There were times watching Radiohead’s first UK show for seven years when Ricky Gervais came to mind. As Thom Yorke dad-danced around the circular stage in the middle of the arena, his bandmates all hunched over their equipment – which made it resemble a server room of a call centre – I felt as though I was witnessing David Brent doing the samba around the office.
I have to confess that there are large chunks of Radiohead I simply don’t understand. I am absolutely certain that most of the music that they have released in the past 20 years – and much of the music they performed at the first of four nights at the O2 – would not have drawn out 80,000 Londoners had it not been for the The Bends (1995) and OK Computer (1997), which have become classic rock albums in the same way as Led Zeppelin IV and Wish You Were Here.
Of the 25 songs they played, ten came from those two albums, which felt like just the ratio needed to keep everyone engaged. The hardcore – and there are many of them – will lap up everything, but a band this popular has a lot of non-hardcore fans, and on the floor, there were stretches of the show when the conversations grew in volume and length. I now feel I know more about the unfortunate genital afflictions of Conor – whoever he might be – than I really ought to, thanks to the two Irish fellas behind me, who were no more interested in ‘Bloom’ and ‘The Gloaming’ than I was.
Much of Radiohead’s work this century has consisted not so much of songs as stretching fragments into songs, expanding ideas by building layer upon layer of sound. It’s uncommercial music, made from a position of privilege – of having already become a huge rock band. To my ears, it’s not always terribly interesting. The late Adam Schlesinger, an American songwriter of astounding variety and talent, once told me that it is far harder to write a strong, memorable, conventionally structured song than it is to go into the studio and improvise something that sounds releasable. There were times on Friday night where I wanted to shout: ‘But where’s the song?’
The audience know it, too. Because the cheers, the singalongs, weren’t to the spun-off ambient noodles and the electronic burbles. They were for the songs from The Bends and OK Computer, which still sound absolutely magnificent. The three big ballads that were spaced throughout the set, ‘Lucky’, ‘No Surprises’ and ‘Fake Plastic Trees’, nodded very clearly to Pink Floyd in their pretty melancholy – to the kings of sounding miserable in front of tens of thousands of people. And while I don’t much care for Yorke’s voice – keening doesn’t do it for me – his falsetto remains a thing of beauty and wonder, which can change the mood of the music in a moment.
I know why Radiohead are loved. But I also know that I’ll never be able to love them like some do
There were unexpected realisations. That grand, swooping guitar line that makes the chorus of ‘Lucky’ sound like a storm? Doesn’t half sound like the theme to The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy. I also discovered that ‘Just’ – a slice of grunge, elevated by Jonny Greenwood’s extraordinary spiralling riff, like someone running up a staircase – is now the official anthem of younger Radiohead fans. ‘You do it to yourself, and that really hurts,’ Yorke sang, and voices joined him in recognition.
The staging has been hailed as a marvel, which I truly don’t get. None of its constituent parts – playing in the round, moving screens – are exactly original, and the crowded stage hampered mobility, even if it did allow for incredible sightlines (despite only getting in the arena two minutes before the start I ended up, improbably, five yards from the stage). It’s not that it was poor, more that it feels as though a Radiohead premium has been applied to assessments of it.
I know why Radiohead are loved. But I also know that I’ll never be able to love them like some do.
Before we go, a new band for you. Little Grandad were the middle act on a bill at the Sebright Arms in east London, and I adored them. They played a kind of Americana, all chunky guitars and bright melodies, with unusual touches: a trumpeting drummer; a four-piece a capella section. They’re only a few months old and yet they felt fully formed. Check them out – tickets are cheaper than Radiohead.
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