Radiohead
Roseland Ballroom
New York
October 11, 2000

Radiohead is an alien deity; there's no other explanation for it. What other way is there to explain the mass hysteria, blind worship, and cult-like aura surrounding the band? That, and the fact that its new record, Kid A, a willful exercise in space-rock ambience, has somehow reached number one in the U.S. (And it's only out a week!) On this particular night, there were long lines outside the Roseland Ballroom. Inside, there was an almost suffocating level of anticipation for this hastily announced gig. Half the people in the crowd showed the sort of nerves you'd expect from the performers themselves. That's how much this English quintet's music means to so many.

They needn't have worried: Radiohead was magnificent, and when the show finished, more than two hours later, many people looked dazed when they emerged into the New York night. The band took the stage with about a half dozen other musicians and launched into the freaky krautrock-jazz bedlam that is "The National Anthem." The song is uncompromising, in your face, and, above all, fearless. This was no concession to the "Creep" lovers; this was an all-out sonic attack from the off. As the tune descended into its mad free-jazz ending, this reviewer was laughing manically, and so were many others. What on earth was Radiohead doing, and why was the group getting away with it in a country whose de facto King and Queen are Eminem and Britney Spears? Whatever it was, it was wonderful.

The tone for the evening had been set with the first song. From there, Radiohead took no prisoners in a set with far too many highlights. By turns, the group was hyperactive, spectral, wired, weird, and beautiful. While the first few songs sounded slightly rushed from nervousness, the band hit its stride six songs in with "Lucky," from OK Computer. The tune's majestic bearing allowed Radiohead to kick back, and what was a tremendous gig became a stupendous one. Jonny Greenwood and Thom Yorke, in particular, tapped into some primal energies of their own: often it seemed like these two were dragging the others with them on an increasingly intense internal voyage of discovery. It was like we, the audience, were voyeurs at some alien ritual - even more obvious rock songs like "My Iron Lung" got the idiot-savant treatment, and some of Jonny's guitar playing had to be seen to be believed.

They played unreleased newies, too; "Dollars And Cents" and "I Might Be Wrong" sounded particularly promising. In a positively Himalayan range of peaks, the night's Everest, K2, and Kanchenjunga surfaced consecutively in the form of "How To Disappear Completely," "Paranoid Android," and "Idioteque." The fact that two of the three songs were from the new record is proof that this band is at the height of its powers.

As the last notes of "Motion Picture Soundtrack" faded away and the lights came up, there was a feeling that maybe the long-awaited revolution had arrived at last. Maybe Kid A is the new Nevermind, sent to detonate the stale music scene and clear the way for others to follow. This gig was a triumph of content over surface. Look out! Real music's back!

Andrew Montgomery

Music Today
13.10.00