Showing posts with label OK Computer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label OK Computer. Show all posts

October 9, 2007

OK Computer

OK Computer, Radiohead, Rolling Stone Magazine's #162

exile staff consensus: Top 50 album




the breakdown:
5.0 cannons - lenbarker
4.5 cannons - angryyoungman, venerableseed and eurowags
4.0 cannons - polchic

the essays:
Me: Hysterical and Useless. Is there ever a time to say no?
LB: Kicking Screaming Raving Drooling. Is Radiohead our Pink Floyd?
Dave#1: OK Krupka. How does obsessive fandom (see first article) affect those who just don't get it. Let's just hope he changed her name to protect the innocent.
AYM: Exit Music (for a Dodge Neon). Technological angst revealed.
Wags: Out With the Old. Read how OK Computer opened up a new world.
Gab: This is What You'll Get. Understanding what it means.

Who doesn't own this album? It's one of the defining LP's of our generation, it's ubiquitous in Greatest Albums of All Time lists and immediately recognized as brilliant and ahead of its time. But what about the stunning, meaningful, apocalyptic, complex, baroque, moving, abstract but wholly relate-able music. Can you listen to it 10 years later for enjoyment? Could you ever? Let's see...
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October 8, 2007

This Is What You'll Get

“He wants you to translate for him. What does it mean?”

“You mean the words? He wants to know the words of the song?”

“No. he knows the words. He wants to know what they mean. He doesn’t understand what they mean.”

We listened for days in a tiny basement apartment in Warsaw. Karma Police in particular was on a constant loop that should have burned a hole in the pirated cassette. All of us transfixed, none of us really understanding Thom Yorke’s verbal message. I was the native speaker – what was my excuse? But we all felt it in the chords. The urgency, the indescribable yet delicious pain, the immediacy of the moment. This moment. Right now. It would never happen again.

In Poland almost everyone lived at home with their parents, so if you had a flat of your own, it was fair game. You may have had the great idea to host the after party when the clubs closed. Days later, you would still find partygoers on your couch and rifling through your fridge as you were getting ready for work.

That’s what happened to Frank, a French expat who was never clear about his “job” in Poland. That weekend, I was one of the stragglers. But my train back to Wroclaw wouldn’t leave for several hours and I was supplying the soundtrack and making tea so he didn’t complain.

I didn’t know that Ok Computer was a worldwide hit. Even when the Polish Tower Records, Empik, carried them, the NME and Melody Maker were rare and expensive indulgences. And the only use I had for the Internet was in the ten minutes it took me to check my newly created hotmail account at the internet café. I knew that I loved The Bends and that the guy outside the train station had the new Radiohead tape for 10 zloty (a steal! Literally).

When our ears were still ringing with bad techno, I had offered up my new purchase as a sound alternative. That was early Saturday morning. By Monday afternoon there were just a few of us still lingering, still listening. Frank had given up hope of throwing us out. Kaczor and I shared the space closest to the stereo.

Kaczor was beautiful. A confused thug who thought he needed to look tougher so he shaved his head earlier in the weekend. Only it had the opposite effect. He now looked angelic, naïve, and more desperate, if that was possible. It was a desperation that could get dangerous, particularly after sleepless nights. Despite his beauty, if I hadn’t known Kaczor, I would have crossed a dark street to avoid him, especially if he were surrounded by his peers. That morning, he was alone and he looked it. I knew he had nothing to go home to and would have liked, more than anything, for those moments safe and quiet in the basement flat, to last a little longer.

Kaczor asked me again, directly this time, “So what does it mean?”

I did what I always did as an inexperienced English teacher. I made something up, something that would fit the limited Polish I would have to use to explain it.

“He’s bothered by people that don’t make sense. He doesn’t want to be around people that make him miserable. It makes him crazy.”

Sweet Kaczor. He nodded at my translation. Completely satisfied.
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Out With The Old

OK Computer was the album that woke me up, shook me, and made me giddily excited about current music. Until then, I had been in almost permanent class rock, R&B and old school hip hop rewind.

I first heard it while living in Ecuador in early 1998. At the time, I was listening mainly to tapes of several rock classics, including Synchronicity, The Joshua Tree, The Allman’s Brother and Sisters, and a compilation of Bob Marley tracks from Catch a Fire, Burning, and Natty Dread. (Yeah, I had managed a couple of more recent fare, like Portishead’s second and eponymous album, but a few listens to it on the first lonely nights in the capital encouraged me to put it to the side for a long while in the name of my own sanity and survival.)

I wasn’t totally oblivious to the current Anglo-American music landscape. The Spice Girls’ “Spice Up Your Life”, Chumbawanmba’s “Tubthumping”, and The Verve’s “Bittersweet Symphony” were the tunes being spun on the Ecuadorian pop radio. Clearly, then, I was not a total social reject, but I was certainly a long ass way from hipsterness. For some reason, I had not heard the new album from Radiohead, a band that I was familiar with only by name, probably for “Creep”.

My introduction to the album came through a US study abroad student who was also renting a room in the apartment of my Ecuadorian host family. One day he showed me what seemed to be a very intriguing collection of current music, although I had to bashfully admit that I was rather unfamiliar with most of it. He kindly offered to play me some tracks from his favorite albums at the time. All of it was rather entertaining and offered nice background noise as we chatted about various subjects, but it wasn’t until he put on OK Computer that I started to really take notice. I quickly asked if I could get a copy on tape and he generously obliged.

Enclosed by myself in my room at night, I started to listen to this new music that had so caught my attention. I was immediately transfixed; I was left marveling at the beautiful, remote, and floating tonalities created by the diverse guitars and Thom Yorke on songs like “Air Bag”, “Karma Police”, “No Surprises”, and “Let Down”. Songs like “Paranoid Android” and “Climbing Up the Walls” threw me into a joyous fit of excitement and sustained attention, provoking thoughts and feelings of controlled rage and social protest. By the end of it all, I was left in utter amazement at what my ears had just heard. Why had I not been aware of this before? Where had this music and this band come from?

Shortly after, I started to realize that I wasn’t the only one to notice. MTV Latin America was playing the “Paranoid Android” video regularly. I saw a cover of Rolling Stone – 1997 year in review issue, I believe – featuring them on the front or a key article on them. The secret was out, and while one part of me wished that this music was just for me and a select group, I was simultaneously thrilled to see how universally embraced this album was – sort of that “I knew it” sensation of self pride.

In the ensuing weeks and months, OK Computer became my top and perhaps only spin on my walkman. I was completely sold on the greatness of this album and band, so much so that I seemingly forgot about the other music in my abbreviated collection. Better said, the other stuff seemed a bit tired and irrelevant at that point. Before leaving Ecuador and heading to Chile, I distinctly remember giving my cassettes of The Police, U2, Marley and company to friends and how easy it was to part with them. Somehow, OK Computer was all I needed and all I could talk about. My Chilean housemate, Chris, must have noticed because he would jokingly jibe that OK Computer was a cheap derivative of Bauhaus and nothing more.

But, I was not to be swayed in my thinking. This was the best album that I had heard in a long time and certainly the best of the 1990s. The emotional intensity and the utter conviction of the overall sound were astonishing. The album was pure catharsis.

Looking back, I realize how OK Computer marked the beginning of my quest to seek out new and more diversified current music. Back in the US, the Radiohead web page, music criticism pages like pitchforkmedia.com, and independently owned record stores were my new and frequent destinations. My mission was clear: I had to be extra attentive for I couldn’t let the next OK Computer come out without me realizing for so long again.
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October 5, 2007

Exit Music (For a Dodge Neon)

Ok Computer (which I am listening to right now - I'm going to make it a habit to post while I'm listening to each album) reminds me of my first car. Well, not my first car ever, but the first car I ever bought with my own money (which, so far, I have only done twice) and also the first new car that I ever owned. It came out around the same time I bought my 1997 Dodge Neon. I was trying to save money so I went with the cassette deck option (and also the 72-month loan instead of 60, which I think cost me money in the end but I was all about the lower monthly payments) and on the strength of "Karma Police" I borrowed someone's CD (cannot remember whose for the life of me) and made a tape of OK Computer to listen to in the Neon.


It was one of only 3 or 4 tapes I ever got around to making, and I spent a lot of time in that car, so I listened to it over and over. Actually, I listened to track 6-12 over and over. Tracks 1-5 were on one side of the tape and 6-12 were on the other. Although I was in the car a lot, it wasn't often for long enough to listen to a whole album so I frequently rewound Side 2 and listened to "Karma Police" through the end over and over. And over. Tracks 6-12 were my soundtrack for a lot of late night, aimless drives around the Washington Beltway in the late 90s.

Once I sold that Neon to my sister in 2002 I didn't have any means of playing cassettes and I never got around to getting it on CD. I guess I had listened to it enough to hold me over for years because it wasn't until I got my Zune last Christmas and got all of my music organized onto my computer that I bothered to download it and listen to it again. It's great listening to it again, but I can't imagine ever getting on a kick again where I listen to it often. It's too fixed in time for me. Or something.
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October 4, 2007

OK Krupka

This album sucks. Not because Thom Yorke is so ugly you'd swear one of his parents must have been a barnyard animal. Not because his sleepy eye thing makes your skin crawl. Not even because Radiohead kicked open the door to a million crappy bands using machines to create something that isn't even close to music. OK Computer sucks because of Christine Krupka.


Christine was a bespeckled, lanky dork that I knew at my first job after college. We shared an office, she playing the role of favorite and me playing the role of guy the boss couldn't care less about. I liked her in that "glad we share an office, but I wouldn't hang with you outside of work" way. Although, I have to admit I did once have a beer with her at a local bar in an attempt to set her up with a friend of mine who seemed hard up. I kept her on her toes by peppering our daily conversation with all manner of sexual innuendo, dumb insults, and friendly namecalling. She was very talented at making sh!tty one-color brochures that advertised classes in turfgrass management and wastewater treatment. And, despite her inability to match her tops with her ankle length skirts, she was pretty damn smart.

While Christine was busying herself deferring her matriculation at Yale Law School so she could keep getting paid crap wages and winning regional educational marketing awards, she was also cultivating her indie cred by reading Spin and talking about the new bands she was into. I was still into loads of grunge and alt country stuff at the time, so I didn't exactly have anything nice to say when she made me listen to Kula Shaker. Then, one morning, she comes into the office and can't shut the f@ck up about OK Computer. You know, just regurgitating whatever the hell she read in the reviews as if she had formed these insights on her own. I wanted to choke myself to death every time she brought it up.

I had enjoyed Radiohead up to that point. "Creep" was a decent single, I thought, despite what the speed-metal loving bassist in my band thought. And, I had actually purchased The Bends. But, you know how it goes. When someone like Krupka becomes enamored with a new album, you just can't like the damn thing. So, despite how good this album might be, I have never really given it a chance. I can't even see the cover without thinking of her and those damn brochures.

I will admit that as the years passed and the buzz of Krupka's chatter faded, I did find some appreciation for OK Computer - at least it isn't as retarded as Kid A.
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Kicking Screaming Raving Drooling

One of my college roommates used to make fun of another roommate for buying Radiohead's first album, Pablo Honey, on the strength of the single "Creep". The dismissive derider thought that Radiohead was clearly a one hit wonder on the tail end of the grunge phenomenon and would never be heard from again. Although I liked "Creep" well enough, I never bothered to listen to the album nor did I muster a counterargument. For all that I could tell, he was right.

A little while later, I heard a different acquaintance's copy of their second album, The Bends, and was shocked by how good it was, but I was too proud to go out and buy my own copy of it, because I didn't respect this dude's taste in music enough to allow myself to be so directly influenced by him! So I continued to resist becoming a Radiohead fan until I heard the undeniably great "Karma Police" and "Paranoid Android" and just had to finally purchase this wonderful CD. I still remember where and when I made that purchase and recall that day whenever I pass by the store, a big box next to an interstate where I pulled over on a whim, on road trips.

In short, OK Computer is absolutely deserving of its reputation as the Dark Side of the Moon of the '90s.


More specifically, we get a great intro a la "Speak To Me"/"Breathe"/"On the Run" in "Airbag" that establishes some themes while not blowing us away, but building up the anticipation with chord progressions and arrangements bringing unresolved tension. Then on to the main feast: on Dark Side we got the soaring, epic "Time", and here we get something arguably even better: "Paranoid Android" is one of the greatest prog rock tracks ever produced (whether Radiohead actually likes prog or not!). I love the loose feel of the acoustic guitars throughout the early part of the song and Colin Greenwood's playful groove on the bass, and, as usual, Thom sings the hell out of this one (And the lyrics! "Kicking, screaming, Gucci little piggie!" Hell, yes.), but this all still just build up for the guitar riffage/carnage to follow; Jonny Greenwood's Lovetone Meatball effect on the guitar solo absolutely kills.

With gut-punches from "Time" and "Paranoid Android" coming so soon after the album's introductions, do both of these albums peak too early? A case could be made for that, but they both attain great heights later, too, and function beautifully as cohesive listening experiences, so I tend to think that the albums probably flowed best with these tracks in their respective places. And flow is a key similarity here, in that both albums are better than the sum of their parts by virtue of the fact that they are both such superb bodies of work in their coherence and listenability on the whole (even when they're bringing on some serious depression!).

After the respective epics, the albums continue to flow in the same directins for now as we get a bit of a break in the action on both albums and mellow out a bit with "The Breathe Reprise" at the end of "Time" and "The Great Gig in the Sky" on Dark Side and "Subterranean Homesick Alien", "Exit Music (For a Film)", and "Let Down" on OK Computer. It is interesting how both "Great Gig" and "Exit Music" develop, dazzle, and dissolve in similar fashion, both moving the listener in similar fashion due to the expert song-craft employed by these two amazing bands.

Next we get the albums' "big hits" in "Money" and "Karma Police". Beyond that distinction, there's really not much of an honest comparison to be made between these tracks, but we continue to see how similarly the albums flow anyway. And there's still plenty left to enjoy on both of these albums, as we get moving slow songs about forms of isolation in "No Surprises" and "Us and Them".

The albums close in distinctly different fashions, much of this owing to the fact that Dark Side of the Moon is a concept album with musical themes that are reintroduced, rehashed, and resolved, whereas OK Computer continues to explore new musical directions. This aspect of the comparison also feeds into the whole "Dark Side of the Moon of the '90s" bit in that concept albums, while they are still being made, will probably forever be associated with the 1970s, the decade in which Dark Side of the Moon was released. If OK Computer had been a concept album, then the comparison probably would not have worked as well in terms of either its identity as a strong product of its times or of the widespread acceptance that it attained, which are absolutely essential for this comparison.

It is notable that OK Computer was obtained and enjoyed by such a wide swathe of rock fandom, even as represented by my own group of friends, who have fairly divergent musical tastes, because that is the kind of popularity that made Dark Side of the Moon the cultural touchstone of its day, too. Just about everybody of certain ages who was into rock music at the time of these releases knows these albums and can be expected to be conversant on the topic, even if they don't like them. I once dated an older woman who was convinced that I was someone else who was posting online, merely because the other guy and I shared a mutual love of both Radiohead and Neil Young; she failed to understand how thoroughly unremarkable that is. Name any major rock act plus Pink Floyd or Radiohead, and fans who share a love for both of them are going to be common.

Some may view it as a disservice to compare the albums in such direct fashion, especially since, despite the numerous comparisons, there is zero evidence that Radiohead was consciously aping or performing any sort of homage to Pink Floyd with this album, so let me be perfectly clear that I only intend to present this comparison on the basis of commonalities that both of these great albums happen to share and which have resulted in a frequently made observation that proves true under scrutiny. Radiohead definitely was not seeking to rehash any sort of '70s prog; Jonny Greenwood reportedly does not even like Dark Side of the Moon. Relatively speaking, Radiohead, who had started off sounded like a mishmash of U2 in a grunge direction with greater chops in evidence than either of those institutions, was bringing something just as new and excellent (if not even greater) to the table as Pink Floyd had within the natural progression and context of their own musical abilities and influences.

So now that we have that comparison out of the way, so what? An album doesn't attain greatness in a vacuum, so it's worth examining how it changed the musical landscape, especially in the case of this particular album. The album's title represents an obvious concession to technology, but this is still in large part a guitar album, especially in comparison to the direction taken by the band later on Kid A and Amnesiac. Still, much was made of that title at the time, and techno, although it never really caught on in the States like the media claimed that it would, seemed poised to dominate with the guitar reportedly on the verge of extinction. Although that didn't happen, there definitely was a rash of successful Radiohead clones popping up like Doves, Travis, and Coldplay, so, in that respect, the album has continued to influence the charts, even though it never helped to usher in any sort of techno-age at all.

However, although guitar driven rock directly influenced by Radiohead remains with us, we may never see the likes of an album like OK Computer and its widespread acceptance throughout rock fandom and influence on fellow musicians again. With the popularity of music downloading having hurt physical rock album sales, it is evident that the dynamics of music sales have shifted appreciably, and more rock fans are taking the opportunity to less expensively explore their own preferred niches, making it far less likely that rock fans will come together over and fully absorb an album in such a fashion ever again.

A few years after its release, some all-time-greatest-album lists placed OK Computer squarely at the top, and, although that has grown rarer, I still would not have a problem with it.
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Hysterical and Useless

I couldn't even wait to get back home. The new NME and Melody Maker had arrived at my corner coffee/magazine shop. In them were the reviews for OK Computer. It was a Monday. The album was coming out via import on Friday. The next Tuesday American stores were to receive what surely would be the greatest album ever made.

Why did I care so much? Perhaps it was Thom Yorke's impossibly exaggerated angst on The Bends. I related to it more than my friends and family could have possibly wanted. But that was me. I relished the moodswings, the misunderstandings, and the misgivings I invented with my surroundings and my generation's dismal lot in a world that was crumbling around me at this very moment. This new album was to be my album. It was going to understand me. It was going to be perfect.

The NME trumpeted the album with a 10/10. "Age-defining" and "one of the greatest albums of living memory". Of course it would be. They understood the global trepidations. My trepidations.

I opened the Melody Maker for more affirmation and was struck down. "I can't think of any time I'd ever want to listen to it." It continued "I can't work out whether I like it, although I think I like it very much indeed. I definitely know it isn't good for me."

I had already determined that these reviews were not about OK Computer, they were about me. So naturally I ignored the criticism and soldiered on. The Melody Maker did too naming OK Computer its second-best album of 1997. I bought the gatefold vinyl, the CD, the import singles and B-sides and I listened and I listened and I heard. The music was so new and so different. This was the future. An unpleasant future but that's what I had.

The album became a necessary part of my life but the Melody Maker criticism still lingered. "I can't think of any time I'd ever want to listen to it." Maybe he was right. My personal marriage with the album was making me miserable. The album's morbid conclusions and horrific dramatic thrusts were too appealing; a siren song into, at best, a lasting dreadfulness. I never made an active decision but at some point I stopped listening.

So when I listened again yesterday I listened as an outsider. I still shuddered at the crescendos of Exit Music (for a Film) and Let Down. I still knew all the words, the intra-song transitions, the key changes and the complex time switches but I didn't need the album. It left me with a hopefulness and a joy for the future because this beautiful album is now a part of the past. "Let down and hanging around"? Not at all.
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