"Reassessing Radiohead"
The New Yorker's Sasha Frere-Jones offers a cynic's view of Radiohead and their recent live performances in the June 26 issue. I'm going to assume the G&S audience is probably well on the "skeptic" side of the ledger here (my uncle's thoughts on Amnesiac's "Pyramid Song" come to mind: "This sounds like something we used to listen to when we tripped in college.").However, like Mr. Frere-Jones' friends, I implore you to "give the band a chance." At any rate, enjoy the article. Incidentally, I'm almost certain to enjoy their Berkeley show tomorrow night much, much more.
UPDATE 8:57 PM PDT: The staff at G&S have been informed that Mr. Sasha Frere-Jones of The New Yorker and numerous other snooty publications, including Slate, the New York Times, and The Village Voice, is alive and very much male. The relevant gender-specific titles have been amended.
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Comments on ""Reassessing Radiohead""
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Chris said ... (5:07 PM) :
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Hired Hand said ... (5:48 PM) :
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Chris said ... (5:50 PM) :
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Hired Hand said ... (5:59 PM) :
post a commentI tend to agree with this review. I just don't get Radiohead, especially in concert. Radiohead lost me after OK Computer. I'll listen to that, Pablo Honey and The Bends any day, though.
I'll give an update after tonight's show. While OK Computer is still pretty obviously their best album (and, in my mind, obviously the best album of the last 25 years, save maybe Graceland), the Kid A/Amnesiac pair of albums was pretty good once you accepted it was decidedly NOT OK Computer. Also, Hail To The Thief was a nice melange of both styles, with a lot more emphasis on drumming. "There There" from that album is probably one of their 5 or 6 best songs.
I dunno, it just sounds like they held a microphone in front of an amplifier and had Thom moan over the feedback. Especially Kid-A.
I think Kid A gets an unfair rap mainly because it: (a) was the first release after OK Computer; (b) was not OK Computer; (c) contained the song "Idioteque", which has unfortunately branded the band as a bunch of whacked-out crazies. Which, in truth, they are, but who needs a label?