Clark Collis
RAW
13.01 & 13.02.96

"This is it. I'm sure this is the way. Just around the corner and... Oh bugger." We're backstage at the Southampton Guildhall late in the evening of November 7th last year, and Radiohead bass player Colin Greenwood is having what he admits is "a very Spinal Tap moment". Somewhere in the building's cavernous basement a party is taking place to celebrate the successful conclusion of Radiohead's latest UK tour. There will be alcohol. There will be celebrities (well, Roger Taylor from Queen anyway). Now all Colin has to do is find the damn place... The night has been going so well up to this point too. Some light dinner followed a quick spell on the information highway via one of the band's several lap-top computers. Then there was the gig itself. A capacity crowd crawling the walls as Radiohead ploughed through material both old and new. They've always been tight but the last year on the road has seen them climb new heights with 'Creep', 'Fake Plastic Trees' and a weird, pounding 'Planet Telex' all melding together perfectly into a set now stretching out towards the two-hour mark. By the time they encored with a slyly operatic version of Bond theme 'Nobody Does It Better' the capacity crowd were almost too knackered to yell the place down, demanding more. Almost. That was then, however, and this is now. And now involves facing a sturdy but decidedly un-party-like fire-door at the end of yet another indistinguishable corridor. Colin thinks this could be it. He's pretty definite. The portal to Party Central. Booze Bonanza. The bassist pushes down the door's thick metal bar. "You know, people are always saying that we're like U2," says Colin as we gaze out at a vista that even the most extravagant of estate agents would have to describe as 'some old car park'. "But I'm sure this never fucking happens to Adam Clayton".

It's around 1981 and it takes the adolescent Thom Yorke about five seconds to realize that his new school is not going to be much fun. It's very big on (a) preparing you for a career in accountancy, (b) rowing and (c) kicking the shit out of anyone who objects to (a) or (b). Go figure. This is the last think that Thom needs. Not that life has exactly been peaches'n'cream up to this point anyway. Thom was born with a paralyzed left eye which, at first, the doctors thought would be a permanent condition. Then one day a specialist suggested that maybe a muscle graft might sort things out. The result was that Thom had five major operations before he was six years old. His vision improved but Thom had to wear a patch for a year. And now all this. An all-boys school just outside Oxford. At least Thom has a dream that doesn't involve chartered accountancy. On his eighth birthday he gets a Spanish guitar. From that point on Thom knows what he wants. He wants to be a pop star. So what if all he can play is 'Kumbaya'? He can learn. All he needs is the right people to help. Colin Greenwood is in the same year as Thom and, if anything, looks even thinner and sicker. They go to the same parties. Thom in heavy-duty mascara. Colin in a full, black bodystocking. They don't go to pick up the girls or get hammered. They go to take over the stereo system. Play a little Joy Division. A little Magazine. See how people liked them apples. One day Thom discovers that Colin can play the bass. That's two. Ed O'Brien is a different kettle of fish altogether. Enormously tall Ed actually looks a bit like Morrissey - if you squint - but he does play the guitar. That's three. All they need now is a drummer. The only suitable candidate, a guy called Phil Selway, is a couple of years older than them. And when you're at school, a couple of years is everything. In fact, it's some of Phil's contemporaries who are throwing Colin and Thom downstairs to see if they bounce. Still, Phil seems like a nice guy. It's worth a shot... And suddenly there are four. Well, five actually. Colin's younger brother, Jonny, is some sort of shit hot viola player. Unfortunately, there isn't much room for a viola in Oxford's newest post-punk pop band. Still, Jonny is very keen, and is told he can play harmonica. They rehearse every Friday. In fact that's how they get their first name. On A Friday. OK, so it's not great. But no one can think of anything better. Predictably, few of their parents are keen. Thom has to say that he's staying at a friends house when they start doing gigs. One day, the headmaster bans all electronic music from school. Bugger him. Bugger them all!

Then... school's out! Leaving Jonny behind they all go off to college in the autumn of 1987. Thom shoots off to Exeter University to do Fine Art and Literature. He starts to mess around with samplers and plays with local techno outfit Flickernoise. Phil and Ed are at Liverpool. Phil plays drums with a theatre production of Return To The Forbidden Planet. But he's thinking about packing the sticks away. Maybe getting a job in publishing. Colin has become Entertainment Officer at Peterhouse College in Cambridge. It isn't so bad. He plays in a few bands. In his final year he's put in charge of booking bands for the Peterhouse Ball. He books Humphrey Littleton. He books the James Taylor Quartet. He books himself three times. Somehow the band continues to rehearse during the holidays. They play some gigs. The Jericho Tavern in Oxford. London's Rock Garden. No one knows who the hell they are but it's still cool. Jonny switches from harmonica to guitar. In a couple of months he's caught up with Thom and Ed. By the time everyone has left college he's in a different league altogether.

1991. Time to get serious. They change their name to Radiohead and move into a house together in Oxford. It should be like The Monkees. It soon turns into the Adams family. They tear the wallpaper off hauling the Hammond organ in and out. The ashtrays overflow with fag butts. And every time you walk downstairs the carpet comes with you. Worse still, they find stuff that obviously belonged to the previous tenant. Ed finds a half-eaten pork pie. The teeth marks are still visible. Soon only Colin and Thom are left. They all try and get jobs. Phil already has his publishing thing sorted out. Ed starts working as a barman. Colin signs on at Our Price. Thom just stays at home playing ear-shattering techno music to anyone who will listen. There are few takers. They carry on practising. And gigging. And sending off demos. It's starting to sound good. Those three guitars hammering together like nobody's business. Thom's becoming a good frontman too. Not showy. Just there. Intense. Possessed. There.

It's mid-'91. One day the band get a call from Chris Hufford and Bryce Edge. Formerly members of new romantic never-quite-weres Aeriel FX, the pair have set up a management company and are looking for a band to cut their teeth on. They think Radiohead could be it. The band agree to let them have a go and, within months, a feeding frenzy starts among the record companies. In the end the band agree to sign with Parlophone at the end of 1991. Colin and Jonny's mum refuses to tell their grandad on the grounds that the shock would kill him. On the day they actually sign on the dotted line Radiohead travel down to London. Someone suggests that they go out for a drink afterwards. The band decline. The band hit the road in earnest. They support everyone who's no one. Kingmaker. The Sultans Of Ping. Spiritualized. Doctor And The Medics. In May 1992 they release the Drill EP. IT receives little radio play and only charts at 101. But still, these are the early days. And it feels good to actually see it in their hands. Their names. Their photograph. Their music. Anyway, the band have an ace up their sleeves. Incredibly, it came about by accident. Not the actual song. Not the way Thom sings 'You're special(sic)/You're so fucking special'. But those howling arhythmic word-of-God chords that cut in just before the chorus. They were accidental. Christ, Jonny didn't even know the tape was running. Anyway, the result is phenomenal and they know it. In interviews, Tom (sic) even says as much. ("That song will always be there. And in five, six, ten years time people will be saying that is a classic record.") This is the one. 'Creep' is it. 'Creep' is released in September '92. It reaches 72 in the charts.

October 1992. IT takes about 90 seconds for Jonny Greenwood to go from standing onstage to sitting in the front of the tour bus. As the guitarist clambers into the front seat and picks up his newspaper he can still just about hear the audience clamouring for more. Tonight was a great show. One of the best they've played. Great crowd reaction too. When Thom hit that chorus in 'Vegetable' ('I'm not a vegetaaable!') they went completely bananas. Then again, this is only The Fleece And Firkin in Bristol. Three hundred people tops. The band has been signed for over a year now and things are moving very slowly. Worse still, the press seems to have turned on them. Apparently Radiohead are a 'corporate' band. And a miserable git corporate band to boot. Jonny gave up his poly course to do this. The others have already got their degrees. But if Radiohead doesn't make it where does that leave him? No, a good gig. But there are still... concerns. The band record their debut album, Pablo Honey, in just three weeks. It sounds good. Maybe not perfect. But definitely good. Eventually, the band creep into the Top 40 with 'Anyone Can Play Guitar'. It makes the press think twice about writing them off. But, even so, it all seems so low-key. This definitely isn't the way Thom thought it would happen. Bizarrely, the news that will change the lives of Radiohead comes from Israel. Some DJ starts playing 'Creep'. Then another. Then another. 'Creep' enters the Israeli Top Ten. Radiohead are suddenly very big out there. It seems strange. How can they understand while England can't? Anyway, everyone is big somewhere. Jesus, there are probably remote parts of the Andes where Bros are still worshipped like gods. But then it starts happening everywhere. New Zealand. Scandinavia. Spain. Finally the big one. America. MTV has put 'Creep' on heavy rotation and the radio is playing it non-stop. Thom is shown a map which demonstrates the way 'Creep' is sweeping America. It reminds him of the attacking German armies at the start of Dad's Army. The band hit the road. They're ready for this. They've had ten years of practice. No more toilets though. They're now playing halls so big they virtually have their own gravitational pull. They play the Arsenio Hall show which they're told is a really big deal. They turn up at K-ROQ radio station and answer people's phone-in sex queries. Back in England 'Creep' is re-released. Suddenly, all the papers that had written them off as no-marks suddenly want interviews. Thom attempts to choke back his disgust. Sometimes he even succeeds. Radiohead return to the States. And Canada. And everywhere. Things start to get surreal. Pablo Honey ships half a million copies in America. Thom does an advert for jeans. When German journalists ask Colin and Thom whether they ever write anything together the pair start babbling about an imaginary composition entitled 'Your Wind In My Hair'. The journalists solemnly write it all down. The band are presented with gold discs in New York. They're taken away and re-presented in Los Angeles.

No one really knows when they start to lose it. But lose it they do. Somewhere aong the line it all becomes too much. Receptionists ask Thom, "Are you that 'Creep' guy?" The band start getting weird mail. One is from a convicted murderer who says he identifies with Thom. He writes back to people saying he's not a counsellor. Still the mail pours in. In the autumn of '93 they are forced to cancel an appearance at the Reading Festival due to a problem with Thom's voice. A Harley Street specialist says that his neck feels like concrete. And still the gigs roll on. In an attempt to alleviate the boredom they start to video everything. The people they meet. Themselves. Anything. Sometimes Thom is so pissed that he just ends up pointing the camera at the carpet. There are still high points - some American gigs with Belly, meeting R.E.M.'s Mike Mills and Bill Berry when they play the 40 Watt club in Athens, Georgia - but things just begin to fall apart. Even the constant demands from German journalists to hear 'Your Wind In My Hair' aren't funny anymore and soon the band disappear off intto their own little worlds and enter what Thom describes as "complete fucking meltdown". Jonny listens to talking books incessantly. Colin begins hanging out with the roadcrew. And Thom just stops communicating. Wondering how it came to this. They were friends, after all. Mates. And now all he wants to do is shut it all down. Pack his bags and get the hell out of there. At last it's over and the band return to England. Which is when things start getting really bad. For their second album the band will record in London at RAK Studios and eventually move to the famous Abbey Road to complete work. They've chosen John Leckie as their producer because he's the guy who made Magazine's Real Life. Leckie is one of the best but, having just come from watching The Stone Roses piss about for three years, he's in no hurry to nursemaid another band through that difficult second album. Things don't go well. The songs just aren't there. One of them sounds just like Guns N' Roses for God's sake. To make matters worse Thom becomes convinced that the rest of the band aren't trying. Eventually, the sessions are abandoned after Leckie tells them to do what the hell they like. But stop doing this. By this stage things have gotten so bad that even Hufford and Edge are worried enough to start looking around for another band to manage. They find one called Supergrass. And all the time the pressure is mounting. From the record company. From the fans. The message is clear. Go on. You can do it. Give us another 'Creep'.

September 1994. Ed O'Brien is in his parents' living room flipping through the band's library or home-made videos. An immensely amenable character, the guitarist dishes out cups of tea while giving a running commentary on tapes. They turn out to be a pretty mixed bag. The stuff from a year ago shows a bunch of people who look like they'd rather hammer nails in their own eyes than crack a smile. The more recent footage, though, is cheerier. There's Thom and Jonny getting steamed in a Japanese sake bar. And there's Colin shoving a Cornetto into his face at Bali airport. And there's Ed... um... staggering around in his hotel room ("I was very pissed. I think I may have been trying to simulate the Can-Can in front of some mirrors."). After a couple of hours Ed's dad returns from work and the guitarist scurries around tidying up. Suddenly, he wheels around. "This may sound a bit strange," he says piling up the video tapes behind the TV. "But don't get him talking about music." Fine, you think. Two hours of Max Bygraves reminiscences you can do without. Mr O'Brien Snr turns out to be as friendly as his offspring. A highly-reparded osteopath, he is clearly chuffed with the band's success and really seems to know his stuff. Actually, it turns out he really, really knows his stuff. "Who's that?" Ed's dad demands, peering at the TV set which is now showing a video of two women leaning against an enormous silver-grey tour bus. It was shot in October of 1993. Umm... Tanya Donnelly and Gail Greenwood. They're in a band called Belly. Ed buries his head in his hands. "Ah yes... Tanya. I do think the Throwing Muses are better off without her. Have you heard Kristen Hersh's acoustic album? It's absolutely fantastic..."

Ironically, what saves Radiohead is another tour. That desire not to let a decade of blood,sweat and friendship just disappear down the toilet. In fact, they had tried to sort things out at the end of '93. It was the first date of a European jaunt with James. Things were bad. Very bad. An emergency band meeting was called right after the band hit Hamburg. Drink was consumed. Souls bared. But it didn't change anything. The recording sessions proved that. In the sprinkg of '94 they head off to play a few dates in Mexico. The band have hit a total low and this is the last thing they need. Carrering around shitty Central American roads. Playing to people who, if they've heard of them at all, only know the song that is rapidly becoming the other C-word. They are, in short, people with absolutely nothing to lose. And it feels strangely good. The shows go well. More importantly, the band start talking again. Kidding around. Slowly remembering quite why they got into this stupid, corrupt kiss-ass business in the first place. By the time they return to England everything is just about alright again It's the songs that clinch it. Songs like the tortured anti-beauty lament 'High & Dry'. Or 'Black Star'. Or 'Bones'. They work quickly too. 'My Iron Lung' is recorded at a soundcheck at The Astoria. The pounding, almost Zeppelin-esque 'Planet Xerox' comes together after a drunken restaurant outing. (Thom will later admit that the lyrics are "total gibberish".). It feels good. By the time 'My Iron Lung' is refused A-listing by Radio One in September of '94 on the grounds of raucousness they can even see the funny side. What do they have to do to get playlisted? Record a charity record?

In March 1995 Radiohead finally release their second album, The Bends. An instant, joyous classic of scorched eath angst and wall-of-guitar attack, the record receives almost unanimously good reviews. The second single, a double A of 'High & Dry' and 'Planet Telex' (renamed after a quick chat with the Xerox lawyers) even features some dance remixes a good 10 years after Thom first started banging on about BPMs. OK, so there's the odd jibe about Radiohead becoming the next U2 - great. Either they're "all over" or they're "too big", but Thom takes it in his stride and starts muttering about his accountants urging a move to Dublin. Once again the band head out on a world tour. The venues in America may be smaller but the crowds seem to be getting into the new stuff and at least they're not at each other's throats anymore. The band start having fun with interviewers again. Colin starts telling people how he intends to set up a fellowship of rock'n'roll at Peterhouse with an entrance exam that would include sections on joint-rolling and how to deal with groupies. Things start getting fun during the summer when the band start supporting R.E.M.. Radiohead are big R.E.M. fans. At first, things are weird though. After all, what are you supposed to say to Michael Stipe? Soon everyone chills out. After the second date in Berlin both bands get plastered at a record company surrounded by inflatable balloons. The next day, Mike Mills shows Thom a letter that Bill Clinton has sent him sympathising over the bass-player's recent stomach troubles. Bizzare. By the time they start the American leg, Radiohead have started to teach R.E.M. the basics of cricket. Even the bad things seem alright. The new single 'Fake Plastic Trees' is derided as 'angst rock' in the movie Clueless. But it's then played incessantly on the soundtrack (but not on Radio One). They tour with Soul Asylum who turn out to be nice guys even though their music sucks. At a gig in Canada they have all their equipment nicked. Two years ago this would have just about finished them off but now it's just a blip. In fact Thom rather enjoys it. For one day everyone feels so sorry for them and everything is free. On September 4 they record 'Lucky' for the Bosnia-aid 'Help' album. Even given the do-it-in-a-day time restrictions it's relatively easy. Everyone feels very emotional. By the time Jonny overdubs a choir sample on the verse Thom has turned into a gibbering wreck. A month later 'Lucky' is chosen as a lead trackon the Help project's first EP. It's generally acknowledged as the finest thing on the album. It's not playlisted by Radio One.

Eventually, of course, we do reach the party. And there is alcohol. And there is music. And there is Roger Taylor from Queen. As you wander around the weirdly dub-tastic bar it's difficult not to conclude that just about every cliche about Radiohead is both true and hopelessly off the mark. Yes, they're the band that did 'Creep'. But they're also the band that did The Bends. Sure, they can be miserable, truculent sons-of-bitches. But they can also be - far more frequently - some of the politest, drollest people you could ever meet. And OK, their reputation on wanton behaviour may have more than a grain of truth to it. But, given half a chance, they're more than capable of transforming into blurry - eyed beer monsters with serious love-you-like-a-brother inclinations. Tonight, for example, is definitely a blurry-eyed beer monster night. Even Thom is in high spirits and takes all ribbings about his freshly coppered barnet like a trooper ("I was just fed up with being blond. Maybe Tango would be interested in me being slapped around the face by some big blob.") Predictably, after a brief rant by 'Cocktail King' Ed about how Delia Smith's promotion of humble cranberry is making the ingredients of his favourite cocktails impossible to find, talk turns to the band. In particular the future. After all, they've been 'That Band With The Great Single' and 'That Band With The Great Album'. What next? "The thinking at the moment is that the next record is going to be very up," explains Colin. "Just go in and do it. We just seem to be on a roll. I mean, we were only going to perform 'Nobody Does It Better' once on MTV. But we liked doing it so much that we've carried on. Mmm... Maybe an album of Bond themes wouldn't be such a bad idea". "Samplers!" Thom suddenly announces as a smirk ripples across his face. "That's the next thing we're getting. Nevermind video cameras and powerbooks. Samplers are the future. Now all I've got to do now is convince everyone else..."