Radiohead - The King Of Limbs

The release of a new Radiohead album is always an event. I got an excited message as to whether or not I was aware of the impending release – I was – and so began the countdown. For many of us, the band remains the seminal author of our musical education. The beloved auteurs that one daren’t express anything other than admiration and loyalty to, and for the most of us, remain the greatest living band of our generation.

ASylum refused to offer his opinion before I had heard the album, saying only that we would exchange thoughts in due time. Intrigued, I immediately plugged it in, only to be greeted by the thought that they, of course, had again succeeded in taking another left turn that was predictable in only that we all knew that we hadn't seen it coming.

I should perhaps admit, at this point, to have become a slightly jaded Radiohead fan. To blast roughly their catalogue, following the career high that was OK Computer, there was an obvious need to break new ground, and so one goes into the experimental detour that turned out to be Kid A. This was followed by its more intelligible brother Amnesiac, and then into Hail To The Thief, which personally, I found slightly disappointing, but was pulled back into the pendulum with In Rainbows and renewed enthusiasm. But, if I am truly honest, I can’t help but feel that my favourite albums remain OK Computer, with I Might Be Wrong following a close second. There is something about the urgency and the slightly ragged edges that distinguish those albums for me, even if I will readily concede to it boiling down to only an issue of taste. When one is taking fractions of degrees between albums, I suppose, one tends to come down a little more cruelly in judgment.

I digress. So with my copy of King of Limbs in a grubby paw, I set down to try and unravel the album. And to document the process, I thought that I might record my thoughts as they came to me, and I post them here, in their rough composition.

Day One

One can almost hear the band decrying that the riff is a relic of the rock behemoth that we have all become obsessed with, and so we must learn to appreciate new forms and different ideas. This is certainly not the return of the great stadium album that the British press has been yearning - the proof that British musicians are still able to produce those global superstars that can dominate the world scene. Instead Radiohead have returned, quite true to fashion, with an album that is not altogether unsurprising, but at the same time, with a mischievous wink and grin of the Loki of the past two decades.

The opening tracks have a sort of stuttering dub-step feel about them, one that clatters and knocks with a insistent beat that is not quite jazz but alien and unusual. The surrounding cast, meanwhile, indulge themselves in the clutter of found sound, ambient noise, and avante-garde classical, where the riffs are cyclical, working in aid of a mood, and Thom Yorke quietly intones his scrapbook of lyrics amongst the other players. One can imagine Phil Selway crying over his drumset, whilst he is restrained to a fairly limited array of strange timings, the Ringo of this array of sounds, and the Greenwoods and O'Brien busy themselves amongst their instruments and various electronic goods. One cannot help but note an element of restraint as the band hold back in some semblance of order, instead of cutting loose into scronk, and pure noise, as the album moves within some of the more experimental notions of their palette but with due acknowledgment to their most recent albums. This means that one is left with a Radiohead album that proudly displays reinvention, but holds something back so that everyone can definitively say that it is still the band that recorded the past 3 albums. The cynic may point out that it is a smart move, commercially, as if the music became unintelligible, the market would accordingly disappear. But then again, this is Radiohead, the band that will sell a million albums, if only to hear Thom Yorke babble and twitch about global warming, or the death of the music industry.

This is Radiohead the electronic band. There is little semblance to the beloved 90's wunderbrats, but rather they have taken a step back towards their very divisive alter ego that was introduced by Kid A. The album, for 5 tracks anyway, has a sort of lounge feel to it, but which contains that unmistakable Radiohead cool. However, with the close of the album, the act runs a little thin, and one is again confronted by a band that knows how to write songs which cannot hide their pop sensibilities. In "Codex", one is treated to the closest thing to a ballad that they have produced in some time, as a throbbing piano colours Yorke's unmistakable warble, and pulses gently knock in the background. This gives way to "Give Up The Ghost" which sees them channel something of a Volcano Choir atmosphere- falsetto and treated vocals intertwine gorgeously with Yorke to create a deceptively simple and beautiful song. And then finally, "Separator" opens with the most conventional presentation on the album, in which something of a "Bends" era feel peers cheekily from beneath the glossy veneer. And, at last, we are indulged with an unmistakable Johnny Greenwood riff that sparkles in its simplicity. One can forgive him for wishing to forgo the howling solos of his earlier career, but with an ability to write such eerily gorgeous riffs, perhaps he can forgive us for longing to hear more from him.

And so it is that another Radiohead album has found its way into our hands. It is not the album people were hoping for, but perhaps it is the one that was expected. It is Radiohead after all, so woe betide the person that speaks afoul of the band. However, this album will not satisfy everyone, even if it is sure to excite any amount of digital ink expounded in love and hate. This behaviour woiuld occur regardless of what they had produced, as is the response from the critics whom will build into a frenzy in its praise. And after 4 years, and another 8 songs, the artists that seem to do no wrong have once again returned, steadfastly towing the line of overtly refusing to bow to any sort of commercial pressure, or fan whims, but, at the same, time, quietly ingesting various scene moves, and genre signifiers. There is something of a note of despair as I write this, as the return of the 80's music scene becomes ominously prevalent, with even Radiohead, seemingly unable to avoid it. A change is desperately needed, this I will concede, although I somehow doubt that this is it. But then again, who does? And Radiohead, even if at times it seems that they would wish away their fans and their desires, will doubtlessly win even more, as they always do.

Week Two

I hear reports that the critics are unanimously in support of this album, although they all seem to indicate that it is a slow appreciation that will only develop over many listens. I can sort of understand how that may happen, as due to the band, many of us want to like everything that they do. It is almost akin to that book that if you have successfully managed to finish it, it can then be displayed as a signifier of your intellectual stature. "I mostly only read Proust" or "I have read Gravity's Rainbow and that is my favourite book". 

ASylum has already signaled initial disappointment, although he is endeavouring to further immerse himself, reporting that he sees potential in tracks “Morning Mr Magpie” and “Little By Little”. I have to, however, concede some severe misgivings on the album. There is something missing, and they have moved into a genre that, personally, I feel little empathy for. I suppose I must also admit that upon further listening, Selway appears to be a more subtly intricate presence than I initially thought. But the opening track opens into something of a dance band weaving jazz rhythms, but in a way that lacks the sort of alien rejection that permeated Kid A. An opener by which to signal what is to come, and certainly a track to lead the listener into the new musical world that Radiohead have created for this album. This then bleeds into "Morning Mr Magpie" which opens with a stuttering guitar solo, but similarly, clutches to tension more than anything else. This then continues into "Little By Little", which on closer examination, sounds more emblematic of "In Rainbows" than upon first glance. A walking bass, leads into the densely immersive electronic field that is a hallmark of recent Radiohead, but there is a disconcerting ticking electronic that is the centrepiece around which the song revolves. A reminder that this is the more dance friendly Radiohead...

And it is at this point that I realized that pursuing this exercise was possibly more harmful to my objectivity than beneficial, and that, actually, I was not enjoying it. Happily, ASylum agreed, advising that he feared that he was becoming obsessed, so much so that possibly it would be better to leave the album to lie for a moment. In truth, I am deeply disappointed, but I must qualify this by saying only that the band has taken a turn in genre that I simply do not like. My ability to appreciate electronic music extends only to ambience and exercises in sound, but beyond this, I can only shrug diffidently to my tutelage in the 60’s and being obstinate. I am, indeed, the same person that was recently mocked for still using Winamp and a p2p.

But it is entirely understandable that any person who becomes obsessed by music would begin to question what it is that constitutes “music”. For many of us, “music” was originally defined by some artist that had a seminal impact upon our conscience. Be it the 60’s, punk, or metal, there is a time when sound begins to make sense beyond being just noise. It does not follow that we necessarily should become constrained by that original conception, but it does provide a blueprint through which one is confronted by whether a lack of a beat, rhythm or melodic lyric crosses the line between a song being defined as music or as only sound. I have heard something of this conundrum in Radiohead for some time, especially as they have become increasingly infamous for stretching the boundaries between their pop sensibilities and their experimental tendencies. In fact, it is the success that they have had in straddling this divide that has led to the cult fandom which they now enjoy. 

However, the thought that is burning a hole in my head is one that struck whilst listening to “Lotus Flower”. I cannot help but imagine the band as middle-aged men (which they are), who, in fact, would be far happier to simply sip their herbal tea and quietly do their yoga without the hubbub that surrounds their every move. I cannot blame them. I fear that possibly we have become so obsessed with trying to guess where their next musical idea is going to lead them, that we have forgotten that, ultimately, we just want to listen to the music that they make. Expectations are always going to be unreasonable, and in fact, I fear that we have permeated the band to such an extent that they sit and evaluate their compositions by only whether they have done it before as opposed to whether they actually like it or not.  

People are entitled to an opinion. Perhaps it is time that we extend the same luxury to the band. Instead, people write that this is the greatest release of their career, even if “it takes considerable effort and immersion to hear it”. I may be cynical, but in my view, if you listen something long enough, determined to like what you are hearing, you will find merit. This is Radiohead, they are a proven outfit who are extremely inventive, great musicians, and who make music that is dense and heavily layered with nuance. But beyond all of this, it still doesn’t mean that you have to like it.

The album is divisive, some people will love, others will not. This is only my two cents, even if I admit that by entering the fray in this manner, I am further fuelling the problem. But, perhaps, it is time to listen to the band for the album that they have produced, as opposed to weighing it down with the legend that has preceded it. Maybe then we can finally arrive at a point where we don't need to endure the bleating of those who have bought blindly and who then loudly provide justification to all and sundry for the purchase.