When I went to see Radiohead at Brixton Academy (at bloody last - every single damn time they had played since the 'Astoria' years, something had come up and I couldn't go), that strange Stephen Hawking voice started - "Fitter, happier, more productive… not eating too much…" as they walked on and started - fuck, I can't remember which song they started with - do you see what I mean? I need to retain this stuff. Anyway, they started to play. This wee, skinny basically not (cough) conventionally attractive man singing… tears started pouring down my face. Talking about it that sounds possibly the most horrifyingly embarrassing reaction a grown woman could possibly have to a gig. But… it made sense at the time. At last. I was seeing this band I absolutely and completely sold my soul to when "The Bends" came out. And God love 'em, they dedicated that to Bill Hicks. I mean, I was sold. All the way.
I read a piece in Select a couple of months later in which Thom Yorke whinged that he'd hated doing that gig because it was the first one in the country since "OK Computer" came out. The gist was of course all the London music press were there, so they felt like performing dolls. Mixed feelings about that. If he didn't like doing the gig, he should shut the fuck up about it - there were several thousand people in that venue who felt desperately lucky to have got tickets, and had an amazing event play out in front of them. Christ, I mean Radiohead are - y'know, 'Radiohead' - not some piss-annie bunch of pipsqueaks. So being told that the performers thought the gig was garbage and they hated doing it… well, er, gee - thanks for passing on that information.
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