October 26–November 2, 2000

music

And Your Caged Bird Can Sing

During interviews for OK Computer, members of Radiohead would claim Miles Davis’ Bitches Brew as a prime inspiration. Now, with the release of Kid A (Capitol Records), we know for sure: They weren’t kidding.

Kid A is mostly abstract, split between funky freak-outs and bits of eerie calm. And at the center of everything, like the man with the horn, is vocalist Thom Yorke. He shares with Miles a muted reserve that can channel negative energy (Miles’ anger, Thom’s paranoia). Yorke sounds like the caged bird, especially now that he’s pared down his lyrics to barely audible soundbites. On the title track, computer effects make him sound like he’s singing from under quicksand.

Is this a masterpiece? Not quite. Some of the more melodic numbers feel a bit Radiohead-by-numbers, like "How to Disappear Completely," with its sighing mid-tempo and acoustic guitars, though the track is rescued at the end by a dramatic orchestra swell. And the overall sketchiness of the album sometimes makes you wonder if this is just a teaser for the real masterpiece due out in March.

But ultimately, Kid A succeeds, even where it shouldn’t. The trancey numbers are truly hypnotic, not obnoxious. "Optimistic" sounds like old Radiohead, but with those great soft-loud dynamics removed. Yet it’s as powerful as anything they’ve done. The Mardi-Gras-in-hell horn section on "The National Anthem" is the most immediate hook on the album (and the most Brew-like moment). No matter what vocal tricks Yorke employs — computer generated or otherwise — he sounds more human than ever here. On the last track, "Motion Picture Soundtrack," his vocals are surrounded by Disney-like, twittering, synthesized harps and choir. When he sings, "I will see you in the next life," at last he is free, though from what is unclear and not a little disconcerting.

Say what you will, Radiohead are bravely battling mighty forces here. They act as if an album is still an artform worthy of your money — even when their fans could just Napster the fucker onto a CD-R. And they dare counter the current post-postmodern dictum that attracting screaming teenage fans constitutes the most significant act a million-plus-selling music group can pull off these days.

For all its supposed formlessness, there is a ballast to Kid A that speaks volumes — not of a Statement of Import, merely Good Music. Whatever you put on the stereo after it will sound limp and directionless in comparison.

—Michael Pelusi