How do I love 2001? Let me count the ways…

Well, it was in this very year that British tennis recidivist Tim Henman made his declaration that he would never win Wimbledon EVER; even with a special performance enhancing drug in his gullet. “It is beneath me,” he said, “I have greater things to do with my time that fritter it away on measly world-class international tee-nis matches. I have to water my fish, feed my plants. That sort of gubbins. You can hang your tee-nis.”

Yes. Perhaps it was not the sublime annus mirabilis some purport it to be. It was a time of uncertainties and disappointments, which made the arrival of Amnesiac and Kid A from Oxford hop-o’-my-thumbs Radiohead somewhat appropriate. The first record shall be reviewed in due course (after three shots of gin) but we shall plunge headfirst into the hermetically sealed melancholia of Amnesiac.

Before the listener can approach this album, he (or indeed she) must be aware that this music coats on its gloom with a trowel. The sheer doom-and-gloom quotient in this album is tantamount to hurling a few Leonard Cohen albums into a vat of Simon & Garfunkel weepies and stirring for 90 minutes. Then pass it through a colander of The Smiths at their most melodramatic and leave for an hour. This album establishes a pall of sheer darkness and pulls the listener into its miserable netherworld for just over 40 minutes. Whomever survives is a matter of natural selection. That is where we are heading now…

The Music

Packt Like Sardines In A Crushd Tin Box is the understated opener. Opening with a melodious phrase performed on the inside of a wok, it grumbles into a woodland of synthesiser plonks and hyper-modern drum machine throbs. Thom Yorke sings and mumbles at his lowest register, allowing the electronica flourishes to surround him and the doom-filled cornucopia of Pentium IV sound effects to blacken his inner realm. It is robotic and distant to an extreme, although a few tingles reach down the spine of this reviewer as he sings: “After years of waiting, nothing came…”

Pyramid Song is the finest moment on the record. The ominous piano chords, deviating in mind-boggling ways from normal rock time signatures, work to staggering effect with the background hiss and Yorke’s ghostly harmonies in the first 30 seconds. His gorgeous vocals are the spine-chilling focal point of this piece, and the drum, bass and string backing help the tune build to its two or three moments of arresting climax. The last minute, in particular, is breathtaking – an astonishing example of Radiohead at their most poetic, powerful, tragic, sweeping, visceral, cinematic and tear-jerking. Trust me, this track is truly “wow” to the nth degree. And then some.

Less so is Pulk/ Pull Revolving Doors. Instead, it succeeds as being the finest of their OTT experimental tunes. Some of the plonks the band utilised to evoke modern city sounds in OK Computer (Tannoys in airports, train PA systems etc) resurface here; found lurking under an electric bass fuzz that crackles the “melody” through the speakers. Beware those listening on headphones prone to migraines. Your brain will hurt. Yorke’s vocals are squished to make him sound like a steamrollered midget, and his lyrics describes the various types of door in the world, concluding rather spookily: “There are trap doors… that you can’t come back from.”

You and Whose Army? begins like “bedsit miserablism” taken to an extreme. Over a depressive electric guitar sway from Jonny Greenwood, Yorke drawls out his suicidal call to arms. This doomed anti-war anthem teeters on the edge of oblivion for over two minutes, before it builds towards a powerful, rousing climax where Yorke is impassioned but completely indecipherable. The music here is just a jumble of instruments, impossible to differentiate, but ends on an oddly profound note where the meaning is clear but the emotion has been communicated. I rather liked it, you know…

I Might Be Wrong threatens to push the band back towards rock music, and it nearly does. With its distinctive guitar line and drumbeat, it bounces through its shadowy and wistful verses, almost boarding the rhythm train, but opting instead for a cold trek through the atonal wilderness.

There is even the hint of rhythm guitar from Colin Greenwood or the suggestion of live drumming from Phil Selway. Not quite, however. The synthesiser provides all the eeriness here, and the guitar sound is too squished throughout for the track to explode in a sudden burst of punk defiance. Like in the old days. This is a far cry from The Bends, however. The final minute is heartbreaking – over the melancholic guitar line, Yorke whimpers into the darkness of the melody and vanishes without a trace into the silence. Not one for those unequipped with the stuff of sorrow.

Knives Out is overlooked in the Radiohead canon. For obvious reasons. With its stuttering acoustic guitar countermelodies and invading electric guitar plonks, it creates a wonderful atmosphere of hopelessness and Dickensian squalor. Yorke keeps the proceedings pitch-black as he drawls: “Knives out, catch the mouse, squash his head, put him in the pot…”

Morning Bell/Amnesiac is another take on the jittery drum-driven track from Kid A. This version is unlikely to top anyone’s top three Radiohead tunes of all time list. In fact… it’s pretty much just a headache set to music. It might cause untold depression on the listener, but for different reasons. A quite appalling lapse in quality.

Dollars & Cents pulls the album back on track, however. The success of these tunes often hinges on how willing the listener is to accept all the studio wizardry at play. This one utilises lumbering string arrangements, multi-layered vocals and all manner of noisome percussive shuffling and drum noises. The macabre imagery of this piece is its strongest suit, and it helps demonstrates the pinnacle of the band’s experimentation (headache-inducing or not).

Hunting Bears is an instrumental deviation, with the lead guitar distorted so that its edges sound like shrill, disguised yelps off in some distant forest in 2034. I like it. Like Spinning Plates works better in the live version (see reviews below) but the backwards loops and half-chewed vocals create an atmosphere of effective foreboding and provide the soundtrack to a thousand nightmares. The spookiest, most disconcertingly emotional piece on the album.

It is impossible not to feel overawed at the technical feats performed on this album, so the band end with a piece of drunken freeform jazz named Life In A Glasshouse; featuring a guest appearance from 86-year-old trumpet virtuoso Humphrey Lyttleton (and his band). The piano trudges through the ever-weary vocals of Yorke who gets in the way of the sublime brass work here from the old gents. It is a fitting end to such a record full of modern dread and technological workmanship, to have this welcome nod to the past, and it makes for a delightful end to such a grumbling and glorious mess of an LP.

Amnesiac is by no means a classic. It is an experimental platter and splatter. On its own, without its companion piece Kid A, I might be tougher and award it three stars, but given the nature of these two records, for what it sets out to achieve (a demonstration of peerless modern experimentation in rock music) – it does so with much aplomb. There are moments that some will despise where others are enraptured. Such is the nature of experimentation. Given how horrible it all could have been for Radiohead, this album is a strong consolidation of this band’s considerable talents; ably paving the way for their future as trailblazing musical geniuses.

In Rainbows (2007)
Com Lag (2plus2isfive) (2004)
Hail To The Thief (2003)
I Might Be Wrong – Live Recordings (2001)

Recommended: Yes

Great Music to Play While: Going to Sleep