Radiohead
Roseland Ballroom
New York
October 11, 2000

It's hard work being a Radiohead fan. Just ask the hundreds of devotees who camped out overnight in the freezing Manhattan cold for tickets to this, the U.K. quintet's first performance in North America since June 1998 and one of only three planned North American shows this year. Ask the unlucky ones, who wrestled with ghastly pricetags for extra seats on Internet auction sites and found solace with their kindred spirits on newsgroups and Web message boards.

And in a week where these devotees helped Radiohead's new Kid A album (Capitol) rocket to No. 1 on both The Billboard 200 and the U.K. album chart, what could be more appropriate than a musical thank-you? The group rewarded the masses for their patience with a 22-song, nearly two-hour set that offered a little something for everyone; not too heavy on the new stuff, a handful of rarities and works in progress, and a host of sing-a-long favorites that worked the sold-out crowd into a frenzy.

The first portion of the set went top-heavy on Kid A material, laying the often confounding tracks out for all to experience. The raunchy bass lead of opener "The National Anthem" stood its ground throughout the song, doing battle with frontman Thom Yorke's garbled screams and a live horn section's atonal screeches. "Optimistic" rocked much harder than its album counterpart, while "In Limbo" gurgled its way to spaced-out, head-nodding bliss.

Overall, even the most abstract cuts from Kid A translated remarkably well to the stage. The polyrhythmic workout "Idioteque" pumped like a dance floor anthem in another dimension, while Yorke's vocal manipulations punctuated the empty spaces in the warm synth exoskeleton of "Everything In Its Right Place." But perhaps best of all was Yorke's "How To Disappear Completely," a metaphysical dilemma set to sad acoustic guitar and tortured vocal wails. As he bellowed "I'm not here / this isn't happening," one was almost inclined to believe him.

The band sharpened its rock chops on sensational versions of the Sonic Youth-ish, The Bends-era B-side "Permanent Daylight" and three classics from that 1995 album - the deliberate title track, the bombastic "My Iron Lung," and "Just," featuring stellar stickwork from Phil Selway.

Of the unfamiliars, first encore "I Might Be Wrong" stood out the most clearly, with its gritty guitar line and danceable groove. "The Pyramid Song" was dedicated to "all those who've heard it on Napster," while the dissonant "Dollars And Cents" and the vaguely bluesy "You And Whose Army" offered fleeting glimpses at whatever Radiohead has in store next.

Yorke had little or nothing to impart to the crowd beyond the usual pleasantries and the occasional song intro ("The Bends" was introduced as "a rock song"), but he really didn't need to say anything. The rest of the band might as well have been anchored to the stage, but they've never been ones to bounce around with abandon anyway. What Radiohead unleashed was the full spectrum of their sonic palette, giving the open mind plenty to contemplate and the anxious ears a feast to savor. Now that's worth waiting for.

Jonathan Cohen

Billboard
12.10.00