Going down to South Park

Radiohead
South Park
Oxford
July 7, 2001

Perhaps it's the hushed reverence with which Radiohead are talked about these days, but it seems wrong to be watching them with one foot stuck in a plate of congealing chicken korma. Glastonbury may have been cancelled but Radiohead have managed to recreate the festival experience on their own doorstep.

Keen to distance themselves from corporate branding, the most socially conscious boys in rock have even taken charge of the beer. The squashed paper cups that litter the ground all bear the same faded outline of a weeping cat, the one on their latest album, Amnesiac. Sadly, it has the reverse effect, suggesting that the band themselves have become a brand.

Still, our love affair with Radiohead shows no sign of waning. This is a band who have made it on to the rich list and who have spawned myriad hateful pretenders, yet they still manage to keep our respect. How? Because they are so much better than anyone else. They are the only rock band willing to innovate, even if that means losing a few hundred thousand fans along the way. Kid A was an impudent assault on our senses - even the die-hard fans fast-forward over the instrumental bits. Amnesiac - their second album in less than a year - was a more digestible prospect, not least because it had fully formed songs.

And now we want to hear them. Despite Beck's best efforts to put us to sleep with an entirely acoustic set beforehand, Radiohead arrive to find a crowd buzzing with anticipation. Even the threat of rain cannot quash their enthusiasm. Radiohead, long-term Oxford residents, are clearly delighted to be playing so near to their homes. "A local gig for local people," beams Thom Yorke, conveniently forgetting the jams that have brought the A40 road from London to a standstill all afternoon.

Rather than put our knowledge of Kid A and Amnesiac to the test, Radiohead have chosen to run through their greatest hits. Guitarists Ed O'Brien and Jonny Greenwood revel in the opportunity for some old-fashioned rock histrionics during "Airbag" and "My Iron Lung", while Yorke maniacally thrashes his head from side to side like an animal shaking the life out of its prey. The singer dedicates "Fade Out" to Tony Blair and "Paranoid Android" to "the blonde one in the Spice Girls. What's her name?"

The sound is clear, though a little on the quiet side, it's propulsive force petering out somewhere around the sound desk. Among the newer songs we get "Pyramid Song" and the blistering "Packt Like Sardines In A Crushed Tin Box" with its stinging refrain "I'm a reasonable man, get off my case."

This is Radiohead doing what they do best - building an intense atmosphere out of great layers of sound, darkly introspective lyrics, and Yorke's tragically brittle wail. With the encore arrives "Karma Police", during which thousands of onlookers shout along with Yorke "for a minute there I lost myself". Then the heavens open and soak us all to the skin.

Fiona Sturges

The Independent
08.07.01