We tried to get comfortable. The chords were so pretty; the melody was so light and simple. It seemed to come from somewhere deep inside of the singer: it was completely unforced. He might have been making it up as he went along. In another world, without the songs-leading-up-to-this-point baggage with which we were faced, or with lyrics less rooted in total and inviolate mistrust of an unidentified opponent (some of us seemed to imagine that Tony Blair or the English Parliament were the target, presumably on the strength of the word “cronies,” but those, too, were shortly caught up in the wave of nausea), this might have been something wholly enjoyable. Nelson Riddle could have arranged it for Billie Holiday to sing on Lady in Satin and it would have fit right in. But then Yorke said “Holy Roman Empire” after one of his “Come on, come on” incantations, and then he said “Come on if you think you can take us,” and then words failed him and he just said “Oh, oh,” and the next time he sang his voice had begun to distort and he was repeating himself, and we began to vomit.










1 2 3 4 5 6 [next]
     
     
-LPTJ-
home   archive   issues   music   contact   links