“We have some hopeful songs don’t we boys”, says the wee pixie man hunched over his piano. As the crowd cheer wildly at such an average comment, it’s obvious that everything is special tonight.

Sold out within a matter of minutes, Radiohead’s intimate venue tour has brought most of Manchester out tonight, judging by the queue snaking round the building. From the top of the full balcony, downstairs looks like a battery farm full of very excitable chickens.

Unlike many bands that play the Apollo, Radiohead keep it low-key tonight, with a stage set that appears to be stolen from Sellafield, and an entrance with no fanfare for the most unlikely rock stars in the UK, who seem surprised at the adulation they receive.

The intimate atmosphere of the Apollo is one that suits the intensity of tonight’s set. ‘Backdrifts’ and ‘We suck young blood’ build up layers of sound that shake the belly of the most sober listener. ‘National Anthem’ builds to a throbbing climax and the desolate ‘Talk Show Host’ echoes into massive applause.

Although some moments feel like you’re watching performance art – the primary school percussion and excessive electronic widdling – the songs and the fact that Radiohead look like they’re having a ball makes it feel like you’re part of a very special night.

At Glastonbury 97’, Thom Yorke seemed to be representing for shoegazers everywhere, tonight he is a changed man. Leaping around the stage, like the lovechild of Michael Flatley and Tim Booth, clad in an oversized waistcoat and clown shoes, he looks like he’s been dressed by lost and found, but it’s doubtful any criticism could touch him, judging by the bloody great grin he’s sporting.

As the set goes on old favourites ‘My Iron Lung’ and ‘Just’ are wheeled out and show the spasticated cool of Johnny Greenwood under an explosion of firey lights and ‘Myxomatosis’, the aural equivalent of fizz wizz, gives them a vampiric glow under the eerie green lights.

A final encore arrives with the band saluting the crowd and the crowd on their fee, even upstairs. Instead of choosing to show off their new songs, a final three of ‘ The Tourist’ ‘Talk Show Host’ and ‘Fake Plastic trees’ end the night with a mellow bang. It’s doubtful that a night as special of this could be pulled off anywhere bigger, so if you were here tonight, count yourself lucky.

Natalie Boxall

Dripfed
23.05.03