There was a time when Radiohead felt absolutely essential - more so than any other artist throughout that period (more or less OK Computer to Hail to the Thief) and probably more so than any other artist during any period[*] - and so, in a way, it's remarkable that it's taken me this long to get caught up on not just one but their last two lps. And yet, for me, at last coming to them now, what's noticeable is that each is interesting in both musical and emotional terms - and that they strike me primarily on those levels rather than that of the nostalgic or by way of personal associations connected to the band's past output.
The King of Limbs is the more challenging of the two, and particularly its front half, which is heavier on the scuttling, skittering (and less melodic/propulsive) end of the band's repertoire, needed several listens for me to get my ear in for, and still scans as a four-song sequence that I generally appreciate more than I really like. The second half speaks more directly to me - especially the simplicity of "Codex", which hearkens back to so many piano-led Radiohead ballads before it (a mini genre that seemingly never gets old or loses its ability to move), and sighing follow-on "Give Up The Ghost", not to mention the sprightly close of "Separator".
Taken together, the set's a welcome reminder of Radiohead's remarkable musicality as well as their sheer weirdness - a weirdness which, through whatever combination of deft touch and talent, and a trajectory that led all of us in our millions down the rabbit hole behind them, has always been sublimely accessible.
And then A Moon Shaped Pool, which is a notch above. It's impossible for me to compare anything new that Radiohead - or, for that matter, anyone else - might put out to their past albums, at least in terms of 'quality', because those past records are all either landmarks in their own right (everything up to and including Amnesiac) or subsequent artifacts that I've listened to through the filter of those earlier, gravitationally immense works (Hail to the Thief, although over a slow burn of many years it has increasingly gained significance in its own right, plus In Rainbows). But, at the very least, A Moon Shaped Pool has what I can only describe as depths - pun unintended - that make it a worthy addition to the canon, a compelling quality that sinks in.
In "Burn the Witch", it has an urgent, shivering opener which does indeed sound like a low flying panic attack, and after that it's a succession of spacious, not overly ornamented melody-pieces, of which "Decks Dark" and the latest of the band's idiosyncratic versions of fragmented soul, "Identikit", are the most penetrating, together with the rhythmic lullaby of "Present Tense" and, of course, "True Love Waits" at the end, a song that's only grown over the years, endlessly moving even as its meaning and the ways in which it summons feeling have shifted.
No, they haven't gone away.
***
[*] I was reminded of how generational that experience was the other night when I put on A Moon Shaped Pool before dinner, and when Nic - visiting for the night - asked me whether I'd known that Radiohead is her favourite band (I hadn't), how natural and unsurprising that was to learn.
The King of Limbs is the more challenging of the two, and particularly its front half, which is heavier on the scuttling, skittering (and less melodic/propulsive) end of the band's repertoire, needed several listens for me to get my ear in for, and still scans as a four-song sequence that I generally appreciate more than I really like. The second half speaks more directly to me - especially the simplicity of "Codex", which hearkens back to so many piano-led Radiohead ballads before it (a mini genre that seemingly never gets old or loses its ability to move), and sighing follow-on "Give Up The Ghost", not to mention the sprightly close of "Separator".
Taken together, the set's a welcome reminder of Radiohead's remarkable musicality as well as their sheer weirdness - a weirdness which, through whatever combination of deft touch and talent, and a trajectory that led all of us in our millions down the rabbit hole behind them, has always been sublimely accessible.
And then A Moon Shaped Pool, which is a notch above. It's impossible for me to compare anything new that Radiohead - or, for that matter, anyone else - might put out to their past albums, at least in terms of 'quality', because those past records are all either landmarks in their own right (everything up to and including Amnesiac) or subsequent artifacts that I've listened to through the filter of those earlier, gravitationally immense works (Hail to the Thief, although over a slow burn of many years it has increasingly gained significance in its own right, plus In Rainbows). But, at the very least, A Moon Shaped Pool has what I can only describe as depths - pun unintended - that make it a worthy addition to the canon, a compelling quality that sinks in.
In "Burn the Witch", it has an urgent, shivering opener which does indeed sound like a low flying panic attack, and after that it's a succession of spacious, not overly ornamented melody-pieces, of which "Decks Dark" and the latest of the band's idiosyncratic versions of fragmented soul, "Identikit", are the most penetrating, together with the rhythmic lullaby of "Present Tense" and, of course, "True Love Waits" at the end, a song that's only grown over the years, endlessly moving even as its meaning and the ways in which it summons feeling have shifted.
No, they haven't gone away.
***
[*] I was reminded of how generational that experience was the other night when I put on A Moon Shaped Pool before dinner, and when Nic - visiting for the night - asked me whether I'd known that Radiohead is her favourite band (I hadn't), how natural and unsurprising that was to learn.
