In 1994 Radiohead were unliked and unlikely Oxford outcasts (Radiohead? Crazyhead? Birdland?) who’d scored a flukey hit stateside with ‘Creep’. A year later they were the indie nerd’s answer to Oasis as the best band to come out of the UK since The Smiths.
Suffering American tour burnout and smarting from the knowledge that they were capable of far better than the respectable but patchy debut Pablo Honey, the quintet knuckled down to craft a stellar set of songs characterised by a wired, tired and jet-lagged atmosphere that managed to sound simultaneously jaded and inspired.
The opening ‘Planet Telex’ was a shimmering multi-layered concerto for voice and guitar. ‘My Iron Lung’ was a masterclass in how to vary dynamics, drama and volume. Plus, the record in its entirety acted as a showcase for Jonny Greenwood, whose solos were as melodic as they were painstakingly planned, the rock ‘n’ roll embodiment of Flaubert’s dictum that a man should be ordered and regular in his life that he be wild and unpredictable in his work.
But of course it was Thom’s moral panics and communication breakdowns that dominated the lyrical department. ‘The Bends’, ‘High & Dry’ and ‘Fake Plastic Trees’ all sounded, notwithstanding the stunning tunes, like the last words of a man suffering passion fatigue. Then there were the moments where the band seemed to drift out of their collective body and play above their own capabilities: the gorgeous ‘Black Star’ and the ghostly nocturne of the closing ‘Street Spirit’.
OK Computer was more ambitious, but this one had all the best tunes.