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Thom Yorke
What I do like, of course, is Thom Yorke, a genius whom I had never seen live, and Flea, also quite great, so I don’t fault myself for making the mistake of requesting to cover this set. But still, The Eraser? This was a dull, dull record. Not a bad record, mind you, just a niche record, a bedroom record, to be greatly beloved by a few, and certainly not meant for the Green Stage on any night of the weekend.
So, you know where I’m coming from here, and consider yourself warned that you might prefer reading Clay’s excellent preview if you liked the show (or if you just like bagging on Gene Simmons). (And you are not a good human being if you don’t like bagging on Gene Simmons.)
My first time to see him live, it is clear that Yorke must have long since been welcomed by Dylan and Springsteen into the pantheon of unlikely superstars. Looking like a hobo John McEnroe (unshaven, unkempt, headband, etc.), his movements are not graceful, but hunched and greasy, almost golem-like. He struts about a bit like a slutty 1970’s secretary who knows she is too smart for the glass ceiling (a.k.a., Rod Stewart). Except, again, he looks like a hobo John McEnroe golem, which makes it a little creepy. Good thing talent still counts for something in this world. And shame on you all for thinking about such low matters.
(I should point out, too, that thirty Helens would agree that I look much worse than Thom Yorke, and haven’t half the talent to boot.)
Flea
Flea is much more the man’s man, ladies man, psychotic clown’s man, etc. He stalks and paces the stage, back and forth, hugging his bass guitar and bouncing and bopping around, in spite of the very downtempo music. At one point he sat down in the middle of the floor on a whim, and cradled the bass so as to play it like a classical guitar, which is really a close approximation to his style.
Complaint: you couldn’t really hear the notes he was playing, at least not from the several different vantages I stood listening. Kind of defeats the whole purpose of having such a distinctive master of the instrument in the band. Dom said his bass was his favorite part of the show, so it could just be vantage. And anyway, the band could certainly hear it, and his strong presence was clearly dictating the groove, giving the whole thing a subtle Flea feel. A Fleal, if you will.
As the show wore on, there were more exits than entrances from the crowd, but it certainly wasn’t a stampeding egres even once it was clear what this band was going to be about. (More evidence that I’m a blowhard?) The crowd down front stayed at at least 90-95% of what it was at the start.
After they finished The Eraser, they took a break and returned to play, as Yorke said, “some other stuff, which is wicked”. This included the excellent Amnesiac track I Might Be Wrong, in an acoustic version. Good, but a little sloppily played, and Yorke might have been feeling off that night, because on the next one, the haunting and gorgeous new song Give Up The Ghost, he tried to loop the vocal line “don’t hurt me” interspersed with microphone taps on the three, but his rhythm was off on the first attempt, and when he retried it it still wasn’t quite right. He went with it anyway, warts and all, but it left me distracted.
They also played the one song the band has written together, the unspectacular Judge, Jury, and Executioner, and then dusty Radiohead B-Sides and album tracks like Paperbag Writer and Videotape.
Can You Fleal It?
So, you probably think I’m being a philistine here, but I guess this has always been my relationship with Radiohead. They are clearly the greatest band walking the planet right now. Who makes their best record, In Rainbows, in their 15th year of making records? Untouchable. But still, their actual output is hit and miss, with half their songs being the best created by anyone ever, and the other half going straight out my other ear (or, more likely, over my head) and off my iPod. Yorke basically took this opportunity to craft a show of latter-half songs.
And, to be fair: The fry cook waiting in line at the staff biffies loved it. So did many other people I spoke with. It wasn’t like MGMT, where everyone seemed to be waiting for the hits (spiritlessly performed, in the event) and enduring their crappy crappy second album. (Everyone=me and the couple from Fukushima in front of me.) And maybe it’s just location. This stuff would be wicked at a small stage, which is probably how Yorke envisioned it in the first place. He can’t help it if he’s a superstar.
So shall we stump for a Yorke solo show at the Gypsy Avalon? Heck, that might even be better than a hammock. (Sorry, Spencer, but I’m sure you understand, it’s Thom Yorke.)
-Kern
photos by maeda. more here (and read Hondo Sayaka’s review for someone else who liked it while you’re at it)
