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Pop Rock Nation

Tag: Thom Yorke

  • The Daily Awesome: Radiohead “Let Down” (1997)

    After an artist has been as highly-regarded for as long as Radiohead has been, it’s easy to forget what was so exciting about that artist in the first place. After sneaking out from under future-one-hit-wonder status to usurp the title of World’s Greatest Living Rock Band from U2 in the mid-90s with their albums The Bends and OK Computer, Radiohead channeled their renown into crafting two of the strangest, most dissonant and experimental records to ever top the American pop charts – Kid A and Amnesiac.

    In the last decade, with the single ascendant (due to the advent of iTunes and easy piracy), Radiohead have almost single-handedly kept the album relevant as a form. Which is why it was sort of disheartening, if not entirely surprising, to hear Thom Yorke talk about the band moving away from recording albums after the release of 2007’s In Rainbows. 15 years after The Bends, it’s easy to take for granted that Radiohead have been the greatest album band of their time; but it’s even easier to forget that the band first got our attention by just writing some really good songs (“Creep” among them, to my thinking). Tonight, I was taking the long way home from work because I just got a new car – one that I can plug my iPod into! I had it playing on shuffle and when I heard the shimmering opening notes of “Let Down”, I didn’t even recognize it. It was like I was hearing the song – which I had in heavy rotation on my Walkman in the summer of ’97 – for the very first time. The way Yorke sings the verses in gradually expanding ellipses of melody; the way his voice maintains a flatness and distance even as the music behind him grows grander and more urgent; the layers of shimmer and twinkle, delicately plucked arpeggios and folky strumming chords backing up lyrical images of disappointed people “clinging to bottles”. I’m not sure how serious Thom Yorke was about Radiohead focusing entirely on singles – and Radiohead have always been a band that thrive when they’re defying expectations, even the ones they’ve helped to perpetuate – but if, in fact, they never release another album, I have every reason to suspect that they’ll become the Greatest Living Singles Band in the World. Songs like this are why.

  • The Top 100 Songs of the ’00s, #96: “The Eraser”

    eraser

    Back in ’93, who’d have thought that the guy who made “Creep” would turn out to be one of the most forward-thinking artists of the next decade and a half?

    Anyway, for my money, “The Eraser” brought Yorke back to accessibility after the art-rock freakout qualities of Radiohead’s “Amnesiac” and “Hail to the Thief”. Not to say it was necessarily pop friendly (nothing that comes out of the Radiohead camp is), but “Eraser” was certainly easier to listen to than anything his band had made since “Kid A”.

    The album’s title track is sort of druggy, sort of spooky. Yorke sings (well, actually, he kinda mumbles) in that pinched falsetto over a gurgling electronic beat garnished with piano. “The more you erase me/The more that I appear”…just sounds ominous in that “Every breath you take/I’ll be watching you” kinda way, the song has a little freak-out breakdown towards the end, and the result (like the rest of the album) is a slightly offbeat but quite enjoyable listening experience.

    Kanye West, Lupe Fiasco and Pharrell Williams (as CRS or Child Rebel Soldier) heavily sampled “The Eraser” for “Us Placers”, which wasn’t released as a single. If it was, however, it would have placed on this list. So, let’s just throw that in as a bonus. Neither of the songs has an official video, but thanks to YouTube and some very creative minds, check out unofficial clips for both songs.

  • Dear Radiohead: You’re Fucking Awesome

    Dear Radiohead: you’re fucking awesome.

    That wasn’t so hard. In fact, it feels good to finally say it.

    I can’t remember why I resisted Radiohead. I bought The Bends in high school and liked it. Fake Plastic Trees hurt me good, and I realized the sad limitations of my voice by trying to sing High and Dry in the car. Then I gave the CD away like it was one of those promotional demos you get for spending an hour in a music store.

    A few years ago I told, and then immediately regretted telling, my new boyfriend that I didn’t like Radiohead. I think I was just being snotty, then. Perhaps I was afraid that if I joined the Radiohead machine, I would compromise my unending mission to unearth good, if somewhat bizarre, music. It’s particularly ironic that I was bent on avoiding the bandwagon given that I spent a good number of those years in the deepest love with U2. Perhaps they were my one concession, or perhaps I rejected Radiohead to remain faithful to them. Either way, I was misguided.

    I’ve been a Radiohead convert for a couple years now – I’ve just never said anything about it. Being an obsessive downloader of music, I’ve owned all of Radiohead’s LPs for a while, and once they worked into the iPod rotation, it didn’t take long for me to fall for them. What I’ve since realized is that I was more than wrong about them. They’re not just good – they’re utterly brilliant. They’re the James Joyce of music, except that they’re as accessible as they are dumbfounding.

    A few minutes ago, I sat down to work on an article about Sarajevo. Then Let Down shuffled onto my iPod. Good god. When was the last time you listened to that song? I suggest you listen to it right now, just to make sure. That questioning guitar in the beginning divides like a cell into strums and picks and then layers into Yorke’s voice. The song becomes this intricate weave, bending and poking itself in all these different directions and angles at once. And despite the lyrics, the song is so goddamn earnest. Unlike many of their other songs, there’s a distinct lack of defeat.

    I got so caught up in Let Down that I lost my motivation to write. I didn’t want to do anything except be inside of that song. So I played Paranoid Android, which you should listen to right now, I’m not kidding. Thom Yorke’s voice is tin foil, I’m chewing on it, and it makes me cringe. What’s this? It’s such a complicated song, like the score for a sectioned orchestra with Yorke’s voice the leading violin. The song has at least two movements, maybe three. In its second half, the song morphs – a costume change – and the dial’s been cranked to the frequency of pain. Yorke’s wails layer over themselves like fireworks. As you listen you feel like you’re going to topple over.

    Radiohead first did this to me on a 25-mile bike ride not long after my dad died. I got all tangled up in the songs (this is really happening), physically riding through them as I worked down the trail, feeling every beat and pulse in my legs. I sped up when they sped up, I stood and raced and breathed like a freight train when Yorke’s voice shook like a thinning atmosphere. Sometimes it felt like I was powering the songs, changing their intensity with my pedalstrokes, as though the music would stop if I did. Radiohead linked my body to my soul and provided the perfect catharsis. Every now and then, they managed to offer a reedy ray of hope.

    After I shake myself out of the radiohold, I think about how many people not just love Radiohead, but react to them this way. For whom is there not at least one Radiohead song that delivers that suckerpunched feeling? This suggests the existence of a collective unconscious whose emotions Radiohead has learned to tap. But how? What does Radiohead know? Whatever it is, what amazes me most is that the music they forge from it sometimes makes me forget how to breathe. In a good way.

    Now it’s official: Radiohead, I’m sorry I’m so late to the party. But I brought some really good beer and an even better playlist.