Wednesday, September 25, 2002
Soft Lull: A Beautiful Journey
~
Good Music By Good People: Radiohead
So, it's Wednesday and I definitely know why the middle of the week is the not the pinnacle of the Roman calendar. At least I think I'm pretty sure. 7 days and what to do?
Maybe enjoy the soft lull that is Radiohead's decadent offering "Kid A," a delicious, wonderfully erratic thing from the people that made you reaffirm that things might, just in fact, go "bump" in the night.
Orchestrated screaming and undiluted beats keep these tracks on the unending "things to do and emulate" list you keep in your back pocket. You know it's true. This album rides away, taking us somewhere that few mainstream (?) bands can. Half suicidal and half diluted, the liner notes read like a hand sketch done by Paddy Clarke (of "Ha ha ha" fame) himself. It's like Roddy Doyle meets Thom York, insomuch as a verbiose detailing of things that were, things that are and things we can only look forward to. There's a crest only a few albums can ride so gently and this is one. It opens so archaic and violent, disrupting the ear drums, getting higher, higher, higher then tipping like a drunk who's lost the reassuring grip of a brass rail -- these tracks penetrate and soothe simultaneously. "Everything in its right place", alright.
I think the question is what are other bands doing in their spare time that isn't making them happy and serviable to the listening constituency? The answer lies somewhere in Radiohead's backyard lot of broken parts, re-sewn teddy bears and poems discarded by its skid row whores. It's an extravagant intersection, really, where the right has obviously met the left and not only discussed the nature of all things lowly and planetary, but what colour should be worn during lunch on a Sunday afternoon. I don't have the answers to these conversations: "Kid A" does.
Give me bass, give me the tinkering of a cavalcade of far-off trumpets, give me the soft-spoken thoughts of a beautiful pianist and we could then only begin to create what this album has achieved. Ouch.
Sit up, stand stiff, and fill you ears and soul with the juice of a chemistry experiment gone right. Now settle down, it's time for the National Anthem.
Czech it.
S*
2002.09.25
Good Music By Good People: Radiohead
So, it's Wednesday and I definitely know why the middle of the week is the not the pinnacle of the Roman calendar. At least I think I'm pretty sure. 7 days and what to do?
Maybe enjoy the soft lull that is Radiohead's decadent offering "Kid A," a delicious, wonderfully erratic thing from the people that made you reaffirm that things might, just in fact, go "bump" in the night.
Orchestrated screaming and undiluted beats keep these tracks on the unending "things to do and emulate" list you keep in your back pocket. You know it's true. This album rides away, taking us somewhere that few mainstream (?) bands can. Half suicidal and half diluted, the liner notes read like a hand sketch done by Paddy Clarke (of "Ha ha ha" fame) himself. It's like Roddy Doyle meets Thom York, insomuch as a verbiose detailing of things that were, things that are and things we can only look forward to. There's a crest only a few albums can ride so gently and this is one. It opens so archaic and violent, disrupting the ear drums, getting higher, higher, higher then tipping like a drunk who's lost the reassuring grip of a brass rail -- these tracks penetrate and soothe simultaneously. "Everything in its right place", alright.
I think the question is what are other bands doing in their spare time that isn't making them happy and serviable to the listening constituency? The answer lies somewhere in Radiohead's backyard lot of broken parts, re-sewn teddy bears and poems discarded by its skid row whores. It's an extravagant intersection, really, where the right has obviously met the left and not only discussed the nature of all things lowly and planetary, but what colour should be worn during lunch on a Sunday afternoon. I don't have the answers to these conversations: "Kid A" does.
Give me bass, give me the tinkering of a cavalcade of far-off trumpets, give me the soft-spoken thoughts of a beautiful pianist and we could then only begin to create what this album has achieved. Ouch.
Sit up, stand stiff, and fill you ears and soul with the juice of a chemistry experiment gone right. Now settle down, it's time for the National Anthem.
Czech it.
S*
2002.09.25
