Radiohead
Shepherd's Bush Empire
London
May 24, 2003

Rating: 5/5
Brief description: wondrous evening's performance within a 'tiny' show

‘The tour of the year’, it’s been heralded. And, rightfully so, the one-off notion of Radiohead in a modest, 2,000-capacity theatre should be treated as the stuff of dreams.

More likely to headline a field to thousands these days than re-enter a venue that they could have sold out eight years prior, Oxford’s premier five-piece have diligently pushed the barriers so far in contemporary rock-music that they no longer reside in a categorical stable. Electronica? Dance? Indie? Prog...? Though the quintet are as label-less as they come, there still seems to be a tag latched firmly to their sound which simply declares, ‘Timeless Majesty’ - no matter the forays into noise that they embark upon.

Back on the promo-treadmill, their UK outing in the British Isles’ humblest, mid-scale venue-offerings has resulted in mild insanity. Fans flying in from all corners of the globe to witness their heroes in such intimate confines; extortionate touting in operation (‘Want a ticket? ¸250 please.’) – the fact of the matter is that it’s a f**king exciting state of affairs to still have on Earth a group that prompt such a sensational wave of hysteria wherever they see fit to travel to. With the promise of the tour-dates also revealing live-debuts of material from the band’s Internet-leaked, sixth studio-LP, Hail To The Thief, the allure of these performances is unquestionable.

So thank the skies above that it doesn’t amount to a disappointment (presumably, the musical culprits themselves don’t understand the meaning of such a term). From the opening, percussive-lurch of new single, ‘There There’ - guitarists Jonny Greenwood and Ed O’ Brieen both hammering additional drums in full view - it can only be monumental. The audience roars as if its contingents are bellowing for the prolonged sanctity of their lives, and it erupts into a cacophony of screeching, space-rock hooks and Thom Yorke’s aching wail. Cue the echoing, desperate sound of unrestrained cheers. Suitably, the foundations of the building physically shake.

Then it’s all a bit strange. ‘2+2=5’ is an explosive piece of fiery, ambient-cum-rabid wonderment that ignites mid-way into a pogo-inducer, whilst the flowing, grisly bass of ‘National Anthem’ is as frightful as it is infectious; ‘Morning Bell’ calms the surroundings temporarily, Yorke’s deranged vocals and precision keyboard parts colliding to chillingly soothing effect. Then, save for a rare exhibition of a thunderous ‘Kid A’, we pull up in New Song-ville. As anticipated, these are largely known by attendees already, thanks to pre-release mp3’s of such work mysteriously turning up online over a month and a half back, and it’s clear which matter is most graciously received - the swirled electro-edges and skewed guittar of ‘Backdrifts’, or further piano-lilting via ‘Sit Down. Stand Up’, but when placed alongside the mastered likes of eerie, OK Computer stand-out ‘Climbing Up The Walls’, evidently, it’s still early days.

But we’ll forgive them, because we’re rewarded with the tear-worthy bliss of ‘No Surprises’, swiftly followed by the stark, mellow angst of ‘Talk Show Host’, and simply stunning ‘Paranoid Android’ - the delivery so vividly presented, all manic freak-outs and contrasts harnessed to a riotous daze, that the resulting response is as deafening as Greenwood’s ever-engulfing display. In a similar fit of joy, the band grins, and Yorke can’t help notice the change of atmosphere. ‘That’s better,’ he smiles assuredly.

Throughout too, it’s a labour of love both ways - devotion in its truest sound-wave interpretation from the performers, and sheer adoration via fits of applause and furores from the crowd. When the ante is upped further for a wondrous ‘Idioteque’ - replete with Thom’s shockingly fluid, uninhibited, circus-monkey dance-steps - or clap-a-long of a reverberating ‘Everything In Its Right Place’, the repression of euphoria seems affirmatively unavoidable.

A quick break, and the Western/hip-hop combo of ‘I Might Be Wrong’ perks things up in time for a gruelling, heavy and dark ‘Myxomatosis’: the apt pre-cursor to the sweeping, arms-aloft grandeur of a searing ‘Lucky’. The venue develops into a blinding, shining white, and all balconies become the central focus as a spectacular army of colours unfolds, each person a star of the show. It’s almost too beautiful to bear in full public view.

They return again and a faultless evening becomes, somehow, even more faultless. They play ‘a very old song’, on the basis that, to this day, ‘it still seems relevant’, and slip lovingly into a perfectly-exerted ‘Fake Plastic Trees’, voices singing in unison and hands thrown above heads. By now, the tears are welling, and a closing ‘How To Disappear Completely’ is the trigger for releasing them, a captivating example of classic songwriting entwined with the riveting accomplishment of beauteous arrangements. The lights darken, the band wave and clap us for our enthusiasm, and - seemingly - something so moving has been joyously expperienced both ways.

And it’s connection that Radiohead are best at. Whether here with just twenty hundred, or in an outdoor space with beyond ten times that – Yorke and co.’s specialty is to reach out and touch every member of their extravagant following, and make them feel a part of something.

’This is really happening,’ is a lyric declared several times this evening amidst one of their more frivolous moments. And - thankfully - it is. Few bands can be described as ‘perfect’, but, then again, few bands are quite like Radiohead.

Toby L

RockFeedBack
26.05.03