Radiohead
Beck, Supergrass, Sigur Ros, Humphrey Lyttleton Band, Hester Thrale, Rock Of Travolta
Oxford South Park
07/07/2001

review by Ruth

When Radiohead first started out, they may have imagined playing a homecoming gig sometime in their future. But they hardly could've pictured 42,000 people, fans camping out for twenty hours beforehand, as well as specially designed t-shirts for the event and enough food stalls to literally feed the 5000.

First up, a taste of the town's newest homegrown talent, and it seems they aren't intending to just pay homage to their benefactors. Rock Of Travolta cheekily take to the stage with their own rendition of 'Fitter, Happier' (sample lyric: "never putting spiders up your arsehole... nothing so Teenage Dirtbag/Wheatus can fuck off"), before diving into an instrumental amalgam of Tyler, Idlewild and Mo*Ho*Bish*O*Pi. Occasionally diverting into trance-like warping noises, they combine strings, keyboards and guitars in Seafood-esque chaotic jams, though they still have a rather dry sense of humour; as well as their Radiohead cover, they also perform their own interpretation of the Stormtrooper's theme from Star Wars.
At The Drive-In with a flavour of Will Oldham? It might be worth checking out their new album after all...

Hester Thrale in the meantime have a much more twisted outlook on life, with tales of circus cats falling off tightrope wires. A mix of the Smashing Pumpkins and Mercury Rev, and just as deceptively tense as Sparklehorse, this is Tim Burton in sonic form. Hester Thrale are the sound of the raising of the hairs on the back of your neck on a perfect sunny day.

Some might wonder what a jazz band led by an octogenarian multi-instrumentalist would be doing at a gig by Britain foremost alternative band. But this is no ordinary group of musicians. The audience's main frame of reference for Humphrey Lyttleton is his guest appearance on Amnesiac track 'Life In A Glasshouse', and hence the appearance of the man himself onstage is greeted like the second coming. Humphrey's selection of old skool jazz mainly takes the classics of Duke Ellington and co, so of course we get the atmospheric muted trumpet of 'Creole Love Call'. But despite the fact that most of the band are old enough to be the audience's grandparents (or even great-grandparents), they have only bettered with age - Cathy Stobart's saxophone will testify to that. But the highlight has to be an absolutely superb feat of endurance by trumpet player Jimmy Hastings on the Duke's 'Cottontail'. "The remarkable thing about that was that our bass player didn't breathe once throughout the whole thing!" jokes Humphrey. The field explodes.

Not much of Sigur Ros has been seen round these parts of late, and perhaps that's not a bad thing - after all most of the press they've received has been of the "Ooo-look-he's-playing-a-guitar-with-a-violin-bow-and-they're -from-Iceland"-variety. But they're the only band I know that can kick off a set with a ten minute song and leave the audience confused, gobsmacked, and totally in love. The fluttering icescapes of the fragile yet powerful svefn y englar pound and warp through the humid afternoon, Jon Thor Birgisson's face contorting like agony in ethereal white light. It's like a chilling oasis in the middle of an afternoon that is growing uglier by the minute.

However, the sunshine pop rock of Supergrass seems to be suffering from the cloud cover. This may be "a local gig for local people", but they might as well be from another country. On any other day 'Caught By The Fuzz' would get the crowds bouncing like mad march hares on speed, but those that get a little too excited and risk crowd-surfing end up having their inner barrier passes ripped off them, and coming between Sigur Ros and Beck, rather than being a bit of variety, they end up being the cheese filling of a chalk sandwich.

Beck Hanson hasn't brought the spectacular stage show for which he's renown with him - this time it's just him and an acoustic. But even them he seems to have peculiar kind of magic with his songwriting - just as he sings "looks like it's gonna rain when the sun goes down on me" the heavens finally begin to open. And his attempts to "cheer us up" with a rendition of 'One Foot In The Grave', perhaps not the right sentiment, but seeing Beck singing gruff harmonica delta blues is like being part of a back-porch Mississippi jam session. Just with a backyard big enough for 42,000 people.

It's nearly the end of he final set of the day, the second encore. Thom Yorke takes to the keyboards and starts to play the intro to the final track on 'Kid A', 'Motion Picture Soundtrack'. And then it suddenly stops.
"Buggeh!" comes the south Yorkshire tinged exclamation of the Oxford resident. "Is Kaput, no?"
The crowd take advantage of the lull in procedings. See their chance to pounce, calls for 'Creep' overwhelm the stage as the rest of the band members appear onstage. Yeah, like that's going to happen. But strangely enough the band seem to have no scruples about starting the song that was one the stone around their neck. Why has Yorke started singing the song he once re-christened 'Crap'?

Rewind two hours to the start of the set. If Humpf was greeted like Jesus, then the crowd have just seen the face of God. In front of a backdrop which alters between the inside of a barcode and a giant fruit machine, Radiohead take to the stage like returning heroes for their first hometown gig in five years. Not that the band aren't nervous or anything.
"Only gig in the UK this year. No pressure," deadpans Thom before commencing the anti-nursery rhyme for insomniacs, Pyramid Song.

They shouldn't have been worried. It's been nearly four years since the release of 'OK Computer', the album which arguably made them, gaining them the luxury of intense media scrutiny, as shown later on the claustrophobic 'Meeting People Is Easy' tour diary, but the freedom to go where they wanted to. And despite mixed media response to their last efforts, two albums released within six months of each, the repeated success of each one has shown that since they first left home all those years ago, they've grown from one-hit wonders to a truly respected band, both among their peers and their fans. Especially among their fans.

Tonight the band have the audience in the palm of their hand. 'Karma Police' is converted into a giant campfire singalong. 'My Iron Lung' and 'Paranoid Android' (dedicated to Geri Halliwell) lead to a fury of pogo-ing - yet no-one breaks the 'no crowd-surfing' rule. Thom even goes as far as to manipulate them as another instrument of jeering during 'You And Whose Army', a leering grin on his face putting him somewhere between a more charming cross between Hannibal Lecter and Fagin. The band seem to spend most of the evening in utter bemusement at the adoration they receive. But the enthusiasm of the crowd is ultimately reciprocal. Even Colin Greenwood comes to the front of the stage between songs, when he's not bouncing up and down at the back like a bunny rabbit with attention deficit disorder. And who can blame him? Even the rain can't seem to hold off when the drenched agony of 'Street Spirit' begins.

The Radiohead of today are a band much more at ease with themselves, their success and more importantly, their music. You just have to watch them onstage. As well as Colin's Duracell bunny impression, there's Ed O'Brien, pulling riffs out of his guitar like the classic model rockstar (*swoon* - Web chick). As the opening grinding guitar funk of 'I Might Be Wrong' kicks in, the grin spreading across Ed's face is infectious. And though Jonny Greenwood spends most of the evening hunched over, submerged in music, under that giant fringe there must be a ghost of a smile there - he even leaves his corner at one point and joins Ed and Thom at the front. Then of course there's Thom's hip-swaying for 'Dollars and Cents', as his soothing voice soars through the humid night over the ambient cityscape music. In fact, Thom even feels justified enough to take the whole crowd on in the middle of a slightly more curtailed rendition of dark techno societal paranoia Idioteque than normal. They even play 'Creep'.

Well, the rain may not have stayed off. Things may not have gone entirely smoothly. But it doesn't matter. Tonight the smile on Thom's face during 'Everything in it's right place' isn't the gruesome leer we've come to expect, but a genuine smile. The prodigal sons have truly returned home. Towards the end of 'Everything in it's right place', Thom picks up the mikestand and hoists it towards the crowd for them to cheer along. Some people said they could see him start to cry at that moment...