While the likes of Blur were sneering ‘ modern life is rubbish,’ Radiohead whispered the unpleasant truth: ‘No, you don’t understand, it really is.’ No band does alone together quite like Radiohead. The sense of intimacy that results utterly defies the lonely, tightly-wound discontent of the album’s character, to the point that it becomes reassuring to find oneself in the thick of it. The songwriting is effortlessly atypical, hefty portions of the tracks are recorded live, and many of Yorke’s vocals done in one take. Afforded the freedom of self-producing, and with an open deadline - both for the first time - they sound at ease in their unease on OK Computer. The record finds the band at the tail-end of their formative angsty-rock years, and in wicked synergy. This is due in part, presumably, to the unhappinesses of modern life having not changed all that much in the last twenty years, but OK Computer itself endures as pristine music. Radiohead’s famed 1997 sedative for the unhappinesses of modern life is as serenely despondant now as it has ever been. The term ‘timeless’ is indeed hastily hurled at works too often, but in the case of OK Computer, there’s no term more appropriate. To merely brand it a landmark of the ’90s is a disservice to its insight - OK Computer is as relevant now as ever, both culturally and sonically. The album's release in 1997 captured a moment in time that was somehow ahead of its own. The album is an agitated reminder that we are all human each of us insecure, scared, and extremely vulnerable. This musical harmony is what makes OK Computer, an album that communicates concern over the synthetic nature of modern culture, such an intriguing and rewarding paradox.Įverything it tries to convey is said literally so on “Fitter Happier”, a turbulent tide of received imagery, signifying society’s troublesome detachment from reality.

Jonny Greenwood’s unique guitar work is a true joy to behold, and has been rightly celebrated, but would not be as effective without the rhythmic pulse of Phil Selway, whose choice of pattern and tempo is key in setting the tone to “Karma Police”, “The Tourist”, and “Let Down”. No single component of the record is more important or less significant than another. Individual excellence never interferes: even “Paranoid Android”, OK Computer’s most ambitious moment, weaves through multiple passages without a display of brandish swagger. While Thom Yorke provides the voice to carry a nervous narrative, a band united in their despondency set the oscillation in motion.

A transitional work in the best sense of the word, it was a clinical move into the cold and empirical, before the decisive nosedive into electronica that triggered Kid A.Įach song is a monument in its own right, performed with an artistry that sounds somehow effortless in spite of the album’s musical complexities. This was a life born after The Bends and away from traditional rock and roll, derived instead from a place of anxiety and paranoia that distanced itself from the declining movement of Britpop. Music can be eternal in a literal sense, but very rarely does a work have the endurance to live past its own age and move into new realms of significance as it ages. The term ‘timeless’ is often carelessly applied.

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