A Love Letter to the Radiohead Public Library
It’s 2016. You’re a Junior in High School studying for your SATs, uncertain about your position in life, hopelessly trying to be someone your not, and drowning your sadboy sorrows in Radiohead’s first eight studio albums. Having exhausted all this material, you wonder how you will possibly continue in this life with no Thom Yorke to hold your hand while you drive to school every day. School ends, and you’re excited and nervous about the summer ahead. Fear no longer. Radiohead releases A Moon Shaped Pool on May 8, 2016, and it seems as though all is right in the world. You headbang to “Burn the Witch,” sway and shed single tears to “Daydreaming,” and eargasm to a somber and beautiful version of “True Love Waits.” A fucking masterpiece. You go with your family to Montreal to attend the Osheaga Music and Arts Festival that summer. The lineup: Grimes, M83, Disclosure, SOPHIE, Kaytranada, Lana Del Rey, Red Hot Chili Peppers; and, finally, Radiohead.
I definitely look back on it with rose-colored glasses now, because I spent the last hour of the festival talking about how much my feet were killing me, while my mom was in front me hysterically crying while Radiohead closed out their second encore with “Creep”, the first time they played their 1993 hit in years. My mom has seen them about 15 times now. Their two hour set was legendary, covering their old and new material in equal measure to a captivated audience of thousands.
Now, fast world to 2020. You’re relentlessly bored, have baked all the breads, played all the COD, and watched all the Netflix. You’re college broke, missing spring quarter, summer jobless, and pessimistic about the downward trajectory of our species. Fear not. Radiohead just added new virtual concerts onto their Radiohead Public Library. Yes, that includes the 2016 Osheaga performance, that I got to relive in all its Canadian glory. The public aggregate of Radiohead’s material was released on January 20, 2020, and is a stunning recollection and visual organization of their material. The material is organized chronologically, and is even “themed” so as to correspond to the individual characters of each of their albums.
The site is filled with smaller-scale original artworks by the band, unreleased audio footage, merchandise from every era of the band’s career, and, just what we all needed, an extended version of “Treefingers.” Thanks for that. If you’re a superfan of the band like I am, or if you’re lucky enough to not have been introduced to the band yet, this is a great way to completely consume their musical, political, and artistic career in a way that’s exciting and fun. The history of Radiohead is also a history of the 1990s and 2000s, where technological innovations and hyper-globalization generated anxiety and reinvention in the collective consciousness.
Of course, the band also released many of their very best performances, including one of their early ones on Jools Holland in 1997. It’s exciting to see a band that is normally associated with its discography playing live. Though they couldn’t be more different than the Dead of Phish, they are undeniably phenomenal live performers, often morphing their studio tracks into unique variations.
Public animosity towards the government has reached a fever pitch. Political squabbles, cybersecurity events, racial injustice and police brutality, and a global pandemic have sown discord among the general populus in a way that we haven’t experienced in many years. Radiohead is a counter-cultural symbol, a “fuck you” to our fast-paced and transient society, and serves a social commentary on our historical moments. Hail to the Thief was released back in 2003, but its anti-fascist and anti-conformity echoes ring truer today than ever. They are an enormously important band in that they generate timeless messages of continuity while pushing sonic boundaries, and artists and activists alike could learn something from really taking a look at their material.
