon the initial release of “Speed Of Sound,” which is an unabashed retread of “Clocks.” Honestly, so many years removed from either, I’ve kind of come to prefer the former, though that may be as much because of the ubiquitous hotel lobby muzak arrangements of “Clocks” as it is because of the more pronounced groove and superior vocal melodies of the verses in “Speed Of Sound.”

Throughout, Coldplay bludgeon the listener with supposed signifiers of emotion and drama, primarily in the steeped-in-falsetto slower numbers. There’s the unbearably saccharine first half of “Fix You” that can’t quite be redeemed by a second part that’s musically better while still lacking lyrically. Most alarmingly, there are moments like “The Hardest Part” and “Swallowed In The Sea” that find Coldplay sounding like the cut-rate piano-pop they’d unfortunately inspired with earlier standouts like “The Scientist.” These tracks are mainly what sink the album, remaining the weakest songs Coldplay has ever put out. Less odious but overdone nonetheless were the gentle synth undercurrents that were for a while so omnipresent in pop music, as to become placeholders for all the expansive possibility this new millennium supposedly held. They’re unobtrusive enough, but you feel cheated, like the band must have known at this point that this was just a shortcut to achieving the epic sound they always sought.

Perhaps where X&Y doesn’t get its due is the fact that these weak moments hobble an album that’s otherwise populated with some of the band’s more overlooked songs. The title track is a gorgeous entry in the band’s series of occasional “Pink Floyd-via-OK Computer” moments, driven by guitarist Jonny Buckland alternating expertly between droning slide guitar and that celestial arpeggiating thing he does so well. The uptempo stuff displays a light bit of influence from New Wave and early electronic music alike, with “Talk” famously built around a sample from Kraftwerk’s “Computer Love.” It also features a guitar break that’s positively grungy by Coldplay standards. The pulsating “White Shadows” and “Low” don’t sound quite like anything else Coldplay has attempted, and if a touch heavier or with slightly less angelic vocal performances, would have some serious urgency behind them. These moments can’t carry the whole thing though, and X&Y is the most bloated, wearied Coldplay album, an especially damning distinction when it tells you at every turn how much it wants to soar.