Apotheosis with Radiohead in Florence

Frank Lynam
Jul 10, 2017 · 7 min read

The figure twisted its body, rising and falling to the flow of the music that reverberated with a series of sonic booms from one end of the arena to the other. In the half-light of dusk all that I could make out with certainty was his silhouette. In spite of the intervening distance, this line remained clear, cut clean from the ambient light display that rose up behind him. In that moment, he was inextricably linked to his environment, to the sounds, shapes and to the very light itself. I was reminded in that moment of Istanbul’s Serpent Column in which snake and pole are indistinguishable — here it is music, light and man that forms into one.

What might in other circumstances have been a moment of solitary introspection was instead stolen as a spectacle by the tens of thousands that had gathered for the performance; every one of them loving it and baying for more, wanting to be included in some way in the figure’s performance, wishing to profit from that strange intimacy that only rock gigs seem to allow for. My companion and I stood in the heart of it all, our bodies taut, ears keen, swaying this way and that to the crowd’s moods.

We were situated just to the rear of one of the arena’s giant black sound towers. The location was fitting: a site once home to a Roman hippodrome, a stone’s throw from the River Arno, and a thirty minute walk from the galleries of the Uffizi, the Pitti Palace and the centre of Renaissance Florence. And if you closed your eyes for a moment, it wasn’t hard to imagine chariots hurtling down the straights into the tight dangerous corners of the curva, in the spirit of a technicolor Ben Hur.

We had come to Florence for a holiday but the catalyst was the opportunity to see Radiohead in the flesh — in my case it would be my first time. Most music people (whatever that means) agree that the Oxford quintet invariably give one of the great live performances of all the bands currently on the scene, and they have been doing so for over two decades, ably transforming their often complex studio recordings into moments of occasional visceral ecstasy: live action genius.

So there we were, in Florence because of Radiohead but I also wondered how live music events of this scale might be different when experienced abroad. I am from Ireland and in general we Irish have a fairly healthy opinion of the quality of our audience participation. We like to think that we provide that special something that elevates the simply special onto the realm of exception. How would the Italian crowd compare? Would the nation’s famed propensity for emotionality transfer onto such a large social stage? Would, as I always half suspected, the irishman’s opinion of his aura be shown up for what it actually is: ego or a benign form of patriotism?

Back on the stage, the band continued to weave a way through its back catalogue as dusk turned into night. I have been a fan of Radiohead since I was a teen. I have listened to all of their recordings and in general I await with great anticipation any upcoming releases but it was only really now when confronted face-to-face with the songs one after another, songs of such high craftsmanship (there is no other word) that the sheer monumentality of their output struck me. Listening to songs like 15 Steps, Airbag, Bloom and House of Cards brings the realisation that Radiohead are going to be remembered as we currently think about the icons of the industry. They will be mentioned alongside bands like The Stones, Bowie, Zeppelin, Waits and maybe even Dylan.

Certain artists come along from time to time who are entirely unable or unsatisfied to stand still. While other acts hit upon a moment of greatness, a change in the order of things, an adjustment that seems to ultimately clip their creative wings in the long run, bands like Radiohead have no choice but to constantly evolve. It is as if their continued existence depends upon it; Forever Changes as Arthur Lee would say. It is hard to believe that the same group of individuals could pen a raw rocker like Creep and then go on to invoke such subtle unease into Pyramid Song and grand melancholia into You and Whose Army? (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-0B89pVH2U4)

Watching them perform on stage, you begin to understand how such metamorphoses might be possible. Yorke is the personification of disjointed and troubled energy. He prances about the stage like a dervish, his limbs flailing as if propelled by an unseen force. Jonny Greenwood for his part is constantly shape-shifting as well, except in his case it’s not his corporeal form so much as the instruments that he attaches to it that morph. One minute he is playing a guitar. The next he is hunched over a synthesiser, before moving on keys and even congas. What extreme talent!

On the other side of Yorke, Ed O‘Brien appears on first inspection to bring a more conventional offering to the line-up. He mainly plays guitar, adopting an advanced position on the stage that almost outshines that of Yorke. But slowly you begin to notice that he too is tinkering away, adapting the traditional model of the lead guitarist. There is no ego in O’Brien’s performance. He adds to a song when it needs his contribution and retreats when absence is preferable.

At the rear is Philip Selway, the Radiohead drummer. To say that Selway is an innovator in this space would be an extravagant understatement. As with O’Brien, his ego does not require that his contribution takes centrestage throughout but at the same time it is difficult to imagine the band’s sound without his pinpoint, almost scientific precision. Songs such as Pyramid Song are defined as much by their unusual rhythms as they are by any of their other contributing elements. Today, he is joined on stage by a second percussionist, who stands throughout the performance, again adding something different, something novel to the whole.

Lastly, there is Colin Greenwood, the band’s bassist. Greenwood #2 is an exceptional musician. Music from a band like Radiohead thrives on the fact that most of us seem to be strangely attracted to melancholic emotion with sound being its ideal medium. Bass is an integral part of that recipe and Greenwood invariably makes the right call, adding that key bottom stratum to a song that brings out the anxiety and unease that we define as the Radiohead sound.

I’m fully aware that I am lionising these five men. Sometimes you find bands that manage to elevate an ordinary bunch of musicians onto a higher collective plane. For fear of offending any fans out there, I won’t mention any names but I imagine that we can all think of a few examples in which that sort of dynamic is at play. With other bands, however, the raw materials are already in fairly good shape. To use a footballing analogy, while Real Madrid might be the best team in the world at the moment, if you were to put Cristiano Ronaldo, Gareth Bale, Benzema or Ramos into a team like Leyton Orient, you’re going to very quickly see some stark improvements.

Radiohead, the individuals are clearly musicians of an extraordinary calibre but when you see them in the flesh on stage or when you watch them at work in the studio (see the band’s appearances on Nigel’s Godrich’s From the Basement series as an example), you come to see that the band’s chemistry is also completely on the money. Each member is able to push and pull off of the other, testing the boundaries, all within an overarching musical structure that manages to stay coherent. This is easily said but rarely do you see that type of dynamic alive and up close in front of your eyes and ears. Stripping away the intellect, you are left with nothing less than a 21st century beauty.

By the close of the night, having played for more than two hours (including two encores, one of five and then a second of three songs), the crowd was left in a moment of enthral, hooked as a fish on the Radiohead line. As we eventually filed out of the hippodrome, I came to the conclusion that seeing Radiohead in Italy is different to seeing them in Dublin or anywhere else. The crowd in the Visarno arena was completely relaxed. The day was hot and the general atmosphere wouldn’t have been out of place at a recital. There was energy — yes, there certainly was — but it seemed to be more of a reverential type, at one remove from the events that were happening on stage. I feel that Dublin would have been different but thinking about it, I’m glad for that fact. In an age when more and more of our world’s character and difference is being planed down and formed to fit into the same globalised package, it is reassuring to know that some things will always remain unique. And let’s hope Radiohead continue to develop that sense of wonder for another few decades to come.

Written by

Engineering Manager @WoebotLabs - PhD in #digitalhumanities

Welcome to a place where words matter. On Medium, smart voices and original ideas take center stage - with no ads in sight. Watch
Follow all the topics you care about, and we’ll deliver the best stories for you to your homepage and inbox. Explore
Get unlimited access to the best stories on Medium — and support writers while you’re at it. Just $5/month. Upgrade