Radiohead: In Rainbows (2007)

(s/r)

!!! A+ RECORDING !!!

The press narrative for In Rainbows managed to largely sidestep its music; there are times when it's easy to wonder if this was intentional, as it's so much more unassuming than perhaps any other Radiohead album, and at the very least their prior four. The story goes -- this, the seventh album by one of the biggest bands in the world, was released without a price point, internet-only for three months, etc. Its effect on the music industry was staggering; it shocked everyone by opening at #1 upon its physical release a few months later, proving this or that point about music consumers. But little of that matters now. What does is that it's their finest, loveliest effort, by now mostly eclipsing the bulk of their other work for me. Radiohead's been a pervasive part of my life since I was a preteen, loved, resented, idolized, second-guessed, feared, criticized, revered, obsessed over, neglected. In Rainbows is the album I waited ten years for them to make, the heart-to-heart regrouping to follow the loneliness of OK Computer.

That isn't to say I disliked the further loneliness of Kid A, a fine record and most folks' choice for top of the decade, but its electronic meanderings are less striking than Radiohead is as a performing band, and it doesn't have anything on The Bends or OK Computer. But an interesting, bold effort, yes. I can't say that for Hail to the Thief, which failed to reward my repeated listenings, or the direct Kid A sequel Amnesiac, which failed to reward my first listen. The best songs Radiohead released before In Rainbows were b-sides: the proto-Coldplay drunken singalong "How Can You Be Sure?" and the warm, reassuring hug of "Worrywort." It was a shock when a love song as straightforward as "I Might Be Wrong" made it to Amnesiac -- its unquestionable highlight -- and even found release as a single. Afraid of their feelings? No, just too obsessed with coldhearted quality control to give proper vent to anything so human. At least, that's the way it felt.

So along comes In Rainbows, an album consisting almost entierly of woozy, intensely pretty ballads about relationships, the Radiohead album on which Thom Yorke sings the line "I don't want to be your friend / I just want to be your lover" against a minimal mutation of an Al Green backing. The record's mood is beautifully sustained, its opening dance and rock salvos fitting as more than mere tokens; "Bodysnatches" might be the one thing here that isn't really new for them, but it's a stronger burst of energy than the last three albums offered. On the whole, this is an elegant cycle of songs about falling for somebody, losing somebody, learning to accept that, being too far away from somebody, and finding somebody new, not necessarily in that order. It's decidedly un-Radiohead, and the musical (and lyrical) stretch suits them, coming off as their calmest, broadest evolution to date. A couple of weeks after the record was issued, as I found its mood remarkably coalescing with mine, I struggled out loud about whether it or The Bends now deserved the edge as their best LP. Three years later, as I've found deeper, lasting comfort with it in any number of states, there is no doubt. Radiohead here show their ability as something beyond politically-conscious rock stars; the record is a personal fireside chat that circumvents any need for posturing.

It can be difficult to deconstruct an album that hits you like this one has me -- it already holds considerable nostalgic punch -- but I think what makes In Rainbows such a stunning album is, in simplest terms, the refined band arrangements (a carryover from the more elaborate Thief that was heading in this direction) and the singing. Thom Yorke’s performing is absolutely the best it has ever been on this album; he is enormously wide-ranging, felt, impassioned, loud, powerful, pained, warm. Even most of Radiohead’s detractors admit there’s something about that voice. Now, for the first time in ten years, the voice wraps around real songs. And they are some pretty wonderful songs. "Nude," a leftover from the OK days when it was "Big Ideas (Don't Get Any)," tackles personal defeat with Brian Wilson-like grace, underscoring its pain rather than its absurdity, all with the most starkly beautiful, expressive vocal I can recall from Yorke. The pure professionalism of the band behind it (that bass!) only helps to provide a platform.

After hearing "Black Star," "(Nice Dream)," and "Fake Plastic Trees" from The Bends several hundred times over the years, I can report that they are impossible to shake, but those days of punchy production and explosive singles can't match the aching transcendence of In Rainbows, which is rife with the strongest material in the catalog. The influences are worn more plainly than before -- the skittering beat and Prince vocals on "15 Step," the direct Beatles channeling "Faust Arp," the hazily pretty, fluid Motown of the undeniable "House of Cards" -- but by paring themselves down to a guitar band with expansive atmospherics, they plainly expose the maturity they've attained since the last time they were just that: listen to the tragic isolation of "Videotape," the menacing ease of gathering and scattering captured on "Jigsaw Falling into Place," and especially the swooning marital love letter -- overpoweringly strongarmed, not delicate -- "All I Need."

Two other cuts, though, warrant special attention. Out of the box, "Reckoner" was my choice for the centerpiece; more cathartic and less optimistic than most of the others, it sears with sonic hugeness and Yorke's impassioned exorcism. A true showcase for Nigel Godrich, it employs a remarkable, unique sound that layers a sweetly modest band arrangment over a cacophony of rhythm as Yorke swirls around. Nothing on the record is more instantly striking. But others took over my attention and it was some time before the song's thematic power hit me: their most selflessly kindly lyric since "Worrywort" dissects a communication breakdown, maybe or maybe not between lovers. It comes off as a warning of the frailty of a relationship and an admonishment that "you are not to blame," but most important is the line "Because we separate, it ripples our reflections"; that hushed moment is the climax just before a rebuilding of intensity -- it is the pleading for mutual forgiveness about distances for which no strength can compensate. If that's not the intent, fine, but it allows the room.

Perhaps it's the flipside of the most sincere yet perversely Radiohead love song to date, and coincidentally the best song they have ever recorded. "Weird Fishes / Arpeggi" is a calming, almost hallucinatory force, packing an indescribable wallop. Yorke sings of infinite devotion (not desire), seeing those eyes a world apart from everything, "in the deepest ocean," while the band captures a graceful flood of sensory-filling detail: wailing and twiddling and bounding like a space age Pet Sounds, all perfectly unsentimental and calmly ecstatic. Complex, playful, winding, it sounds like love, and it is the peak of the most emotional Radiohead album, the one so good that whatever they do afterward is really OK with me.

[Editorial Note: The above contains a few sentences from my initial writeup of this album from '07 in my old journal.]