Radiohead / King Of Limbs

Radiohead
King Of Limbs
(XL Records)

Like a shark emerging from calm waters to suddenly bite everyone on the ass, nobody really saw this one coming – and in its immediate aftermath, both music journalists and Radiohead fans are going to enter a mild phase of disorientation, piecing together just what exactly has landed on our lap.
Unlike the twin big bangs of ‘OK Computer’ and ‘Kid A’, Radiohead’s 2011 album doesn’t signal a radical departure or evolutionary leap for the band: from the first few tracks alone its clear they’re still orbiting their Warp Records inspired electro-percussion muse. For all the futile cries of ‘when will they pick up the guitars again’, it’s hardly been noticed that what really defines Radiohead’s latter stages is a move away from Phil Selway’s awesome skills on the drum kit.

Enough with the thesis already. ‘King Of Limbs’ opens to a distorted loop of jazz drumming and a never-ending twinkle of manipulated pianos. Thom Yorke’s vocal, as usual, is the guiding light you cling onto to make sense of it all, and here his croon is ominous and beautiful – in atmosphere alone it echoes the Blade Runner soundtrack, and also the band’s earlier ‘Pyramid Song’. “You got some nerve coming here,” spits Yorke, setting the scene for confrontation as the minimalist fragments of ‘Morning Mr Magpie’ unveil. “Good morning Mr Magpie, how are you today?” he then asks, juxtaposing smiley-faced imagery over this initially dark setting. Confused.com? Maybe that’s the point: this track is like a Burroughs cut up set to music, fragmented and anti-gravity. It’s also slightly unambitious, it must be said.
‘Little By Little’ is, in audio terms, more satisfying: a subtly Indian tone haunts the acoustic strings, Yorke sounding at his alien best. Things get abstract and challenging again with ‘Feral’, which sounds like a church service conducted by a malfunctioning space probe.
‘Lotus Flower’ might float along on a gentle liquid dub-step beat, but it also returns us to more song-based form, feeling like a slightly sunnier cousin of ‘Talk Show Host’. ‘Codex’ continues the accessibility, but is by no means light-hearted: a grand piano accompanies Yorke on this most regretful and depressed song.
For the first time on the album, ‘Give Up The Ghost’ seems to pull open the curtains on something resembling sunlight: a peaceful acoustic guitar, a bongo and a, er… Middle Eastern cello lead the way (hey, it is Radiohead) on the record’s most blissful, and dare I say erotic track.
This sense of a weight off their shoulders continues into the almost blissful ‘Separator’.

Conclusions are always tough to come to this early in the game (just ask the first reviewers of ‘Kid A’), but it strikes me that ‘King Of Limbs’ has a mood-narrative from dark to light. The idea of Radiohead being at peace with themselves might sound like a paradox, an unworkable blueprint – but these more blissful moments are also among the record’s most interesting: the first half is a dark continuation of their earlier work, but when Radiohead find the light, it feels like progress.