If it's difficult to describe Beck's contribution to Bonnaroo, then an attempt at properly recounting the Radiohead set is even more futile. From what I've heard about some of their recent shows, there's surprisingly little deviation for this festival outing. The band members' faces are refracted through voyeuristic security camera-styled images onto giant blue-lit shards at the back of the stage. During "There, There," the stage explodes in a flood of red light. For the rest of the time, Thom Yorke and co. are awash in shades of blue and white.

There's no question of the band's proficiency. Every song is note-perfect and, more surprisingly, Radiohead seem pretty damn happy to be here. Even Yorke, whom I've always found to possess an impenetrable stance of twitchy aloofness, is borderline goofy, periodically chirping out "Bonnaroooooo" like an owl on mescaline. The set list surprisingly lacks new material. I was looking forward to finally hearing "Bangers And Mash" live and am disappointed that it isn't played. In contrast, they play almost all of OK Computer, and the second set and two encores are rich with old standbys. Still, it's hard to be grumpy about the sense of communal rapture that comes from 80,000 people singing along to "Fake Plastic Trees" and "The Bends."

I leave three hours later feeling the way I always do after seeing Radiohead. They're the one unifying band of our generation - indestructible and timeless. But I have to admit that these sensations are slightly negated by faint inklings of boredom and emptiness. For the best band in the world, I think they're capable of better.