Nicht Fisch, nicht Fleisch

Neither fish nor fowl would be the equivalent English idiom. This version is German so instead of fowl they say flesh or meat. (Once on a business trip to Chicago I ate at the famous Berghoff restaurant and ordered the charmingly named “Schlachtplatte”, or slaughter plate. Those Germans.)

I want to say Heinrich Boll or Friedrich Durrenmatt wrote a story or novel of this title, Nicht Fisch nicht Fleisch, but apparently it was someone named Franz Xaver Kroetz.  Aside: Read Die Besuch der Alten Dame (The Visit of the Old Lady), a creepy Durrenmatt play where a spurned lover returns to the small, close-knit town decades later, where spreads the tacit idea that she’ll pay a big bounty to anybody who offs her ex.

But never mind all that. Nicht Fisch Nicht Fleisch is my review of Coldplay’s Viva la Vida. (Didn’t see *that* coming, didja!)

I think I like it, but I want to love it, and I don’t, but I can’t explain why exactly. Violet Hill reminds me (at the end) of the earlier albums – it’s melancholy Chris at his piano. Notwithstanding the extremely pedestrian guitar solo. And other songs on the album go back to the piano but just don’t do anything for me. The highs aren’t high enough and the lows not low enough.

In which respect it’s similar, unfortunately, to U2’s tepid recent efforts.

Too much polish, not enough passion, I guess. Clearly most of the world disagrees. Oh well.


2 thoughts on “Nicht Fisch, nicht Fleisch

  1. For some inexplicable reason, I can’t STAND Coldplay. It’s the proverbial fingernails-on-blackboard thing with me.

    There must be some deep, Darwinian reason certain people hate certain pop songs…



  2. My friend Scott won’t listen to Radiohead for the simple reason that too many people have pushed it on him too aggressively.

    I hated the James Blunt song. I kept thinking, this is surely going to be one of those joke songs – in a decade this will sound like We Built This City, and everybody will say “THAT was number one?”

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