KID A MNESIA by Radiohead
Three years after conquering the alternative rock world with the landmark OK Computer, Radiohead followed with one of the most anticipated albums of the era. And everything changed. 2000's course-shifting Kid A was a jarring transformation: icy atmospherics, digitized beats, meandering soundscapes, and enough gloom and anxiety to make their previous output almost cheerful in comparison. With their crunchy guitars and snarling attitude seemingly left behind in 1997, the response was swift and divisive: critics either hailed it for its artistry or mourned the loss of their beloved art-rock misfits. Nonetheless, the album hit number one around the world and became widely recognized as one of the most influential and iconic albums of the decade. Eight months later, Radiohead delivered another dose of existential dread and experimental wizardry with 2001's weirdo sibling, Amnesiac. Even though listeners had been primed for what was to come, the public still wasn't ready. Recorded during the same sessions (and fully intended as its own entity, not just a B-sides cast-off), the set delved even deeper into the extremes of this new sonic aesthetic, pushing the limits of the average fan's patience with complex time signatures and song structures, stretching themselves even further away from The Bends. In some respects, the complex Amnesiac was less harsh and robotic than Kid A, injecting warmth into the machine with layered production, hypnotic programming, and very human touches like piano, strings, and even a brass band.
<i>KID A MNESIA</i> isn’t just an occasion to revisit a pair of groundbreaking albums (2000’s <i>Kid A</i> and 2001’s <i>Amnesiac</i>), but a chance to hear a little of how Radiohead got there. Recording sessions were tough: Thom Yorke had writer’s block, and his new commitment to electronic music—or, at least, a turn away from conventional rock—left some of his bandmates wondering about their function and purpose. As guitarist Ed O’Brien once put it, he was a guitarist faced with a bunch of tracks that had no guitar.<br /> At one point, producer Nigel Godrich split the band into two groups: one working with instruments in the main recording area, the other in a programming room processing sounds from next door, all under the condition that no acoustic instruments—guitars, drums, etc.—be used. The constraints opened doors: Not only did the band discover new ways of working (and, by extension, refresh their passion for music after years of unyielding pressure), but, in doing so, they shifted the template for what we think of when we think of a rock band, mixing the acoustic and the electronic (“Everything in Its Right Place”, “Like Spinning Plates”) and relatively straightforward tracks (“Optimistic”, “Pyramid Song”) with fragmentary, discursive ones (“Kid A”, “Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors”). <br /> In the outtakes, we get glimpses of the band’s past (the paranoiac folk of “Follow Me Around“) and future (the deconstructed, full-band sound of “If You Say the Word”), as well as versions of “Like Spinning Plates” and “Pulk/Pull Revolving Doors” that chart their evolution in real time. It’s a snapshot of a band taking step back from themselves and the way they worked, finding a way forward in the process.
