Radiohead, Finally, Sort Of
The gods do not want me to see Radiohead in concert. This has been the case for quite some time.
Not to be indier-than-thou, but I really was listening to Thom and the gang before most kids in the States. My Mom was dating a Brit many a year ago, around the release of their first album, and as such I had the transatlantic hookup. But, being much too young for concert-going at the time (6th grade?) I never saw the Stateside tours for their first two albums. But about the time OK Computer rolled around I had made significant forays into live music-going, and the ’head was set to play the Tibetan Freedom Concert in my hometown, DC. Without fail, that day of the concert was rained out just an act or two before Radiohead was supposed to take the stage. That night word spread via then-hip altrock radio station 99.1 that Radiohead would play a free show for disappointed Freedom Concert ticket holders at my favorite DC club, the 9:30. A friend and I tried desperately to get in, but by the time we arrived the line into the club wrapped around two blocks and the club was already at capacity. No dice.
I think Radiohead may have toured through DC at some point since then, but I never bothered trying to go; I was all but defeated. But my father, generous chap that he is, picked me up a couple tickets for the show they played last night at Merriweather, figuring that I wouldn’t make the effort myself. A couple of days ago I joked with my companion for the evening that something would have to go wrong. Should’ve knocked on wood twice.
We set out with a good 45 minutes for a normally half-hour drive. A few minutes on the road, already locked into nasty freeway traffic, I realized I had left the tickets at my house. We turned around, grabbed ’em, piled back in the car and resumed our place in the 495 commuter snarl, crawled our way up to 95, got confused by exit numbers, made it to Columbia, creaked up to Route 29N, and finally to the Merriweather exit where one stagnant lane edged towards parking. The evening was supposed to begin at 6:30 and it was now nearly 8:30, the opening band having long since played. We could hear “Creep” floating on the night breeze around the outdoor stadium as we raced to the entrance and joined the throng standing in their bleacher seats, never reaching the spot we had tickets for.
We caught what must have been two encores of sorts, a good 45 minutes of Radiohead. It was the best-mixed concert I’ve ever heard: the acoustics rivaled their albums, and whomever was working the sound board is a god among audio engineers. The stage was ablaze with lights and smoke, and a giant LED backdrop scrolled seemingly random letters until it finally settled on “FOREVER” at the end of the show. Impeccably trained roadies, the ball boys of touring concerts, switched out the band’s instruments with speed and precision between songs. And the songs themselves were near-perfect recreations of the album material.
And yet, it was any big stadium concert: huge, somewhat gaudy, teeming with screaming, drunken fans, and utterly impersonal. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes when the stadium went up in cheers as Thom crooned “bring down the government/they don’t/they don’t speak for us,” a line intended in a sort of sad sarcasm in one of their anthems to the overload of modern life, “No Surprises.” But it’s not fair to judge the band against the crowd, particularly when you’re a jaded bastard.
As good as the band was, the whole experience reminded me why I gave up on big concerts. I was most excited by the final five minutes, during which Johnny twisted Thom’s voice and the final notes of “Everything In Its Right Place” with a Korg Kaoss Pad, layering the warped sounds over a thumping beat. I’m guessing that was the extent of experimentation/improvisation in their set, and in that respect I don’t feel like I missed much. Of course I’m rationalizing. But when the gods are crystal clear on fucking you over (Radiohead concert-wise), what else can you do?