— Tom Doyle
The entire concert up to this point had been brilliant but the ninth number, "My Iron Lung", was on a whole other level. The five piece played got to the song's instrumental fade out and it just exploded — a fade out that simply refused to fade away. These blokes from Oxford didn't smile much but they looked (justifiably) pleased with themselves at this moment. Lanky guitarist Ed O'Brien had composure enough to hand his guitar off to a roadie who, in turn, gave him a new one for the next number on their setlist. Meanwhile, Thom York and the Greenwood brothers conferred. Then they whispered something to O'Brien who proceeded to request his old guitar back. Evidently, they had been so happy with the way they played "My Iron Lung" that they decided to play it some more.
Radiohead's concert on April 8, 1998 in Calgary would've been memorable anyway but this moment was unlike anything we'd seen before. In an era of having setlists taped to the stage and phony between-song banter — "let's play this song...c'mon man, it's easy!" — this was clearly not stage managed. The remainder of the show went from strength to strength but I couldn't get their improvised reprise of "My Iron Lung" out of my head. "One to tell the grandkids about", purred The Calgary Sun the next day. Unbeknownst to us, Q magazine was even there with the show being featured in an upcoming issue.
I went to see Radiohead with a half-a-dozen friends and mutual friends but I knew a few other people in attendance that night. Presumably up near the front was my university chum Tasya who shared my love for Britpop and witty but sensitive singer-songwriters. I bumped into her on campus a day or two later and we chatted about the show. Not only had she seen them in Calgary but she also caught them in Vancouver two days earlier. I asked how the two concerts compared. She said the Vancouver show was marred a bit by the crowd with Thom York even having to appeal to the idiots shoving and crowd surfing like mad. Clearly, their performance in Calgary was something else. For what it's worth, it was quite likely the best of the four shows they did in Canada that spring. While I'm sure the Toronto gig was a blast, York was heard yelling at a fan in Montreal who kept demanded they play one of their biggest hits. "Fuck off, we're tired of it!"
Though not quite exclusively so, bands hating their biggest hits seems like a particularly nineties phenomenon. Kurt Cobain famously couldn't stomach performing "Smells Like Teen Spirit", much to the dismay of many of Nirvana's fans. Michael Stipe has never been fond of "Shiny Happy People" even though the trio R.E.M. would eventually go on to re-record it for Sesame Street. Guitarist Graham Coxon bristled at having to play on Blur's first number one single "Country House". Beck never quite disowned breakthrough "Loser" but he did grow uncomfortable with the song, refusing to allow its inclusion on the soundtrack to the 1995 Jim Carrey film Dumb & Dumber.
It's tempting to tie "Smells Like Teen Spirit", "Shiny Happy People", "Country House", "Loser" and, indeed, "Creep" together due to fears of selling out but I'm not sure that's all there is to it. Cobain and Coxon both quickly grew bored of the hits they'd had with Nirvana and Blur respectively while Stipe and Beck felt concerned that their songs had come to unfairly define them. As far as Radiohead goes, it was a bit of both.
The weird thing about listening to "Creep" now is that it suggests nothing of the future the group would have. Perhaps this is why subsequent projects always seemed to surprise critics and fans alike. No one saw The Bends coming which, in turn, led to OK Computer which was similarly stunning to listeners. From there, no one knew what to expect from Kid A: whatever possible sound people imagined was not what they got when they heard it for the first time. (Following the Kid A-related Amnesiac a year later, Radiohead's fans would splinter into two groups: those who just went along for the ride of further surprises and puzzlement and those who just hoped they'd find their way back to recording another Bends; on the other hand, I wasn't interested in either: I had given up caring about what they'd do next while also having grown weary of their overrated second album) The promising group of 1993 had of course been Suede whose next creative step never seemed too difficult to predict. By contrast, it never seemed as if Radiohead were promising which is rather fitting for a band who never made any promises.
"Creep" is a great example of why I try to avoid commenting on particular pieces of music which supposedly "haven't aged well". I mean, I suppose it has since it sounds the same as it did thirty years ago but I think that's pretty much the case with all pop records. What has changed is me. I'm in my forties and I'm quite happy to say that I've aged out of it. As a sixteen year old I was awkward, lazy, had low self-esteem and sometimes felt like a bit of creep; today, some of these "qualities" remain but they've been dialed back. Plus, I'm not a creep. I never really was but I sure as shit felt like one. How does a song about youthful angst really speak to those of us who have moved on? For that matter, what if this is also why the members of Radiohead have done their best to keep their distance from it.
Because of my lack of teen moodiness, there's less to extract from a song like "Creep". I can happily go back and listen to eighties pop and bask in the memories or take in the aspirational elements of the time but nineties indie is often held back by its misery. Use it as therapy if that's what you need, by all means, but what do you do with it after the pain has been tucked away? Even though it wasn't a big favourite of mine at the time, I certainly understood why friends of mine found something in "Creep". But what is there to extract from it now at my age? Good memories?
Just as a rejuvenated Graham Coxon would do with a reformed Blur on his once bete noire "Country House", the members of Radiohead would eventually make their peace with "Creep" — at least to an extent. While Coxon has admitted that "Country House" is a lot of fun to play, York, the Greenwoods, O'Brien and Selaway have trotted out "Creep" on occasion though they still haven't really warmed to it. York did find the time to play around with customarily unsettling remix during the COVID lockdown but it's the sort of thing I was content to hear only the once. I won't be demanding they play "Creep" since I'm in no hurry to see them live a second time. Again, once was enough.
~~~~~
Also Reviewed This Fortnight
M People: "Moving on Up"
Those who demand "Creep" at Radiohead concerts will no doubt disagree but the competition is so stiff this fortnight that I'm not so sure it deserved to be Single of the Fortnight Best New Single. I'll say it's a tight three way race between "Creep", Eternal's smooth and effortlessly catchy "Stay" and the Bjork/David Arnold Bond theme from an alternate universe "Play Dead". But the high quality doesn't end there. The Wonder Stuff's On the Ropes EP presents a punchier band still putting out prime material in spite of the fact that their glory days were now behind them. Similarly, Kate Bush's "Rubberband Girl" isn't quite up to the standard of her seventies and eighties material but it's a solid work nonetheless. Then there's M People with "Moving on Up". Their previous hit "One Night in Heaven" is the one I prefer but not by a whole lot. Singer Heather Small could really overdo it and she does let her side down a bit in this regard but the infectious electro-pop rhythms and that baritone sax more than cover up for the vocal histrionics. Some stellar pop this fortnight even if I remain unconvinced as to the merits of "Condemnation", Depeche Mode's brave but uninspired take on gospel. They can't all be winners, can they?
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