The Cavern
Rock & Words
AMNESIAC (Radiohead, 2001)
Artista: Radiohead (B)
Recording Dates: Jan ’99 – Mar ‘00
Release Date: June 5th, 2001. UK
Record Label: Parlophone
Producer: Nigel Godrich
Rating: 8
Era: The Dispersion (2000-???)
Subgenre: Alternative
Best Song: Pyramid Song or Knives Out
Tracklist: 1) Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box; 2) Pyramid Song; 3) Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors; 4) You and Whose Army?; 5) I Might Be Wrong; 6) Knives Out; 7) Morning Bell/Amnesiac; 8) Dollars and Cents; 9) Hunting Bears; 10) Like Spinning Plates; 11) Life in a Glasshouse.
Amnesiac is like Kid A's evil twin. In fact, it was mostly recorded during the same sessions, so the style is undeniably the same. It's not that they're outtakes per se, they're not B-sides (or in this case, it's the best collection of B-sides and outtakes ever!), but rather that the band didn't want to risk making a double album because they felt it would be overwhelming, excessive, and they were certainly right. These twin albums are incredibly heavy on their own, due to their abstraction, the difficult textures, the electronic atmospheres, and making a double album with this music would have been inhuman. The band also felt they would cancel each other out. They are related, undeniably, but they were conceived more or less as separate works. This one is much denser. It's true, there's more guitar presence, but the abstract songs are more difficult and suffocating. The feeling of claustrophobia here is much greater than on its predecessor, and I think it takes more listens to fully digest. On the other hand, there are more friendly tracks that were actually released as singles, such as "I Might Be Wrong" and "Knives Out," which bring us a little closer to the more "human" side of Radiohead.
While we could start another world war over which Radiohead album is the best, I think there are two things we can almost universally agree on: Kid A and Amnesiac are the band's most closely related albums, which is why I half-jokingly call them twins. Not only because they were created at the same time, but because the sounds, the lyrics, and that abstract, unsettling feeling they leave behind are very, very similar. But like twins, we can't say they're identical. This isn't Kid B, definitely. Without delving too deeply into the lyrics and atmospheres, both albums have distinct personalities, which are immediately apparent. You know they're related without knowing exactly how. I still can't quite explain that connection; it's something intangible, a strange link, perhaps in the experimentation, the abrasive atmospheres, the lingering sense of anguish, that desolate and apocalyptic aura they share.
Thom Yorke said: “They’re separated because they couldn’t be together, they cancel each other out like finished works…” “In a way, I think Amnesiac gives Kid A another explanation; something traumatic is happening in Kid A… this is about looking back, trying to put the pieces together and find out what happened.” And I couldn’t have defined it better. Amnesiac is a sonic puzzle, extremely difficult, constantly being assembled, and I don’t know if it will ever end. It’s one of those eternal labyrinths Borges wrote about.
Regarding the differences between the albums, Yorke himself explains it much better than I could: “I think the cover art is the best way to explain it. Kid A is all about distance. The fire is happening on the other side of the hill. With Amnesiac, you're actually inside the forest while the fire is happening.” It's difficult to explain; I'm not entirely satisfied with the idea of fires, but I have to agree with Yorke, and it's perhaps the best way to put it into words. Both are apocalyptic, desolate albums that somehow reflect the emptiness of this new millennium society. But Amnesiac is more unsettling, with more bizarre, gritty, abstract atmospheres. All the sensations of Kid A are amplified and magnified to leave us with that feeling of paranoia, of a noose around our necks, of an inevitable end. While there's a glimmer of hope in Kid A, there isn't in Amnesiac. Those jazz notes with which the album closes leave you with a feeling of utter helplessness, that Yorke is drowning in whiskey, in some jazzy bar in London, or New Orleans… that everything is lost.
The lyrics are more cryptic and minimalist than on its predecessor. Yorke seems to be either throwing out ideas in a stupid and nonsensical way, or he's a damn genius playing chess with our minds. Judging by his lyrical work on his other albums, it's obvious he's not improvising. Yorke is capable of delivering devastating poems in just a few lines: "I jumped in the river, what did I see? Black-eyed angels swam with me," or "We are going to crack you're little souls," or "Cut the kids in half" in the context of a devastating divorce. In short, the lyrics are more minimalist, but perhaps more expressive than on Kid A. Yorke has that brilliant ability to exorcise his demons and involve us all, reflecting us in the process. He opens his soul with enough force to represent the entire world, and very few lyricists are capable of that.
Now, the main difference between the albums, and the main reason why Amnesiac doesn't reach the same level of brilliance as Kid A, is that it doesn't flow in the same way. While Kid A achieves a constant flow of energy between songs, and the album feels like a single, unchanging product, the same cannot be said of Amnesiac. Kid A has excellent transitions, like "Optimistic-In Limbo," which makes the changes subtle and seamless. Amnesiac lacks this. The changes between tracks are abrupt and even awkward, with a somewhat forced feel. We're listening to an electronic song like "Packt" and suddenly we switch to a piano song like "Pyramid," and then we go to an experimental and abstract extreme like "Pulk," or we're listening to a guitar-driven song like "Hunting Bears" and we jump to electronic abstraction to close with jazz. In other words, the album is varied, perhaps even more so than Kid A, but the handling of the themes and atmospheres, as well as its transitions, makes it much, much more difficult, more transgressive. An electronic nightmare. But has it ever happened to you that, despite the anguish, you want to return to that nightmare because there's something left unresolved? Amnesiac is that nightmare. There's always something that gets forgotten. And you have to go back to resolve it.
The album opens with “Packt Like Sardines in a Crushd Tin Box”, which immediately sends the message that this is going to be an even more bizarre journey than Kid A. A somber, electronic, almost robotic atmosphere pervades the track. Thom sings in a brutally insensitive, emotionless way; that's perhaps the most terrifying and strange thing about the song. The rest is an electronic soundscape, as if we were entering the processor of a supercomputer to listen to its thoughts. The lyrics begin with that forceful punch that Yorke can deliver in just a few words: “After years of waiting nothing came, As your life flashed before your eyes.” Then, the four minutes of lyrics are reduced to countless repetitions of “I'm a reasonable man, Get off my case, Get off my case…” in an almost obsessive way, while in the background the electronic effects crackle and chime, the beat stops and restarts, and the keyboards turn out to be the most coherent element of the song, not without a certain icy and impersonal feel. The twist of the track lies in its title. The impersonal atmosphere reflects that world where we're just a number, another sardine on a packed bus or subway, where we're nobody. A chilling track, and far more powerful than it initially appears.
Next up is “Pyramid Song”, a beautiful ballad dominated by Thom Yorke’s minimalist piano, sung with a nostalgic voice, much more emotional than on the first track. In fact, it’s the complete opposite, and the band doesn’t bother to create any nuances. On the one hand, it’s a pleasant surprise, but the contrast can also be quite jarring. Anyway, “Pyramid Song” is a fantastic track, a strong contender for the best on the album, and one of the very few from Amnesiac that the band regularly plays live. Yorke sings with that pessimism that brings us to the verge of tears, and with impressive lines like “I jumped into the river, black-eyed angels swam with me” or “There was nothing to fear and nothing to doubt.” Cryptic lyrics, which some say are inspired by Dante's Divine Comedy, others by the Tibetan Book of the Dead; whether it speaks of death, of suicide, or of Yorke transporting the listener to the moment of drowning in a river… the truth is, it's moving, open to countless interpretations, and a musical prism that changes color depending on your mood. The song dates back to 1999, the year Yorke first performed it live, but it didn't reach its definitive version until Amnesiac. An absolute marvel, with a fantastic violin crescendo and complex drumming by Phil Selway from the two-minute mark onward, although at times it's reminiscent of "How To Disappear Completely."
“Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors” strikes me as the most suffocating track on the album. And it's another example of the radical shift in textures on the record. A completely electronic track, with all the sounds processed, including Thom's voice, which sounds incredibly strange. The lyrics are intelligible, so you have to look for them to read them, and even then they're still incomprehensible, hahaha. They talk about doors, with more intention than they seem to: “There are doors that let you in and out, But never open, But they are trapdoors, That you can't come back from.” And you can add as many interpretations as you want: drugs, the cold interpersonal relationships of the turn of the millennium, the choices and decisions we make in our lives, the internet, etc., etc., etc. A barren track, without melody, that's like listening to a back-and-forth of bits with that sound that comes in waves. I fully understand the experimental idea and find it admirable, but it certainly exceeds my limits and seems excessive, especially because of its 4-minute duration.
Then there's "You and Whose Army?", another minimalist track where Thom begins singing practically a cappella, with a distant and ethereal voice, accompanied by a very subtle guitar and a remote melody. I don't know why, but together they always make me think it's a song from the 1920s. The band doesn't enter until 1:45, bringing us back with a spectacular crescendo and giving the song a fascinating twist. Pianos and drums—it's not much, but it's enough for Thom to inject greater intensity into the song and create an impressive ending. The lyrics, once again, are a big question mark: "You think you drive me crazy, come on, come on, you and whose army?" before closing with "We ride tonight, ghost horses." A mix of jazz, ballad, electronic, experimental rock… It all works very well, and that part in the middle where the song shifts from Thom Yorke to the full band is one of those climactic and orgasmic moments that Radiohead achieves at least once on every album.
Then comes “I Might Be Wrong”. Johnny Greenwood attacks from the start with an infectious and powerful riff, somewhat primitive and malevolent, but which eventually becomes a bit repetitive. His brother Colin also provides a prominent bass line in the background, although it's somewhat overshadowed by the guitar's volume. Over this riff and the equally repetitive beat, Yorke creates the atmosphere and raises and lowers the intensity without sounding as bizarre as some other tracks. At 3:55, there's a false ending; just when it seems the song is over, Jonny adds some simple but beautiful guitar arrangements and a loop for the final close. Lyrically, it's an enigma. Among the standout lines are: “I used to think, There is no future left at all” and “Let's go down the waterfall, Think about the good times, And never look back…” None of Radiohead's lyrics are random, but many leave a big question mark hanging over them. This track is one of those enigmatic passages in the puzzle that is Amnesiac. When played live, the song improves considerably, sounding more human and with much greater power.
Next up is “Knives Out”, a track similar to the previous one in that it features much more guitar and is somewhat more accessible. These aren't pop songs; they remain experimental and have a paranoid feel, but they adhere to a more traditional band format and are a bit more reminiscent of the sounds of OK than Kid A. In short, it's good to hear guitars again, especially when Id O'Brien does such a good and creative job throughout the song. The chord progression bears a distant resemblance to “Paranoid Android.” Lyrically, it's supposedly divided into three parts: one about cannibalism, another about a man who leaves his wife and children with the intention of never returning, and the third about a “100-meter stare”—when someone looks you in the eyes from a distance with murderous intentions, according to Yorke. It's an improvement over “I Might Be Wrong,” which sounds flatter and more repetitive. Here, Yorke and O'Brien display many more resources and variations to enrich the track.
Then we have “Morning Bell/Amnesiac”, which is another sweet nightmare. At times very saturated, even suffocating, but with something sweet or innocent in the pianos and xylophones (the “morning bell that chimes throughout the song”), but there’s also something strange and bizarre, and I can’t tell which is the facade and which is the underlying truth. The melody is also soft and hypnotic, vaguely reminiscent of “No Surprises,” but while that one was a beautiful ballad without any grand pretensions, this one is experimental and unsettling. The lyrics are abrasive, speaking of a divorce and dividing everything, even the children. The bell she can’t get rid of since waking up, the desperate plea for liberation…
The eighth track is “Dollars And Cents”, with a fast, incisive beat, a great bass riff, and sonic waves that I'm not sure if they're keyboards, Mellotrons, or an orchestra. This time, the band creates spectacular combinations, building tension and incredible explosions on the same basic structure and rhythm, like around the two-minute mark when more and more Thom Yorkes join in, and the band reaches a kind of mini-climax before returning to where they started, lowering the intensity. The lyrics are a harsh critique of the current pace of life and economic liberalism in general: “You don't like living in a business world, You don't have goals and you never stay, There are no more goals in our liberal world, Living in times when I could stand it.” It 's a haunting song, where guitars and keyboards combine to create dense textures, not overly electronic, but still generating that claustrophobic feeling.
Next up is “Hunting Bears”, an instrumental track where Jonny Greenwood does practically everything, weaving together guitar notes with a bluesy influence and a melancholic undertone that doesn't really need lyrics or Thom's vocals to bring us to the verge of tears. The echo is perfect, a clear example of how silence can be just as powerful as the notes themselves, since the pauses he creates, lengthening the notes, are precisely what gives it that somber, dramatic feel. A great demonstration of Jonny's technical skill in just two minutes.
Then there's "Like Spinning Plates", a return to Radiohead's more experimental side. This is the reversed melody of "I Will," a track that wouldn't appear until 2003 on Hail to the Thief. The first half is this strange sonic experiment, giving the impression of an abstract instrumental piece, until the vocals finally enter at 1:45. Since the main structure was reversed, Thom didn't feel comfortable singing "normally," so they sought out a composer who helped them "flip" the melody, and Thom sang it entirely in reverse. That's why it sounds stranger than usual. Haha. And he doesn't do badly; in parts, it's even understandable, especially in the dramatic chorus. The song becomes much more interesting after the vocals come in, although this section is rather short. But this is an example of how, when they experiment intelligently, they can create some truly impressive things, not just a bunch of noise.
The album closes with “Life In A Glass House”, which begins with a strange tinkling sound and echoes that give the impression of another abstract piece. But it's quickly followed by a playful piano, a horn section, and an oboe, creating a desolate jazz atmosphere in the purest New Orleans style. Humphrey Lyttelton arranged and conducted the horn section, which at times seems to be improvising exquisitely. Yorke sings with desolation, becoming pure emotion, and I can almost picture him face down on the table, a bottle of whiskey in his hand, singing without any hope while the jazz group plays in the background at 3 a.m. The lyrics perfectly reflect this despair: “Once again, I'm in trouble with my only friend,” or “Well of course I'd like to sit around and chat, but someone's listening in,” or “Once again, we are hungry for a lynching, that's a strange mistake to make.” The chaos that erupts towards the end is incredible, and it's another of the album's climactic moments. An absolutely brilliant and exquisite piece, one of the band's most brutally underrated. I understand the difficulty of performing it live, but that doesn't detract from the fact that it's one of the most unjustly forgotten gems in Radiohead's repertoire and a truly surprising way to end the album.
You end up not knowing what on earth just happened. A certain feeling of something majestic, but also of a nightmare, an unfinished puzzle, more questions than answers with each listen. The experimentation is at its peak: the abstraction of "Packt," the utterly bizarre "Pulk/Pull," the bittersweet "Morning Bell/Amnesiac," the guitar-driven "Hunting Bears," the computerized "Like Spinning Plates," the jazzy surprise "Life in a Glasshouse," the emotive "Pyramid Song," and even the more standard tracks like "I Might Be Wrong" or "Knives Out"—at this point, a more standard song was surprising coming from this band, haha. All of this is uncharted territory. We had already glimpsed it in Kid A, but here it's more complex, more suffocating, more abstract, and deeper. Here we are, right in the middle of the fire we used to only watch from the outside. We're burning alive, and there's nothing we can do. There's no way to solve this puzzle. It's agonizing. But it's addictive. And that can only be a sign that its creator is a damn genius. In this case, a five-headed genius.
Regardless of the controversy surrounding whether "Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors" is good or not, I think Amnesiac doesn't flow as smoothly as Kid A, and therefore doesn't reach the same level of mastery. That's primarily why I'm not giving it a perfect score. Even so, it's a very consistent, very powerful album, and arguably, with more personality than Kid A, although it's not the best album to start discovering Radiohead with. To use the twin analogy, Kid A is the cuter, friendlier, more charming, and somewhat eccentric older brother. But Amnesiac is the more intelligent, cunning, unpredictable one, with a touch of malice.
By Corvan
Jan/11/2012
