Tag Archives: kid a

#998: Radiohead – Optimistic

When I heard Kid A for the first time back in 2012, I was left wondering what all the hype was about. Mind you, I was 17 listening to it through tinny headphones and on this website called we7.com (if anyone remembers that – good on you) which I don’t think had the greatest audio quality either. Not like it sounded like complete garbage, but it wasn’t lossless audio. But I distinctly remember the ending harps on ‘Motion Picture Soundtrack’ doing their thing and thinking, “This is what’s considered to be one of the greatest albums of all time?” It was naive stuff. I did however have my initial highlights from that first listen. ‘Optimistic’ being one of them. On an album that had no singles to promote it, this one seemed like it would have been the obvious choice had there been one.

Right out of the gate, the track gives you two main melodic hooks that lock themselves in the mental vault. The opening where Thom Yorke howls alongside the guitar riff, which them comes back with a vengeance near the end, and the main guitar riff that occurs during the verses. In those sections, amidst a tribal-like tom-tom drum pattern and grooving bassline, Yorke provides lyrics that to me describe a sort of barren wasteland, devoid of human life, where only the dinosaurs walk, flies buzz around and vultures circle the skies. A bit of an apocalyptic tone going on here, alongside a flip on the “This Little Piggy” nursery rhyme that occurs during the second verse. It’s one of those tracks where it could be about nothing and everything at the same time. Really, the primary line to take into account is what appears in the chorus, inspired by Thom Yorke’s partner at the time who assured that the best he could do was good enough as he was battling severe self-doubt after the draining period of touring OK Computer. It comes as a bit of ray of light amongst the darkness.

It’s been ten years now, but I’ve known for a while at this point that Kid A is a great album. I can understand why it gets the acclaim it does. Not saying it’s one of my favourite albums, but I won’t stop if I let it run from front to back. ‘Optimistic’ comes right in the middle of it, opening its second half, and provides the first moment when you can actually hear an electric guitar on the whole record. The song’s a ball of tension. Carried by the aforementioned drum pattern and bass groove, the track has moments where it opens and closes before really bursting into a release when the cymbals enter the frame for the climactic ending. Brings a very satisfying close to it all. Well, it doesn’t even end there, as there’s another groovy interlude that segues into the album’s next track. That didn’t have to be there, but even that part is something look forward to when I hear this song. So much so I wish they replicated it at their live shows.

#860: Radiohead – Morning Bell

While those strange noises at the end of ‘Idioteque’ are still ringing and begin to fade out on Radiohead’s Kid A, a drum pattern bursts into the soundscape from out of nowhere. This drum pattern signifies the start of following track ‘Morning Bell’, a song that’s a bit about divorce and a bit about mostly nothing at all. I believe it’s one of the tracks on the album where Thom Yorke put words into a hat and sorted them randomly to make a lyric. But please correct me if I’m wrong. The likelihood of that being the case is quite large.

When I heard Kid A for the first time, I don’t think I rated ‘Morning Bell’ that highly. There were three tracks on there that I was immediately hooked on to. The rest took some time. All I remember is that one day I was either on a bus or a train going somewhere, and the part where Thom Yorke sings “Release me” along with that nice bassline by Colin Greenwood just kept repeating in my head. That small part sometimes makes the whole song for me. Its first half comprises of Yorke on the keys, Greenwood and Phil Selway on drums, all playing together in 5/4 time and really locked in, and there’s a real warmth produced by the music, it feels so cozy. It subtly builds and builds. Guitars join the frame, and there’s a sudden freakout in the middle where everyone plays that ends just as quick as it starts. Then the whole song’s mood changes for its second half. Like it changes key or just changes it melodic movement. Happens so quick you don’t realise it that much. It definitely ends in a way that you wouldn’t think you were listening to the same song. Radiohead are usually really good at that sort of thing.

I hope that we see a reissue akin to the OKNOTOK release for a 20th anniversary of Kid A and Amnesiac. Honestly, I think it would have been set to go last year if everything that happened then didn’t happen. Though I believe it still could. No harm in wishing.

#693: Radiohead – Kid A

The title track from Radiohead’s fourth album is a strange one. At least that’s what I thought of it when I first listened to it. I’ve just grown to like it because of its unsettling nature. I was a child in 2000 so I can only imagine how people who were expecting an OK Computer Part 2 reacted when hearing Kid A upon its initial release. 2012 was when I decided to take it on. I didn’t think ‘Everything in Its Right Place’ was too out there, but ‘Kid A’ certainly takes things in another direction.

The music, written by the band’s lead guitarist Jonny Greenwood, has an innocent child-like music box quality to it, which is layered upon by these soothing guitar chords that feel very warm and very comfortable. Then Thom Yorke comes in. He had some lyrics for the song that he didn’t want to sing. Instead, he spoke them into the microphone and Greenwood improvised a melody when processing the vocal through an Ondes Martenot. As a result, Yorke’s voice as a robotic tone to it that greatly contrasts with the comforting music box notes that persist throughout.

The lyrics, like many others, were assembled randomly after having been written and cut up. There aren’t many present on the track. There are six phrases throughout: “I slipped away/I slipped on a little white lie/We’ve got heads on sticks and you’ve got ventriloquists/Standing in the shadows at the end of my bed/The rats and children follow me out of town/Come on kids”. Very dark, visual and mysterious imagery on show. Clearly, there aren’t a lot of lyrics either. But the group are still able to make something grand out of very little. That’s a reoccurring theme throughout the album.

With a piercing wail, the song comes to an end and transitions into ‘The National Anthem’, which takes the unsettling tones to another level.

#623: Radiohead – In Limbo

It wasn’t too long ago that I wrote about another song from Kid A. If you read that post, you’ll know how I came to listen it and what my initial reactions were. If not, I heard it for the first time in 2012. Only liked a few songs from it and went about my days. I came back to it in 2015, gave it a good listen with good headphones and found it was amazing. It was on that second listen that I realised how great of a track ‘In Limbo’ is.

‘In Limbo’ is the seventh song on the album. It starts with a lone fumbling keyboard lick before plunging into the depths with reverbed out guitars, booming drums and Thom Yorke’s buried vocals. Like other songs on Kid A, I believe that this song’s lyrics were randomly put together via the selection of phrases from a hat. Together, they build a vivid image of loneliness and isolation. It’s one of the most unsettling pieces to listen to. I love it though. The guitars play in a swirling triplet rhythm whilst Phil Selway plays this constant standard time groove like some machine. I’ve always enjoyed the fact that with good headphones this song sounds massive, yet really calming. Almost like floating. I like that weird vocal distortion that echoes after every ‘You are living in a fantasy world’ lyric. The whole package when blended together can send you into a trance.

Then just when things seem okay, everything starts falling apart. The track begins to fold in on itself and basically warps out of existence, left as some weird glitchy noises before hurriedly going into the next song. The last 30 seconds are arguably the freakiest that Radiohead ever put down on tape. I remember listening to it and thinking my headphones were breaking or a virus had messed my computer up, no joke. The track isn’t on that’s talked about a lot. If you really listen, it can definitely get a hold on you.

#610: Radiohead – Idioteque

It took me a while to get into Kid A. I recall being very underwhelmed by it. I may have told this before, but I listened to the album for the first time in 2012 or so. I had read about how it was considered to be one of the best albums of all time, critically adored and praised by fans. I heard it through some very tiny, tinny earphones and was left thinking “was that it?”. I revisited a few years later – with proper headphones that time – and realised it was actually very good. Though on that initial listen seven years ago there were obvious highlights to me: “Everything in Its Right Place“, “Optimistic”, and today’s song “Idioteque”.

I had actually heard ‘Idioteque’ before though. Its promo video (see below) aired on MTV2 a few times. The music video was a live take with the track performed in a higher key and live drums, so, in my head, there was an idea of how the song on the album was going to go. Somehow the album version creeps me out a lot more.

It may not be for everyone. It takes about a minute for Yorke to start singing. In fact he only sings for just over two minutes in the time the song lasts for. The lyrics in the track are said to have been picked from some cut up phrases drawn from a hat but somehow fit together to conjure a message of impending doom. He uses his falsetto throughout but the verses and chorus have some of the most memorable melodies of the whole album. The track does a good job of building this anxious feeling despite it being a consisting of Thom Yorke’s vocal, some glitchy percussion, processed noises of what sounds like car keys and other various things. It sounds like the end of the world. Maybe the end of the world that’s shown on the album cover.