Requiem for a damaged coda4/14/2024 ![]() On the one hand, Yorke’s watery imagery hints at innocence and rebirth. In that way, it mirrors the different ways that the lyrics can be interpreted. ![]() It starts out mournful before it takes a brief turn upward into the light, only to return into its original somber depths. Coming on the heels of the invigorating throb of “Lotus Flower” on The King Of Limbs, it forms the back half of a 1-2 punch that shows the band at the peak of its myriad powers (and makes me wonder what those people who felt that Limbs was a letdown were hearing.) That entrancing chord pattern does a lot of the work. It is undoubtedly one of the most flat-out beautiful songs Radiohead has ever recorded, an example of a less-is-more approach to recording that the band may not always take but uses to staggering effect here. “Life In A Glasshouse,” as aided by those majestically mournfully horns, becomes nothing less than a requiem for empathy. Yorke’s clever turns of phrases and subtle broadening of the scope keep this from being just another celebrity bitching about the price of fame. A funeral is just what Yorke’s lyrics demand, as they bemoan the death of common decency and good graces, those quaint notions replaced by intrusiveness, venom, and scapegoating. ![]() In the chorus though, they get their act together and all come booming in for a common purpose, creating a New Orleans funeral effect to go along with Yorke’s wails. ![]() The horns bring the perfect amount of melancholy warbling to the verses, as the trombone and clarinet play off each other as if they were having their own private conversation independent of Thom Yorke’s musings. What an inspired choice it was to bring in Humphrey Lyttleton and his jazz band to take this song to another level. Radiohead knows how to wrap an album up, don’t they? They must have sensed they didn’t have the right candidate laying around to send off Amnesiac, which is why they went in and cut this monumental track in the period before the album’s release (whereas the rest of the album was recorded during the sessions which also yielded Kid A.) Good choice on the band’s part. “Jigsaw Falling Into Place” is some of the sexiest music the band has ever laid down, even as the song itself clinically deglamorizes the act of hooking up. He finally takes off in the chorus, warning his protagonists that, while they seek such fleeting physical pleasures to feel more alive, they’ll end up having no more choice as to how things turn out than inanimate puzzle pieces forever fated to end locked in the same position. He nails the impossibility of true connection between these two damaged souls, impassively rifling off his observations as if he were reading them from notes he had taken. Yorke’s lyrics get short shrift sometimes, but they shouldn’t be ignored here. The vibe of the song is reminiscent of “Hazy Shade Of Winter” by Simon & Garfunkel, which gives an indication of the level of songcraft on display. The band makes a typically atypical move here whereas the obvious choice might have been to go back to some of the artificial rhythms of Kid A or Amnesiac to portray the desired atmosphere, Radiohead goes with a whooshing acoustic groove that keeps right up with one of Yorke’s more wordier compositions. His descriptions, all flash cuts and quick shots, are practically cinematic. Who woulda thunk it? Yet here he is on this In Rainbows track, nailing the inner workings of a one-night-stand-to-be with lothario cool and anthropological attention to detail. O’Brien’s playing presses on through it all, unwavering, courageous even, beckoning us to do the same, steady as we go. In a way, they keep “Street Spirit (Fade Out)” from being too dark, melancholy as they may be. Through it all, those arpeggios persevere. Some light creeps in as Yorke sings “Immerse yourself in love” at song’s end, piercing through the Gregorian chant backing vocals, but it’s fleeting. From there the rest of the song can be built, and yet, at the end, it comes back to the arpeggios once again, not quite fading out so much as bidding us a melancholy farewell (and bidding a farewell to The Bends as well.) Thom Yorke has spoken about the dark alleyways that his lyrics traverse here, as they alternate between desperate hope and resigned despair, despair getting the better of it. On “Street Spirit,” O’Brien’s steadiness becomes brilliance right before our ears, playing arpeggios that tug at the heartstrings with every clarion note. And yet the steadiness of his playing is integral to the band’s success, because it allows Jonny to go off on his daredevil flights and sonic experiments knowing that the core of the song will remain strong. As the second guitarist in a band in which Jonny Greenwood usually plays lead guitar, it’s understandable how Ed O’Brien often falls off the radar in band discussions.
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