As an essential part of my time in England, I bought a ticket to see Radiohead in an industrial town called Warrington, just West of Liverpool. (I heard there was some other significant band from that part of the country, but I can't seem to remember who it was... Oasis, maybe? Or Blur?) Radiohead have done a string of shows in England with an interesting set-up: every show takes place in a park, with a merchandise tent, some vegetarian food stands (like J.B.'s Polish sausage, only it's all tofu, hummus and falafel), and a massive black tent for a venue. It's like a festival tour with only two bands. The idea seems to be that Radiohead, in their near-paranoiac fear of consumerism, didn't want to get tangled up with corporate sponsorship, so they travel around the country with their own advertising-free venue. The biggest draw-back at this particular show was that the park is apparently home to some serious horse traffic, and the place absolutely reeked. People were lighting cigarettes to clear the air in the tent.

The opening band was a terribly generic outfit called Clinic. The most interesting thing about the group was that the lead singer occasionally played one of those little hand-held keyboards that require the player to blow through a tube to make a sound sort of like an accordion. Unfortunately the guys in Clinic didn't have much to offer beyond this one wacky instrument, just generic British pop music with a slightly dance-ish feel that reminded me vividly of how easily British audiences are impressed. Much to their credit, this particular audience seemed as eager to get these drama queens off the stage as I was, and after nearly an hour of their shite-rock Clinic finally granted our wish and left.

There was quite a long wait between bands, during which the Brits were more than happy to prove to me that American audiences aren't the only ones that know how to shove their way to the front under the pretense of meeting their friends, sing stupid songs and make out in the middle of a massive crowd. Radiohead strolled onstage after what seemed like an eternity - my only gauge of time was how many times an obnoxious British guy in the back said, "Whazzuuuuup."

The show opened with "Optimistic," one of the louder rockers from Kid A. Frontman Thom Yorke was strumming disjointedly in the general direction of a distorted acoustic guitar, shaking his head in semi-autistic bliss, and I thought to myself, "That this man is a rock-star must mean something very interesting for us as a society." Lanky guitarist Jonny Greenwood banged away at a Telecaster with his distinctive arm-guard, absolutely wrenching every note out of the guitar. They followed one fresh new rocker with another one, "The National Anthem," whose fuzzy bass-groove was skillfully held down by an unperturbed Colin Greenwood.

I was kind of worried going into the show. Given the electronica-heavy tone of the new record, and Thom's having said of the creative process involved in making it, "I'd completely had it with melody. I just wanted rhythm. All melodies to me were pure embarrassment," I was wondering whether I would hear any of those embarrassingly melodic songs from previous records that I'd come to love. My worries were unfounded, though, 'cuz the band cranked out all the hits, from "Just" to "Fake Plastic Trees" to "Paranoid Android" to "Karma Police," leaving only "Creep" behind to rot in the bin of shame. Thom must've had a change of heart, because he and his bandmates played these songs with gusto - clearly not just churning them out for the crowd - and the sound in the tent was incredible. The low-point of the show came when the audience clapped along with the entire first verse of "Fake Plastic Trees." If you've ever heard a European bootleg, you know that no good slow song is ever able to overpower the clapping of idiotic European fans.

The highlight of the show, without a doubt, was the electro-paranoia anthem "Idioteque." Everyone in the band put down their guitars and picked up various keyboards and other noisemakers, drummer Phil Selway accentuated electronic beats with his own tight percussion, and Thom flailed around the stage like some sort of berserk robot whose coordination circuits had fried. "Ice Age comin', Ice Age comin'/ Women and children first, and children..." It was primitive and sophisticated at the same time, electronic devices pounding out tribal beats and Thom channeling his own paranoid, post-industrial, post-modern spirits through a trembling falsetto and a pair of shaking hands (whose movements throughout the show bore a beyond-coincidental resemblance to a certain stubble-headed Athens resident with whom Yorke's been spending a lot of time lately).

In many ways, Radiohead put on one of the best big-rock shows I've ever seen. Their playing was impeccable, their energy infectious, and the songwriting some of the best in recent pop history. It's nice to see that there are still a couple of bands, R.E.M. being the other one, that are willing to create honest and original music that might challenge contemporary audiences rather than placating them. It's also nice to see that, as evidenced by recent tours, neither band has been so caught up in moving on that they've forgotten where they've been.

-Brandon Butler

Flagpole
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