Radiohead/ Deerhoof
Embarcadero Marine Park South
San Diego
June 26, 2006
Rating: 97%
For those of us whose religion is music,
news of Radiohead’s North American tour this year was nothing
short of the second coming of Christ.
Which is why when this
decade’s musical prophets stepped onto the stage at the San Diego
Embarcadero, it was hard to believe it was actually them. I just
couldn’t sink in. Even though I spent all day laying out in line on
concrete to stake a spot closest to the stage (the venue was
shockingly enough general admission), where I heard them play the
most beautifully haphazard version of “How to Disappear Completely”
during sound check. And even though I was shooting my mouth off to
my 16-year-old brother about the greatness that is Radiohead, how he
might not get to see them again for another 5 years, and what a
goddamned lucky bastard he is.
The stage setup was stark but
grand, rhomboidal screens suspended across the width of the stage,
looming behind where the band would be standing. The screens
previewed, from what I heard of their previous U.S. shows on the
tour, a precursor to the performance, and a heavy symbol of the
band’s detachment from the audience.
Even after the sweet
and squaling set from Japanese chanteuse-fronted Deerhoof,
Radiohead’s descent was postponed in order to give way to a darker
sky that would allow their behemoth screens to light up for full
hypnosis (or divination, if you bought into that yet).
But
their performance was not so cold. Nor was it detached. Free of any
new age mechanical angst which they claim to detest, the members of
Radiohead walked humbly to the front of the stage, took their
positions and began to purge the tumble of emotions from their 1,000
some fans at sundown. The startling opener “There, There” was more
punctuated and churning live than retrievable on the band’s most
recent album Hail to the Thief. It wasn’t until mid-song that
the screens lit up, each one showing a distorted and discolored
angle of an instrument being played onstage.
Thus, with the
thrust of the crowd, Radiohead segued into “2+2=5,” fans yelling
with Thom to “Pay attention!” His unabashed dancing and spiraling
hands onstage coupled with the ferocity with which the instruments
were played sent the crowd into a psychotic flurry, people pushing
so hard you were jumping up and down effortlessly, carried by the
lack of gravity by the mass of bodies surrounding you. Everybody
wanted to see Radiohead’s faces, and they made themselves so
accessible that the fans weren’t ashamed to say no to the screens.
And the band was clearly responsive, as Thom thanked the crowd
numerous times, even extending his hands to the very lucky front row
holders. The crowd charmingly obliged in joined together to sing
bassist Colin Greenwood "Happy Birthday."
Spending
almost half the set introducing new material, they unveiled yet
another album which nests even more deeply in the idiosyncrasy that
is the ever mutable idea of a new Radiohead. “15 Step” is a keyboard
number, a driven syncopated ramble with Thom’s brawling tight-strung
voice, and a more desperate crying ballad akin to “Karma Police” is
“Videotape.” “Nude” showcases Thom’s most precise falsetto ever,
used more frequently in the new songs. The disjointed “Down is the
New Up” may be one of the more haunting percussive numbers to come.
Fans of Hail to the Thief will have no bones to pick with the
new work.
As for fans of Kid A, they got to hear half
the album that night, finally reaffirming the power of “Idioteque”
and “Everything in its Right Place” to those who hadn’t yet had the
advantage of seeing them life (myself being one of them). “Paranoid
Android,” though sadly cut short for performance sake, naturally
stood for itself and sent the crowd yelling at all the “Gucci little
piggy” frat boys “kicking and screaming” to the beer tents during
the newer songs. For those who love Radiohead for their old brand of
3-guitar rock and faltered during the mechanical ramble of Kid
A, the band assured complete satisfaction by unfolding two
precious gems, “Street Sprit” and “Just.”
Hearing a live
version of “Lucky,” one of their more hopeful songs dating from the
OK Computer-era, was like being elevated to a new plane of
musical participation, on the brink of something that couldn’t be
defined at the moment. The song was the band’s last, and it proved
that they had not resigned to concealment in their clouds (or
screens) of a musical Olympus.
If seeing Radiohead really
was like the second coming of the indie rock Christ (and it is, you
can’t disagree), then having Thom Yorke, the messiah of
modern music himself turn the microphone on the audience right
before exiting the stage was a divine sanction for us to go in
peace.
We can all stand strong in our faith in Radiohead. No need for prayers yet… at least until the new
album comes out.
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07.07.06