Radiohead
Royal Festival Hall
London
July 1, 2000

It is testament to the vast respect in which musicians hold Scott Walker that Radiohead - a band with an almost pathological aversion to life outside the studio - are playing at the Meltdown festival. But then of all the
people to drag reclusive singer Thom Yorke back on stage, it had to be Walker.

In many ways they are kindred spirits. Fame sits uncomfortably on both their shoulders - Walker found himself unable to cope with the pressures of fame in the Sixties; similarly, the praise heaped upon Radiohead's 1997 album
OK Computer, is said to have weighed dangerously heavily on Yorke.

You can see why. It's usually preening boy-bands that elicit this kind of hysteria. Cries of "We love you, Thom" can be heard across the auditorium from men and women, some of them grown-ups with jobs and children. Such
adulation, based wholly on a love of music and a respect for talent, is a rarity.

While there is the inevitable desire to hear songs from OK Computer this evening, there is a tangible sense of anticipation surrounding new material. As well there might. Groove is not a word that you would associate with
Radiohead, but as they launch into "Optimistic" there it is, gnawing away at the loud-soft-loud ethos of old. This is not a smooth groove, mind. It is dark, full of harsh minor chords and edgy, chopped-up drum-beats. It is a trait that appears again throughout the evening. With "The Morning Bell" and "In Limbo" arrives an electric piano, a double bass and an abstract, jazzy melody.

With these new songs Radiohead seem to be moving away from their tightly-structured, guitar-led epics and into more experimental territory. "Everything In Its Right Place" sees guitarists Jonny Greenwood and Ed O'Brien crouched like kids over their effects pedals, wildly distorting Yorke's vocals. Despite their professionalism and Yorke's celebrated angst, there is also an unprecedented warmth to Radiohead's performance. Hell, they even tell us a story, something about a nature programme they saw on telly that morning. This matiness seems to take Yorke by surprise as he stutters "I never talk at gigs".

There are still tortured musings on the human psyche, though. "Knives Out", we are told, is about cannibalism while "The Morning Bell" examines amnesia. Politics are never far away either - introducing "You And Who's Army"
Yorke quips: "This is dedicated to Tony Blair. I'm only disappointed I never got to shake his hand."

Despite rumours about a crisis of confidence, Yorke attacks each song with warlike confidence, shaking his head from side to side like a dog with a rat in its jaws. The old material sounds as magnificent as ever without
eclipsing the new songs. "No Surprises" still manages to do the opposite of its title. "My Iron Lung" grinds to a halt around half way through, leaving Yorke laughing - yes really laughing - hysterically before resuming his familiar tormented wail. By the time the band perform the epic "Paranoid Android" the crowd's euphoria has reached fever pitch.

At the end, Yorke sweetly thanks us for our time as if tonight was a deciding factor as to whether to continue in this new direction. He shouldn't worry. The show alone has just gone down in pop history.

-Fiona Sturges

The Independent
03.07.00