King of Limbs

If a stranger on the street or a new friend asked me if I liked Radiohead’s recent release, “The King of Limbs,” I’d reply with my classic falling-cadence “Yeah.”  It’s a weighty word in that context, conveying honesty, sadness, and a bit of reluctance to discuss the answer much further.  With most conversations borne of courtesy rather than curiosity, this would suffice to share my casual impression of the album.

In all honesty, discontinuing the conversation with an impartial answer has at its heart a most pragmatic purpose – I wouldn’t want upon first impression to be pigeon-holed as someone who would like the album, so far from my lyric and melodic sensibilities as it is.  I wouldn’t want someone to know that I enjoyed this album and suggest something like it.  I wouldn’t enjoy anything like it.

With that being said, I do love this record.  With fellow Radiohead enthusiasts, I would wax poetic about the layers of sound, the touching trifle lyrics, and in particular about the fleeting magical moments on this album that remind us of past albums. 

Recording a record (and most artistic output), is like making an imprint of your hand in setting concrete – it’s simply capturing a moment in time.  In the months or years that pass between recordings, it’s easy to forget (since your only connection with the artist is the imprint) that the artist is changing. 

I learned about Radiohead at the beginning of their most important transformation, between OK Computer and Kid A.  I fell in love with the dark chords and paranoid, ethereal lyrics of the earlier albums and was willing to follow them on their coming, well-publicized departure to new soundscapes.  Kid A was shocking, but beautiful, and I recognized through the sampled drums and blips and beeps everything I’d loved about them.

This has continued for me with diminishing success for several albums.  Each intentional divergence on their part from what I fell in love with was met with my grasping for reasons to enjoy the record, desperate and convoluted, based on our relationship.  I loved every minute of every album because it was from them, not because of what it was.

In a quiet moment this morning, I recognized that Radiohead is no longer making music for me.  I love the album, but I don’t like it… I could point to phrases that struck me as tender or moving, but they’re only glimpses of what I used to truly enjoy.  The experience of listening to the album was very sad for me… with eight songs averaging almost five minutes, I found myself wishing each song would end, hoping the next would capture my attention – twice, three times: nothing was written for me.

I mean no disrespect to Radiohead… I was well-informed of their intentions, and I absolutely appreciate the need for individuals and artists to grow.  I have grown as well, and can acknowledge when I’ve been left behind.