Radiohead Live Under Canvas At Victoria Park, London, 23rd September

"There's been enough bullshit said already, so we're not going to say anything tonight." If only the Australians behind me had heeded Thom Yorke's words, delivered after the stunning opener ("The National Anthem") at Radiohead's first night in London's Victoria Park last month. Instead I was treated to an antipodal discussion on the previous night's television. I could have dealt with that alone, but when the merchant banker directly in front started punching the air during "Karma Police", I started to think perhaps many of the people here were missing the point.

Indeed, Radiohead put on a more than magnificent show. They never ventured further back than songs from The Bends, but they tackled 95% of Kid A with surprising efficiency and even handled the more 'difficult' moments from OK Computer with ease. Certainly, it seemed as if much of the older material was given short shrift - "Paranoid Android" and "My Iron Lung" seemed sluggish and unengaging, but for every moment like that, there were newer tracks, often baffling on record, shining through now as works well worthy of the three years we spent waiting for them. "Idioteque", in particular, was met with stunned yet rapturous applause, the most 'studio' moment of the recent album transferring spectacularly to the live arena, with Yorke flailing around and the mechanical rhythms recreated in a not too cod-techno fashion. At points he lost his breath, gasping for air mid-sentence, but it only added to the thrill of seeing such a song in this environment. And what an environment.

Radiohead apparently chose to tour in a tent with higher ticket prices to avoid sponsorship, so even the paper cups we supped our warm beer from bore no advertising logos. But the consumer spirit was all around - under air-raid lights and flashing red blips, I watched aghast as mothers queued up in the cold to buy lurid yellow Radiohead raincoats, not for their children, who may have been there, but for themselves. Then they were off to buy falafels, because they're, like, healthier than chips. Suddenly the world of rock took a decidedly ironic turn. Was this even a rock concert?

I had seen Radiohead many times before, and had always felt a great sense of isolation afterwards. Never more so than this evening, though. Not in the morbid sense, but I remembered my dad talking about his feelings when the Who 'sold out', like following a first division team that suddenly makes it into the premier league. You want them to do it, but at the same time you don't. Then you hate yourself for being so precious about it all. They were mine and now they're not.

Yet I'm not that self-righteous, just confused. If people want to come and talk about TV during even the quiet bits then fair enough - so what if this is the first time we get to hear how Yorke's voice handles "How To Disappear Completely" in a live arena. If I can't see the oscillating neon lights while the band interpret "Climbing Up The Walls" because a businessman has chosen to throw caution to the wind, then so what? They are here because of all our support. And it's still better than watching Travis, isn't it?

Record Collector
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