| “Dollars & Cents,” “Hunting Bears,” the slight lift, the drugged lull: this is all because a song called “Like Spinning Plates” is coming. It is just around the corner. There is no place to hide from it. We are very near the end of our road, and Yorke & crew, who like all artists are sadists at heart, want to optimize the effect of their closing remarks. If we play along, we’ll be nice and relaxed, all primed for the big, ugly moment: the moment when an entire album’s worth of bad feelings, deeply-held suspicions, shameful prayers, frightening visions, ugly people, dying cities, well-nursed grudges, oft-licked wounds, and broken blisters opens and reveals the full bloom of its long season under the earth. I wouldn’t listen to it, if I were you; it’s harrowing; but you will, just as I will, again and again. We are voyeurs, you and I. We do not even despise ourselves for it. We can’t. It is in our blood. |