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Amnesiac
Artist: Radiohead
Label: EMD/Capital
Length: 11 tracks

Artists? or Pretentious Snobs?

If somebody listens to a Radiohead album once—or any album for that matter—and tells you their reaction, then that’s exactly what you’re getting…a reaction. A reaction is not to be taken as a thoughtful examination, but rather what it is...a first impression. It’s not much better than judging a book by its cover. Great art makes you excavate for treasure. It takes time and study. You have to look and look again.

Am I saying Radiohead makes great art? It’s too early to tell. But I can tell you that you will probably not understand what they're doing with only one listen.  This isn't pop music, a postcard with a readily accessible meaning.  It's an exploration of something new.  It's something to study.

No rock band I’ve encountered are more committed to their particular vision than Radiohead. They’ve followed their muse fearlessly, exploring territory that hasn’t been explored before. Sure, you can find elements of electronic dance music, jazz, and Pink Floyd art-rock. But there’s something that I find hypnotic and completely original in their audacious attempts to discover new song structures, new sounds, and new ways to employ lyrics to meaningful effect. It’s abstract, where words are more like a color than a text.

I’ve been looking for ways to get at the substance that I sense in the turbulent new sounds. Radiohead’s Amnesiac, and its Siamese twin album Kid A, sent me back to high school. My high school English teacher offered some rewarding advice in how to do an archaeological dig in a text. As we studied some great novel, he went to the blackboard and asked us to list the names of characters, to list their conflicts, to list details about the environment of the story. Themes and central questions were included. Then we highlighted those issues that came up recurrently. When two elements were connected—a character and a theme, a place and a problem—he drew a line to connect them. When the book was especially good, the connections just kept revealing themselves. Those elements that had the most lines flowing out of and into them, those became clear as the work’s prime focus. Heart of Darkness’s major centers were words like fear, control, the corrupting influence of power, etc. Soon the board was a web of crisscrossing lines. The work was before us, a great matrix of  meaning, deeper and more complicated than we had ever guessed, and yet it wasn’t chaos…it seemed designed, intended.

So that’s what I’ve been doing with Radiohead’s dark and strange new music lately. It can be overwhelming, all these blasts of noise, electronic tinkering, distorted vocals, surrealist lyrics, and bizarre, illogical rhythms and combinations. Is this art, or merely pretentious alt-rock? Does it mean something, or is it just random?

Sounds from a New Frontier

Radiohead’s last album, Kid A, almost completely refused to give us verse-chorus songs or singable melodies. Instead, as its packaging artwork indicated, it was the strange and unsettling soundtrack for the dying days of a vast and desolate world. Garishly automated sounds clashed with more organic sounds. Guitars twisted and warped into frightening mechanical engines of sound. The singer sounded at times (if I may borrow a Winnie the Pooh-ism) like a wedged Thom Yorke in a great tightness…paralyzed and pinched. Sometimes, lyrics were indistinguishable. Listening, you might write down Alienation, Betrayal, Heartless Rulers, Superficial Happiness, Survival of the Fittest. "Women and children first!" Thom Yorke cried, but he never had a suggestion on where they could be taken for safety.

Many longtime fans felt put off by the non-formulaic endeavors. What about rock and roll? Buzz quickly built after Kid A’s release, foretelling of the coming Amnesiac which would return us to more formulaic rock and roll, the stuff they had mastered on The Bends and OK Computer.

Well, you can forget about the rumors. For the first couple of minutes, Radiohead’s new album Amnesiac does return us to more comfortable territory. But at approximately 2:38 it becomes suddenly clear that these lyrics may as well be an ultimatum to those pining for predictability. Thom Yorke begins ranting a mantra: "I’m a reasonable man. Get off my case."

Introducing Kid A’s kid brother. The album dives into an ocean of bizarre time-signature clashes and stumbling piano power chords that resemble Kid A’s "Everything is in its Right Place." And it never looks back. We’re in for another dazzling ride through fractured poetry and half-mumbled ravings, back-to-basics jazz juxtaposed with synthesized hysteria.

What's It All About?

Let’s start at the beginning. After the defiant opener, "Pyramid Song" gives us an account of a dream, or a nightmare, depending on your interpretation. Whatever it is, it’s gorgeous. The lyrics suggest a dream-state return to childhood, to innocence. As he recounts this vision, he tells us he and his companions "all went to heaven in a little rowboat/there was nothing to fear, nothing to hide." The careening eastern-style strings suggest an exotic and spiritual journey, and the peace these travellers find is rather unsettling and sad. It’s a beautiful afterlife, but the heavy sadness of the song suggests the singer doesn’t quite believe such a thing will ever come true.

Jot down, Childhood. Dreams. Fantasies. Fear. Hiding. A longing for peace and reconciliation.  Or write down what comes to your mind. "Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors" is a list poem set to a static-fringed and thunderous rhythm. Yorke’s voice, garbled just enough so you can still understand him, works his way through various types of doors until he says, with a sort of fascination, "And there are trapdoors…that you can’t come back from." Immediately it sounds like he’s fallen through and is sliding down a metal chute to nothingness.

Write down Being lost. Traps.

"You and Whose Army?," perhaps the album’s most memorable track, is a quietly murmured diatribe against some Goliath, perhaps corporate…referred to as ‘holy roman empire’. "Come on if you think you can take us on, you and your cronies," sings a soft, resonant voice that sounds like it’s inside of Yorke’s head, his own thoughts ringing in his ears. Perhaps the singer is just too afraid to sing these things out loud…but there’s such emotion in it. What begins as a feeble trickle of sadness builds to a pulse-pounding, power-chord finale. I’d never bet 100% that I’m hearing Yorke’s lyrics right, but it sounds like he’s chanting…"We rise, we rise…."

This is followed by "I Could Be Wrong", a thrilling bass-and-drum loop that sounds like it accompanies a suspenseful prison break by night. (Well, that’s what it sounds like to me. What pictures does this music give you?) "Let’s go down a waterfall," he strains, reaching hard for something that sounds like fun. "Let’s think about the good times and never look back…" The shiny dreams for a better day again sound like wishful thinking; there’s no real joy in the anticipation. Fun becomes merely escapism from reality, not an organic part of living.

There are some definite threads becoming visible by now. Children are mentioned, or else the lyrics sound like they’re sung from a child’s perspective. Evil, oppressive authorities come up a lot. Slowly I’m getting the picture of a grown man who is still wrestling with the monsters from his childhood. Perhaps abusive parents or a hellish educational institution. Perhaps it’s the government. Most likely, it’s all three. Now he looks back, mining what feeble veins of happiness he can remember. Were they real?

"Knives Out," a dreamy pop nightmare reminiscent of OK Computer’s "Paranoid Android," is the ugliest portrait of wicked and heartless authority you can imagine. It’s drawn as a fearsome predator, without conscience, dining on the small defenseless things…even eating the dead. "If you'd been a dog they would have drowned you at birth…" he croons, like some sadistic parent. And then: "He's bloated and frozen, there's no point in letting it go to waste, so knives out, catch the mouse, cook him up, squash his head, put him in the pot…." It’s the feel-good-song of the summer!!

An all-new version of Kid A’s "Morning Bell" might have been included merely because this version is much better, clearer, and more cleverly orchestrated than the last one. Yorke has said that the lyrics are about a ghost that haunted his house. If that’s true, then I’ll bet it’s the ghost of a divorcee. "Release me…you can keep the furniture…where’d you park the car?…cut the kids in half." That last line was muffled on Kid A, but here it’s chillingly clear. Once again, there’s the suggestion of children being involved. Are they overhearing these things? Are they hiding somewhere in the house?

Now add to the blackboard: Privacy (or lack of it.) As on Kid A, there are several elements that might remind you of 1984.   That horrific future where you’re always being watched...it’s happening. Yorke’s paranoia is at a peak here; he’s paralyzed by a fear of surveillance. "Life in a Glasshouse" is sung over a ragtime band that suggests a smoky bar where Woody Allen might be drowning his blues. It ends the album with a simple straightforward story about falling out of favor with a friend, and the added discomfort of experiencing this in the public eye. Which is worse, the lost relationship, or the wounds on display for the world? Somebody in the song claims to be "hungry for a lynching", ready to pounce at the singer’s first misstep. In closing, he sneers, "I’d love to sit around and chat…but someone’s listening in." He’s become a spectacle, alone, feeling indisposed to spill his guts for such an untrustworthy audience. This could be the autobiography of Thom Yorke, but to listen to him in interviews you get the impression these songs come from voices in his head. Which possibility is more disturbing?

My proposal—that Amnesiac is ultimately about the responsibility that comes with power, and how children inherit the sins of the irresponsible—gets a lot of its fuel from the song "Dollars and Cents". The lines Yorke rattles off here may as well be a script for a bad teacher reprimanding her classroom of kids, or a neglectful parent trying to control her child: "Be constructive…won't you quiet down…let me out of here…" And then the refrain sounds like a villain's mantra, the voice of the impersonal, greed-driven institution that brings about such harsh conditions: "We are the dollars and cents, and the pounds and pence, we're gonna crack your little soul."

So What?

To borrow another song’s title… "I Could Be Wrong". Yorke’s lyrics are just provocative enough to lead us a little further into the labyrinth of his modern anxieties and phobias. But to me, the striking difference between Amnesiac  and its predecessor is that this time the horrors are personal. It’s like Kid A was the helicopter flyover of the wasteland, and Amnesiac is the soundtrack playing in the head of someone who actually lives there. I can’t claim that explanation’s entirely mine; Yorke himself has explained, cryptically, that Kid A is about seeing the fire from a distance, and Amnesiac is what it’s like to be in the fire.

My English teacher used to suggest asking "So what?" Anybody can vent their frustrations. Where does this work lead us, or does it lead us anywhere at all? Is it just an ego trip, or is there something illuminated by all this self-expression? Is the world a richer place, or a poorer place, because this work exists?

You may not find anything redeeming about dwelling on Thom Yorke’s Kafka-esque nightmares. I find them to be revealing, raising the cold hard details of our complicated science-fictions lives to mythic levels…reminding us that, no matter how impressed we are with ourselves, our actions, ambitions, and arrogance will leave our children with burdens to bear. Radiohead as a band just may be the prophet at the gates, tearing their clothes, spouting what sounds like nonsense to passers-by, but really pointing to imminent destruction.

Something in me hopes that Yorke finds some tangible hope to sing about, rather than suggesting only fantasy. There’s not much hopeful about his vision of the world, not much that suggests there is any escape. But, as I said of Kid A, few bands have more powerfully or eloquently captured the damage done by our media-saturated, scientifically arrogant, power-abusing ways. Amnesiac is an impressive and fascinating achievement, but when it’s over I find myself needing a good dose of U2, so I can remember the possibility of grace and the hope waiting to be seen in a beautiful day.

Jeffrey Overstreet  7/13/2001
 

Coming on the heels of their groundbreaking Kid A, Amnesiac (aka "Kid B") is the latest offering from Radiohead. It's also the latest evidence that, deliberately or otherwise, Radiohead is only too eager to shrug off the mantle of rock uber-group heir apparent that critics were quick to place on them after the anthemic The Bends and OK Computer. Though the tracks on this album are more listenable than those of its more aloof predecessor, rumors of Radiohead's return to rock have been greatly exaggerated. In fact, Radiohead's sonic wanderings may still leave many longtime fans scratching their heads.

Trying to explain the sound of this album is like trying to decipher the world through a kalidescope. Colors circulate around colors that overlay patterns multiplying patterns. And just when it all seems to come into focus . . . poof! And around it goes again. For a band with more than one guitar player, the traditional guitar sound on this record is noticeably lean, to say the least. The idea of a bunch of guys jamming on their instruments has been replaced by a plethora of distortions, electronic effects, and artificially created sounds.

The weird thing about this album is that it almost makes sense. Stretching as far back as The Bends, the seeds for what Radiohead is doing had been planted.  Take the opening to "Planet Telex," for example. Push that minor effect to its most extreme conclusion and you might have something that would slide quite nicely into Amnesiac. This album is fragments of musical ideas pushed to their most extreme and convoluted conclusions, but they are the logical conclusions of these ideas just the same. The computerized voice that interrupted OK Computer is revisited in the distorted vocal of "Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors." And as Radiohead proved themselves masters of the musical mood on songs like "Nice Dream," "Streets Spirit (Fade Out)," and "Karma Police," Amnesiac is nothing if not a collection of sonic mood makers.

The problem for most people will be that the mood is so disquieting. Thom Yorke continues his stream-of-consciousness ways of singing and writing. It's impossible to tell what exactly he's talking about half the time, but whether he's droning on about being a reasonable man ("Packt Like Sardines in a Crushed Tin Box"), challenging the Holy Roman Empire ("You and Whose Army?"), or warbling heartsick about cutting the kids in half ("Morning Bell Amnesiac"), you get the feeling it's not too good. The latter is a good example. The original "Morning Bell" on Kid A wasn't exactly a pick-me-upper, but the haunting dischordance and the anguished vocal almost overwhelm the Amnesiac version. The alienation of people living in a mechanized society, first explored in OK Computer, is wallowed in here. Alien it may be, but it's never inhuman. The emotions are as real as ever.

This album probably should have come before Kid A. OK Computer-Amnesiac-Kid A is a bit more of a logical progression than OK Computer-Kid A-Amnesiac. In fact, Amnesiac manages to make experimentation downright accessible at points. While some may continue to wonder just what Radiohead is up to, those who were lost by Kid A should give Amnesiac a chance.

Experimentation is a good thing. Innovation is a good thing. But all good things carried out without a purpose quickly become self-indulgent. Radiohead's persistent dwelling on any and every musical impulse or teeters just this side of self-indulgent. Where are they going with this? That remains to be seen, but the fact that they are darn good at what they're doing should significantly increase the listener's patience in allowing them to do it.

By Megan Lenz (8/15/2001)

This album is the sister to last year's Kid A, but far more accessible and listenable in a lot of ways.  It is almost as though the sessions were divided up, and the more abstract material found its way onto Kid A and the more mainstream onto Amnesiac.  At any rate, Amnesiac has gotten more play in my player.  The lyrics are typical Radiohead, and the music is, from a rock standpoint, avant garde without becoming too pretentiously so.  A solid album, and well worth the praise it has gotten from many quarters.

Alex Klages 9/16/2001