Kid A
Radiohead
Published by Checkout.com
Brilliance is brilliant and all, but how much gets lost between
the speaker cone and the soul? By the time the shiny disc issues its sound waves,
its job could be considered done -- by now its brilliance is winding its way through
our living rooms and car interiors. It's up to us to harness the genius for our
own purposes. Do we have to sit and study it like that Russian film we rented
because we thought it would be good for us? Or does it snake its way through our
halls and grab us by the throat when we're paying attention to something else?
Many have expected nothing short of brilliance from Kid A, and brilliant
it certainly is. But as they committed this unwieldy bastard to tape, did Radiohead
follow the map that skirted the heart en route to the head? Kid A will
blow us away, but will it put us back together?
For every time The Bends or OK Computer saved somebody's ass
with the magic of music, Kid A will likely raise an eyebrow with its
impressive sonic resume. Like those blocky Picassos that built a time-space
warp out of two dimensions of canvas, Kid A's songs offer different perspectives
on the subject simultaneously. Where OK Computer took a melodic center
and filled it out with space lace, Kid A fits several layered worlds
into each track, allowing us to direct our attention where we see fit. On "Optimistic,"
do we follow the chiming rhythm guitar at right, Thom Yorke's minimalist crooning
at center, or the dark, distorted mockery to the left? "In Limbo"
is a marketplace of sounds that will surely be navigated differently on each
spin. "How to Disappear Completely" is as beautiful a piece of melancholia
as The Bends' "Fake Plastic Trees," staging its delicate drama
in front of a detached, dissonant backdrop -- Yorke even says as much in "I'm
not here/This isn't happening." And as if to say that he never intended his lyrics to be dissected to such
an extent, Yorke sparingly offers his often indecipherable vocals to a story
already told by the music. The menacing bass/drum plod of "The National
Anthem" -- an alien reading of The Beatles' "Tomorrow Never Knows"
devolving into the horn-blown horror of The Stooges' "LA Blues" --
speaks volumes on anger and fear even without Yorke's mantra of "Everyone
is so near/So alone." The ridiculous toy beats and Michael Nyman foreboding
of "Idioteque" suggest that the "Ice Age Comin'" may come
at the hands of knuckleheads. On the opener "Everything in its Right Place"
Yorke finally asks, "What was that you tried to say?" but by this
time our love affair with the half-digested conversation has already flourished
in the track's scattered voice manipulations. As with most art that forces a
double take, Kid A exists because of a meticulous vision, but ensures
that we give a lasting damn by making it a joint venture with our own imaginations. Even more so than OK Computer, Kid A begs for headphones -- it
is best when studied. What's missed is what never required examination:
the way Radiohead can make brilliance sound effortless. Where their dreaming
children once knew the way by heart, the waking Kid A wants us to come
find him. But once we have, and he's blown us away, he'll even do a good job
of convincing us we should stay that way.