For a world still mourning Jeff Buckley, the prospect of Coldplay, in theory, is one that ought to provoke, at least, sniffily cynical disinterest and, at most, rioting in the streets. How dare this shower of young Devon pups steal the soaring falsetto-rock mantle from such beloved shoulders!

The marvellous surprise, then, is that, despite having Buckley's beautiful swoon-rock as an undeniable reference point, Parachutes, if not as seminal as Grace, has a fervent, intoxicating romanticism all of its own, and (wait for it) is probably one of the albums of the year.

There's more to Coldplay than the Buckley connection - and much more to them than current single 'Yellow' an anthemic sub-Embrace plodder presumably released to enthrall the unthinking masses. There was no need, given the irresistible pull of tracks like 'Trouble' (darkly electric and dreaming like an urban Neil Young), or 'Shiver' (an inside-out, major-key 'Grace' quick-pulsed and exultant), or the Smiths-tinged disquiet of 'Don't Panic' or the sweet, gently smouldering 'Sparks'. Indeed, the sparks fly throughout this lovely debut.

If Jeff had never existed, Coldplay would be this year's great white-boy hope. And anyway, Oasis have more to answer for in the ripping-off-past-masters stakes. You couldn't rip off this kind of grace, a passion this quietly tremendous.