Best Albums Ever: Radiohead, Kid A
I am ashamed to admit I only recently discovered the awesomeness that is Radiohead. To understand this maddening fact, you have to know where my head was throughout the 1990’s and 2000’s.
Historically, I went against the grain: If something was popular in the music world, I made a conscious effort not to like it or become a fan. It was my way of individualizing myself. Teenyboppers? Forget it: I scoffed at their immaturity and lack of depth. Grunge or alt-rock? No way: It was a bunch of noise. One notable exception regarding my tendency to gravitate away from popular acts is my love for the Spice Girls, but when I fell in love with them, most of the US hadn’t even caught onto their vibe yet.
Mostly, I was transfixed by melodic songs, new age and pop and anything with a powerful female voice. Yes, I admit it; I preferred hearing women sing. This wasn’t a decision, it was just what I liked (no offense to the guys, and I would later discover just how evocative and expressive men could be). I was also very heavily into experimental electronica and dance music. My obsession with those genres continues now, but it was what I lived for back then. One of my favorite pastimes was scouring the racks for the best dance compilations or obscure music (Dot Allison, Sarah Cracknell), and if a song I loved was remixed, you better believe I went to the ends of the earth to find those remixes.
Imagine my surprise when I recently found out that during the midst of my big electronica obsession in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, I completely missed what is perhaps one of the best (if not the best) electronica albums ever made by a rock band. Radiohead’s Kid A was and still is massive, groundbreaking, exceptional and awesome, and I had no idea my ownpreferences prejudices were depriving me of a musical experience unlike anything I’ve ever heard.
Kid A is my first venture with Radiohead. What suddenly sparked my interest in this particular album (or the band, for that matter) is lost to memory, but listening to several of its songs on YouTube quickly convinced me that this was the first Radiohead album I should experience. This undoubtedly influences my opinion of the album: It’s sentimental, because it made me fall in love with them as a band. I’ve since bought other records from their catalog, and though they’re great (especially OK Computer), for me, Kid A is their masterpiece. OK Computer, though fantastic and aggressively innovative, is, for me, slightly trumped by the more refined, mature, and elegant experimentation of Kid A. To be fair, I haven’t even heard In Rainbows yet (and I’ll probably write a blog for that one as I listen to every song for the very first time).
Of course I’d heard of Radiohead for years. I knew they were English, and I knew they played rock; but there are so many facets to rock, and details of the band eluded me. Back then, there was no easy way to research exactly what genre or sub-genres an artist played. The infancy of the internet prevented such easy revelations. To know the details, you had to buy the albums or find a stellar biography. And I was so intent to spend my saved up lunch money on what I deemed to be more important music, there was no way I’d take such a big chance on a band that was simply ‘rock’.
How ignorant I was.
My appreciation for Radiohead’s catalog (because really, it is entirely brilliant) is extensive, but for this blog, I’ll keep my focus on Kid A.
But where to begin? It’s difficult to contain my excitement for this album, because I only bought it a couple weeks ago. I was so convinced it would be a momentous experience, I bought the actual CD, because there are just some albums one needs a tangible copy of. I’m still on a high with it, listening to it nonstop: This is a rare opportunity to express my first impressions in detail, because they’re so clear and fresh. I’m going to relish this, and probably write way too much, for which I will not apologize.
From the moment “Everything In Its Right Place” begins, you’re sucked into a world without boundaries; a world with ambiguous energy that feels like contentment simply floating in a bubble in space, with nothing and no one else in sight. It’s a frightening concept, but strangely inviting, and it carries throughout the rest of the album. A persisting beat supports syncopated, simple melodies of dissonance and pulsing arpeggios, Thom Yorke’s lumbering and detached (but calculated) vocals pulling it all together. Every instrument and even the vocals are tinged with digital effects; blips, intensifiers, flangers, backwards masking and distortion. It’s an unsettling, unnerving, brilliant experience; like removing filtered sunglasses and seeing something bright for the first time. And despite the aimless feeling it evokes, it somehow gives you a sense of completeness. The effect this song has on your ears is amazing, despite its minimalism. I have to admit: When I heard him sing, “I woke up sucking a lemon”, I freaked out a little bit: Dude, I love lemons. Thom, are you talking to me?!
“Kid A” gives off a different energy, but still a curious one. I love the contradicting sounds: A busy, syncopated drumbeat sits against the charming music box so beautifully. This song took time to grow on me and wasn’t my favorite on first listen. But every time I hear it, there’s something else I like about it. The vocals are extremely manipulated, so much so you can’t understand what’s being sung. It creates another ambiguous atmosphere that’s very relaxing, almost enlightening, playful. Then, when you read the lyrics, you realize it might not be what you thought it was. Brilliant. The atmospheric strings that sneak in just after the halfway point are perfect.
“The National Anthem” drove me crazy at first, and not in a good way. That repetitive bassline, the harsh brass at the end… it was, initially, a nuisance to my ears. But like anything that gets under your skin, I’ve come to love this. I bob my head incessantly whenever I hear it now: Those drums! This was originally meant as a b-side for OK Computer, and I’m so, so happy it was saved for this album. You can truly appreciate the detail with headphones (and in fact, this goes for every song on the album). There are some absolutely brilliant sounds in this, like spooky alien ships landing and subtle layered echoes backing Yorke’s vocals. It’s the best example of digital edits and manipulation on the entire album. It’s a crazy, chaotic brass party where it’s every player for himself, and it’s great.
Some have claimed “How To Disappear Completely” is the best song on the album. I don’t know (yet) if I feel the same way, but I do know I loved it immediately. It’s the first song that feels more like a song instead of a sonic experimentation. Finally, a needed break from the distortion: Melancholy acoustics, subdued bass, Yorke’s potent lyrics, and a lingering high chord that adds just the right amount of tension. Later, aching strings join and swell (recorded in Dorchester Abbey, Oxfordshire), and it’s euphoric. It lumbers along brilliantly, ever slowly, with sparkling treble arpeggios accenting the growing intensity. It’s actually quite repetitive, but the melody and lyrics are so wonderful, so tender and happily somber, repetition is welcome.
I read a comment from someone saying that “Treefingers” could have been omitted because it’s “basically a wasted instrumental.” It almost made me angry (here I go, being all passionate and defending something I love because it means so much). This song reminds me of Ulrich Schnauss, and I think it’s a needed piece on the album. It’s warm, inviting, perfect for a lazy morning with your coffee or tea on the porch, watching the sunrise. True, no vocals ever appear, but they aren’t needed anyway. The ambience was created with Ed O’Brien’s sampled and digitally processed guitar. I never would have guessed. It sounds wide and broad, and it takes you places.
When I first heard “Optimistic”, it immediately reminded me of Coldplay. More accurately, Coldplay reminds me of this, but I heard Coldplay first. This is easily the most radio-friendly and upbeat song on the album, but even that’s pushing it. Still, it’s catchy with a subtle hook and more familiar, comfortable rock arrangements. The guitars playfully bounce and grate against the pounding rhythms, and Yorke’s falsetto, as always, sets off the atmospheric vibe. After hearing such wild experimentation in the previous tracks, when I first heard this, I was almost bored. But it’s grown on me, and I love it. It sits perfectly between the warmth of “Treefingers” and shifts flawlessly into “In Limbo”. And that wistful, laid back ending? Wow, that sounds like Ivy.
When I say the transition between “Optimistic” and “In Limbo” is flawless, I mean it literally. I didn’t even notice where the dividing line was initially, and as I listened to this album on my last run through the neighborhood, I completely forgot these were two separate songs. But despite the unnoticeable shift, “In Limbo” is far more progressive and intriguing than its predecessor. The song is less structured, more improvised, more surprising. It appropriately begins at what feels like the midst of a song. I find myself getting more addicted every time I hear it. The guitars have a conversation back and forth, and Yorke’s lyrics are as compelling as ever. The layering of the vocals is genius, making this almost dreamlike. I love the crescendo toward the end and the overwhelming distortion. Awesome.
Do I even need to say anything about “Idioteque”? Countless fans have already perfectly described its greatness, potency, innovation and unsettling flawlessness. I think I fell in love with it immediately: It’s just one of those songs that gets to you. It’s electronic dance music put through an explosion, radioactive and on steroids. I love it so much I read all about its creation, and I was completely dumbfounded when I discovered the memorable/spooky four-chord arrangement was originally from an experimental computer music piece Mild und Leise, recorded by Paul Lansky in 1973. Jonny Greenwood, inspired by that piece, gave Yorke a 50-minute DAT that included 40 seconds of “absolute genius” that would ultimately become this beat-driven masterpiece. It’s intense (an understatement) with shifting rhythms, energizing percussion, computerized instrumentation, distant and dissonant sounds like screams of sadness (no doubt, courtesy of some extremely manipulated glissandos), and some of Yorke’s most intriguing lyrics about the coming of the end. It’s #8 on Pitchfork Media's top 500 songs of the 2000s, and #56 on Rolling Stone's 100 Best Songs of the 2000s, and it was never even released as a single. It’s scary and weird and so cool, and I love it, and I continually repeat it. I think I’m obsessed.
Before “Idioteque” truly ends, “Morning Bell” begins, its extreme syncopation (I think it’s in 9/8) layering over the previous track’s chilling fadeout. I remember being distinctly moved by this the first time I heard it. The melodies are strange, unpredictable and divine. It’s a bit like “Everything In Its Right Place”, instrumentally. The chords surrounding Yorke’s soft lyrics, “release me”, are so uplifting, then there’s a shift back to the dissonance. For me, this song has the best balance of acoustic and digital sounds. I love the building guitar(s) toward the end, and the echoed manipulation of the vocals.
“Motion Picture Soundtrack” is entirely different than anything else on the album, evoking lighter imagery, a more optimistic demeanor (thanks to the harp… yes harp!), and a lullaby-like friendliness. It feels warmer, richer, full, ready. Yorke’s final lyrics of the album, “I will see you in the next life”, are simply perfect. And after the harp fades, a surprising, beautiful, hair-raising and goosebump-inducing encore of ethereal chords comes back, briefly, leaving us on a powerful and 40,000-ft high. It pulls you out, wraps you up and sucks you in. Yes. Just, yes.
What I truly love most about this album is its cohesiveness, how the boundaries between vocals and music blur until there are none. The lyrics aren’t included in the album art for this very reason; the band felt they couldn’t be considered separate from the music. The album art in itself is quite intriguing, created by Yorke with Stanley Donwood, who has worked with Radiohead on every album but their debut. The towering snowcapped mountains on the cover and bleak landscapes stained with blood captures the feeling of failing society, perfectly complimenting the worries and fears scattered throughout the lyrics.
Every once in a great while, an album becomes ingrained in your brain and a part of your subconscious. For me, Kid A, more than any other (at least for the moment), epitomizes that. No joke: I’ve woken from sleep several times the last couple of weeks with songs in my head, usually “Everything In Its Right Place” or “Idioteque” (the latter cycling through my head over and over again one night, when I lingered for a while between consciousness and sleep). I’m hearing melodies from the album in the most random sounds around me, daily, like the whining of a starting car as it turns over or wind blowing through the trees. It’s crazy, and I digress, but it’s absolutely justified.
As I suspected, this became long and detailed, but it’s just as well. This album won the Grammy for Best Alternative Album, and Time named it one of the 100 best albums of all time. I can’t say enough about Kid A, how it’s opened my eyes creatively, given me confidence in a backwards way, and made me realize just how limitless the world of music really is. And I thought I already knew that. BOOM. Here I’m allowed, everything all of the time…
Historically, I went against the grain: If something was popular in the music world, I made a conscious effort not to like it or become a fan. It was my way of individualizing myself. Teenyboppers? Forget it: I scoffed at their immaturity and lack of depth. Grunge or alt-rock? No way: It was a bunch of noise. One notable exception regarding my tendency to gravitate away from popular acts is my love for the Spice Girls, but when I fell in love with them, most of the US hadn’t even caught onto their vibe yet.
Mostly, I was transfixed by melodic songs, new age and pop and anything with a powerful female voice. Yes, I admit it; I preferred hearing women sing. This wasn’t a decision, it was just what I liked (no offense to the guys, and I would later discover just how evocative and expressive men could be). I was also very heavily into experimental electronica and dance music. My obsession with those genres continues now, but it was what I lived for back then. One of my favorite pastimes was scouring the racks for the best dance compilations or obscure music (Dot Allison, Sarah Cracknell), and if a song I loved was remixed, you better believe I went to the ends of the earth to find those remixes.
Imagine my surprise when I recently found out that during the midst of my big electronica obsession in the late 90’s and early 2000’s, I completely missed what is perhaps one of the best (if not the best) electronica albums ever made by a rock band. Radiohead’s Kid A was and still is massive, groundbreaking, exceptional and awesome, and I had no idea my own
Kid A is my first venture with Radiohead. What suddenly sparked my interest in this particular album (or the band, for that matter) is lost to memory, but listening to several of its songs on YouTube quickly convinced me that this was the first Radiohead album I should experience. This undoubtedly influences my opinion of the album: It’s sentimental, because it made me fall in love with them as a band. I’ve since bought other records from their catalog, and though they’re great (especially OK Computer), for me, Kid A is their masterpiece. OK Computer, though fantastic and aggressively innovative, is, for me, slightly trumped by the more refined, mature, and elegant experimentation of Kid A. To be fair, I haven’t even heard In Rainbows yet (and I’ll probably write a blog for that one as I listen to every song for the very first time).
Of course I’d heard of Radiohead for years. I knew they were English, and I knew they played rock; but there are so many facets to rock, and details of the band eluded me. Back then, there was no easy way to research exactly what genre or sub-genres an artist played. The infancy of the internet prevented such easy revelations. To know the details, you had to buy the albums or find a stellar biography. And I was so intent to spend my saved up lunch money on what I deemed to be more important music, there was no way I’d take such a big chance on a band that was simply ‘rock’.
How ignorant I was.
My appreciation for Radiohead’s catalog (because really, it is entirely brilliant) is extensive, but for this blog, I’ll keep my focus on Kid A.
But where to begin? It’s difficult to contain my excitement for this album, because I only bought it a couple weeks ago. I was so convinced it would be a momentous experience, I bought the actual CD, because there are just some albums one needs a tangible copy of. I’m still on a high with it, listening to it nonstop: This is a rare opportunity to express my first impressions in detail, because they’re so clear and fresh. I’m going to relish this, and probably write way too much, for which I will not apologize.
From the moment “Everything In Its Right Place” begins, you’re sucked into a world without boundaries; a world with ambiguous energy that feels like contentment simply floating in a bubble in space, with nothing and no one else in sight. It’s a frightening concept, but strangely inviting, and it carries throughout the rest of the album. A persisting beat supports syncopated, simple melodies of dissonance and pulsing arpeggios, Thom Yorke’s lumbering and detached (but calculated) vocals pulling it all together. Every instrument and even the vocals are tinged with digital effects; blips, intensifiers, flangers, backwards masking and distortion. It’s an unsettling, unnerving, brilliant experience; like removing filtered sunglasses and seeing something bright for the first time. And despite the aimless feeling it evokes, it somehow gives you a sense of completeness. The effect this song has on your ears is amazing, despite its minimalism. I have to admit: When I heard him sing, “I woke up sucking a lemon”, I freaked out a little bit: Dude, I love lemons. Thom, are you talking to me?!
“Kid A” gives off a different energy, but still a curious one. I love the contradicting sounds: A busy, syncopated drumbeat sits against the charming music box so beautifully. This song took time to grow on me and wasn’t my favorite on first listen. But every time I hear it, there’s something else I like about it. The vocals are extremely manipulated, so much so you can’t understand what’s being sung. It creates another ambiguous atmosphere that’s very relaxing, almost enlightening, playful. Then, when you read the lyrics, you realize it might not be what you thought it was. Brilliant. The atmospheric strings that sneak in just after the halfway point are perfect.
“The National Anthem” drove me crazy at first, and not in a good way. That repetitive bassline, the harsh brass at the end… it was, initially, a nuisance to my ears. But like anything that gets under your skin, I’ve come to love this. I bob my head incessantly whenever I hear it now: Those drums! This was originally meant as a b-side for OK Computer, and I’m so, so happy it was saved for this album. You can truly appreciate the detail with headphones (and in fact, this goes for every song on the album). There are some absolutely brilliant sounds in this, like spooky alien ships landing and subtle layered echoes backing Yorke’s vocals. It’s the best example of digital edits and manipulation on the entire album. It’s a crazy, chaotic brass party where it’s every player for himself, and it’s great.
Some have claimed “How To Disappear Completely” is the best song on the album. I don’t know (yet) if I feel the same way, but I do know I loved it immediately. It’s the first song that feels more like a song instead of a sonic experimentation. Finally, a needed break from the distortion: Melancholy acoustics, subdued bass, Yorke’s potent lyrics, and a lingering high chord that adds just the right amount of tension. Later, aching strings join and swell (recorded in Dorchester Abbey, Oxfordshire), and it’s euphoric. It lumbers along brilliantly, ever slowly, with sparkling treble arpeggios accenting the growing intensity. It’s actually quite repetitive, but the melody and lyrics are so wonderful, so tender and happily somber, repetition is welcome.
I read a comment from someone saying that “Treefingers” could have been omitted because it’s “basically a wasted instrumental.” It almost made me angry (here I go, being all passionate and defending something I love because it means so much). This song reminds me of Ulrich Schnauss, and I think it’s a needed piece on the album. It’s warm, inviting, perfect for a lazy morning with your coffee or tea on the porch, watching the sunrise. True, no vocals ever appear, but they aren’t needed anyway. The ambience was created with Ed O’Brien’s sampled and digitally processed guitar. I never would have guessed. It sounds wide and broad, and it takes you places.
When I first heard “Optimistic”, it immediately reminded me of Coldplay. More accurately, Coldplay reminds me of this, but I heard Coldplay first. This is easily the most radio-friendly and upbeat song on the album, but even that’s pushing it. Still, it’s catchy with a subtle hook and more familiar, comfortable rock arrangements. The guitars playfully bounce and grate against the pounding rhythms, and Yorke’s falsetto, as always, sets off the atmospheric vibe. After hearing such wild experimentation in the previous tracks, when I first heard this, I was almost bored. But it’s grown on me, and I love it. It sits perfectly between the warmth of “Treefingers” and shifts flawlessly into “In Limbo”. And that wistful, laid back ending? Wow, that sounds like Ivy.
When I say the transition between “Optimistic” and “In Limbo” is flawless, I mean it literally. I didn’t even notice where the dividing line was initially, and as I listened to this album on my last run through the neighborhood, I completely forgot these were two separate songs. But despite the unnoticeable shift, “In Limbo” is far more progressive and intriguing than its predecessor. The song is less structured, more improvised, more surprising. It appropriately begins at what feels like the midst of a song. I find myself getting more addicted every time I hear it. The guitars have a conversation back and forth, and Yorke’s lyrics are as compelling as ever. The layering of the vocals is genius, making this almost dreamlike. I love the crescendo toward the end and the overwhelming distortion. Awesome.
Do I even need to say anything about “Idioteque”? Countless fans have already perfectly described its greatness, potency, innovation and unsettling flawlessness. I think I fell in love with it immediately: It’s just one of those songs that gets to you. It’s electronic dance music put through an explosion, radioactive and on steroids. I love it so much I read all about its creation, and I was completely dumbfounded when I discovered the memorable/spooky four-chord arrangement was originally from an experimental computer music piece Mild und Leise, recorded by Paul Lansky in 1973. Jonny Greenwood, inspired by that piece, gave Yorke a 50-minute DAT that included 40 seconds of “absolute genius” that would ultimately become this beat-driven masterpiece. It’s intense (an understatement) with shifting rhythms, energizing percussion, computerized instrumentation, distant and dissonant sounds like screams of sadness (no doubt, courtesy of some extremely manipulated glissandos), and some of Yorke’s most intriguing lyrics about the coming of the end. It’s #8 on Pitchfork Media's top 500 songs of the 2000s, and #56 on Rolling Stone's 100 Best Songs of the 2000s, and it was never even released as a single. It’s scary and weird and so cool, and I love it, and I continually repeat it. I think I’m obsessed.
Before “Idioteque” truly ends, “Morning Bell” begins, its extreme syncopation (I think it’s in 9/8) layering over the previous track’s chilling fadeout. I remember being distinctly moved by this the first time I heard it. The melodies are strange, unpredictable and divine. It’s a bit like “Everything In Its Right Place”, instrumentally. The chords surrounding Yorke’s soft lyrics, “release me”, are so uplifting, then there’s a shift back to the dissonance. For me, this song has the best balance of acoustic and digital sounds. I love the building guitar(s) toward the end, and the echoed manipulation of the vocals.
“Motion Picture Soundtrack” is entirely different than anything else on the album, evoking lighter imagery, a more optimistic demeanor (thanks to the harp… yes harp!), and a lullaby-like friendliness. It feels warmer, richer, full, ready. Yorke’s final lyrics of the album, “I will see you in the next life”, are simply perfect. And after the harp fades, a surprising, beautiful, hair-raising and goosebump-inducing encore of ethereal chords comes back, briefly, leaving us on a powerful and 40,000-ft high. It pulls you out, wraps you up and sucks you in. Yes. Just, yes.
What I truly love most about this album is its cohesiveness, how the boundaries between vocals and music blur until there are none. The lyrics aren’t included in the album art for this very reason; the band felt they couldn’t be considered separate from the music. The album art in itself is quite intriguing, created by Yorke with Stanley Donwood, who has worked with Radiohead on every album but their debut. The towering snowcapped mountains on the cover and bleak landscapes stained with blood captures the feeling of failing society, perfectly complimenting the worries and fears scattered throughout the lyrics.
Every once in a great while, an album becomes ingrained in your brain and a part of your subconscious. For me, Kid A, more than any other (at least for the moment), epitomizes that. No joke: I’ve woken from sleep several times the last couple of weeks with songs in my head, usually “Everything In Its Right Place” or “Idioteque” (the latter cycling through my head over and over again one night, when I lingered for a while between consciousness and sleep). I’m hearing melodies from the album in the most random sounds around me, daily, like the whining of a starting car as it turns over or wind blowing through the trees. It’s crazy, and I digress, but it’s absolutely justified.
As I suspected, this became long and detailed, but it’s just as well. This album won the Grammy for Best Alternative Album, and Time named it one of the 100 best albums of all time. I can’t say enough about Kid A, how it’s opened my eyes creatively, given me confidence in a backwards way, and made me realize just how limitless the world of music really is. And I thought I already knew that. BOOM. Here I’m allowed, everything all of the time…
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