Our Radiohead "worst-to-first" countdown has cracked the top 30 as the excitement mounts. Tell us what you think of picks 30-21.
Song 30: "Like Spinning Plates"
Album: "Amnesiac"
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I’ve always felt like this song off "Amnesiac," well-placed right before the momentous album closer “Life In A Glasshouse,” was a good barometer for whether or not you could deal with Radiohead, post-"OK Computer." Let’s face it: There are some people who want their music a little easier, a little more spoon-fed, and for them, Radiohead from "Kid A" on is probably not their cup of tea. To each their own. Radiohead will never be the "great consensus band," and for that all of their fans are eternally grateful.
If you can get by the unmitigated weirdness of “Like Spinning Plates,” the completely disorienting feeling of having a track zip by you seemingly in reverse, you’re likely to get caught up in how unexpectedly moving it is. I’m not going to pretend to be an expert in avant-garde music, but I personally have never heard something like “Plates,” which somehow, despite the fact that most human brains just aren’t wired to process such sounds, congeals into something so, well I’ll say it, beautiful.
So you can make all the jokes about the dwarf from Twin Peaks being responsible for the lead vocal on the song. It’s fine. And if you can’t quite wrap your head around it all, that’s fine too. But I’m here to tell you that “Like Spinning Plates” is a recording that requires a balancing act not unlike the title of the song, because Radiohead finds a way on the track to bewitch even as they bewilder.
Song 29: "Karma Police"
Album: "OK Computer"
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I hear a split personality when I listen to “Karma Police”, which manages to sound both gentle and ominous. The first part of the song, to these ears anyway, is what can happen if you fall in with the crowd that can’t abide anything or anyone different from their particular worldview to enter the picture. They use whatever tactics necessary, be they subtle cajoling or forceful bullying to perpetuate their vision of how things should be.
The music represents this dichotomy brilliantly. The downcast guitar and piano seem to sadly comment on these injustices, while Colin Greenwood’s bass line is somewhat sinister, doubling Thom Yorke’s vengeful vocal. And Phil Selway’s beat is like a truncheon to the skull, all force with no questions asked. Perhaps most nefarious of all is the section when the music drops away to reveal just a tinkling piano as Yorke sings with a condescending sneer, “This is what you get/When you mess with us.”
But then the individual breaks through the mid control and the song abruptly changes into something dreamlike and distant, as Yorke sings with a desperate yelp, over and over, “For a minute there, I lost myself”, trying to regain the better parts of himself.
Maybe that’s more of a science fiction reading than the band intended; you can also look at it as the oppressed singing the first part, attempting to rise up against those determined to keep them down. In that case, the “Karma Police” become a positive force.
Whatever the case, the band likely had their collective tongue in their collective cheek, at least a little bit, as they laid this one down. But they do their job so well here that it’s very easy to take this song at face value and start looking over your shoulder for the “Karma Police” coming after you.
Song 28: "Backdrifts"
Album: "Hail to the Thief"
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The title might lead one to take a political message from this song and assume that it represents a diatribe against all those who would make lofty promises only to revert to the same old nonsense. I’m sure there’s a little of that in here, but I get more of a general sense of regret. The “Backdrifts” in this case would occur with anyone whose intentions start out lofty only to renege on them once everyday pressures and realities squash those hopes. The futility is evident in that old cliché that pervades the song: “We tried but there was nothing we could do.”
The message might be difficult to gather from this song just because it’s so easy to get caught up in the music and forget about everything else. Starting with synthesizer effects that sound like a protracted alien landing, the song quickly launches into a peppery computerized beat that drives the whole affair. As downbeat as the lyrics may be, that beat promotes dancing at the end of the world.
My favorite moment of the song comes when the beat and the synth squiggles fall away for a moment and Thom Yorke lets out with an “Oh-oh-oh” exclamation. It has the feel of a live performance at that point, as if the frontman got completely caught up in the breathless music. That cry, part-anguished, part-cathartic, gives this Hail to the Thief song a beating heart to go alone with its shaking rump.
Song 27: "Idioteque"
Album: "Kid A"
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While I didn’t plan it this way, it does serve as a fascinating contrast to have “Idioteque” follow “Backdrifts” on this list. Their DNA is similar in that they both ride a programmed beat throughout and are essentially digital soundscapes. But whereas “Backdrifts” sounds unexpectedly funky, “Idioteque” sounds like the future coming to get us.
The beat in “Idioteque” is too fast for dancing; you could have a seizure to it, perhaps. Coupled with those digitized chords, playing over and over (courtesy of a sample from '70s electronic music purveyor Paul Lansky), the whole thing sounds icy and barren, the soundtrack of a post-apocalypse wasteland.
And Thom Yorke’s frenzied vocals only add to the scene, as he blurts out chilling non-sequiturs that somehow add up in the end, starting with that chilling first question: “Who’s in a bunker?” “We’re not scare-mongering/This is really happening,” he sings in a desperate attempt to get through. The stakes are high.
Whatever you feel about Radiohead’s shift away from traditional rock on "Kid A," I don’t know how you can deny the impact of a powerful piece of music like “Idioteque.” The delivery system for the message may have changed, but Radiohead’s execution of that delivery is unquestionably flawless.
Song 26: "Climbing Up the Walls"
Album: "OK Computer"
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That booming drum beat is like the sound of impending doom on “Climbing Up the Walls." Thom Yorke once described the song as being about the “cupboard monster.” (I’m partial to Cupboard Monster III: Baking Soda Massacre, but that’s just me.) Seriously though, that description doesn’t due to justice to the horrors this song conveys.
That’s because this is about the most frightening terror there is: That which resides in our own minds. No Hollywood hack could ever conjure up the things that invade our darkest dreams; no slasher movie can hold a candle to our subconscious. When Thom Yorke sings, “And either way you turn, I’ll be there,” the inevitability of that statement is what makes it so spine-tingling.
The band is more than up to the task of creating music suitably spooky enough to accompany the theme. In particular, the string parts created by Jonny Greenwood are stirring, and when he joins along on guitar in the instrumental section toward the end of the song, it’s a breathtaking moment as they soar together to try and rise above the fear. It eventually all derails in chaotic white noise at the end, making it clear that “Climbing Up the Walls” is one horror movie in which no one is spared for the sequel.
Song 25: "(Nice Dream)"
Album: "The Bends"
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Delicate but not sappy, this parenthetical prize off "The Bends" finds the group indulging their melodic side and revealing that they can folk it up with the best of them. Of course, they don’t let it get too sweet, scuzzing things up a bit with Jonny Greenwood’s slashing guitars in the instrumental passage toward the end of the song.
Still, the prevalent mood here is mellow, and it turns out the sighing strings are a perfect accompaniment for one of Thom Yorke’s most naked vocals, filled with nostalgia and hurt for the dream that cannot be. If later albums found the band rebelling against melody, there were still plenty of lovely tunes to be sung early in their career.
The brief passage when Ed O’Brien answers Yorke’s refrain with a little call-and-response is beautifully heartfelt and really shows tenderness that no amount of big guitars could ever hide. Not that they should feel the need to hide it, because there’s no shame in putting a honeydripper as pretty as this out into the world.
Song 24: "Videotape"
Album: "In Rainbows"
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Proving the band, for all its ability to bring the thunder, still likes to go out on a slow one, “Videotape” concludes "In Rainbows" on a nakedly beautiful note. Don’t be surprised if you feel a tear welling up at the end of this one.
Thom Yorke portrays a dying man who can’t bear to say goodbye to say to his family and friends face-to-face, so he does it through the filter of a VCR. Those melancholy chords allow you to feel like you’re right in the room with the family, watching this farewell. And when the basic two drum beats begin to feed back on each other, it’s like the tape has begun to malfunction in the machine, but no one can bear to remove it.
Yorke doesn’t allow things to get overly sentimental; his protagonist clearly has his demons, as evidenced by the devil snapping at his heels. But he also knows what’s meant the most to him in his life: “You are my center when I spin away.” You get the feeling that a bit of Yorke’s own feelings slipped into the mix in that line.
Jonny Greenwood and Nigel Godrich get credit for the save here, as they rescued what was allegedly a frenzied version of the song by stripping it to its bare essentials, flooring Yorke when he heard the results. You can understand why he was impressed; “Videotape” is a heartbreaker that anyone who has lost a loved one, or has one that they couldn’t stand to lose, can feel to their core.
Song 23: "2+2=5"
Album: "Hail to the Thief"
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“You have not been paying attention.” One of the cool things about a band like Radiohead is that they don’t have their heads in the sand, and they’re more than willing to expose the warts of the world for their audience to hear even when it might be easier to sing love songs. And yet it never feels like medicine, because they can present tough material in such a way that it slides into the audience’s subconscious.
You might not know exactly what Thom Yorke is so upset about on this, the opening track on "Hail to the Thief," but the way his voice practically quivers with anger, you know he’s upset. You might not catch the Orwellian reference in the title, but you can tell by the way the music keeps fragmenting into different tempos and vibes that something doesn’t add up.
What you should be able to glean from this furiously brilliant performance is that sitting back and letting it all happen just doesn’t cut it these days. We can talk all day about the intricacies of this recording, how wonderfully the band marries some of their digital innovation with good old-fashioned thunder, but attention must be paid to the message: If you stick your head in the sand, you might not like what you see when you come up for air.
Song 22: "The Bends"
Album: "The Bends"
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I think that the main improvement that Radiohead made from "Pablo Honey" to "The Bends," besides the obviously better songwriting, was that the band found a way to bring the drama that they cultivated on the slower material of the first album to the harder stuff on the second. On "Pablo Honey," the rock songs tended to be all bluster with little payoff; that problem got corrected in a big way on "The Bends."
The title track is a glorious example of this. As Thom Yorke brilliantly dissects his entire generation in one of his finest set of lyrics, the band thunders all around him with purpose and precision. The guitar crunch is never needless, and it wisely clears room when the singer must get his point across.
But most of all, the music manages to transcends the dead-end situation of the protagonist, rising to staggering heights. Suddenly this guy “with the drip-feed on” finds a meaning to it all, bellowing “I wanna live, breathe/I wanna be part of the human race.”
His triumph is short-lived unfortunately, as the guitars humbly recede and he’s left with his opening queries still unanswered: “Where do we go from here?” and “Where are you now when I need you?” This is a brilliant song, top-to-bottom, and even I can’t believe now that I think there are 21 songs better to come. But I swear that there are.
Song 21: "My Iron Lung"
Album: "The Bends"
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We’re back to "The Bends" for another blast of crunching rock, although “My Iron Lung” is far more unhinged. Known for that absolutely blistering breakdown that occurs several times during the song, this music takes a far more aggressive approach in trying to break free from the constraints that Thom Yorke’s lyrics imply.
The echoes of Nirvana are evident in the sound of this song, but that’s the less significant comparison here. Yorke’s ability to take his own personal concerns and make them generationally relevant is far more germane to the discussion, because that’s the real legacy of Kurt Cobain’s songwriting. A lot of bands can do quiet/loud; very few have songs that are so resonant. Radiohead has those songs, and they have them still even as their music has veered away from the limits inherent in the grunge genre. I have a feeling Cobain would have eventually got out of that box as well.
Yorke was clearly having issues with having to perform “Creep” ad nauseam, and that inspired this track, but “My Iron Lung” becomes more than that. The lyrics speak to the way that cynicism can be a fall-back stance to avoid really dealing with life. Building a wall up against the negatives only leads to isolation for this protagonist, and that woozy guitar riff that drives the song is perfectly pitched to enhance the feeling of numbness.
The fact that the band recorded this track from a live performance really brings a crackle to the proceedings; the guitars punch through with a skewed glory that a studio might have dampened. Yorke famously sings, “This is our new song/Just like the last one/A total waste of time.” In the context of the song, those lines are piercing and pointed. In the context of Radiohead, well, nothing could have been further from the truth.
