FEATURE:
Fitter Happier
Looking Ahead to the Twenty-Fifth Anniversary of Radiohead’s OK Computer
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RELEASED on 21st May, 1997…
IN THIS PHOTO: Radiohead in New York in 1997
Radiohead’s seismic third studio album, OK Computer, celebrates twenty-five years next month. In fact, it was not released in the U.K. until June. OK Computer was released first in Japan. I wonder what the Japanese market made of OK Computer back in 1997! Considered a modern masterpiece and one of the most important albums ever, not all the reaction to OK Computer was positive in 1997. Maybe critics reacted to what Radiohead had done on 1995’s The Bends and felt OK Computer was a move in a strange direction. More Electronic and a bit more experimental, it was a year when there was a lot of pioneering albums released. Radiohead would step further into Electronic music with the follow-up, Kid A (2000). OK Computer is a remarkable album that, since its release, has only grown in its reputation and popularity. In 2009, a Collector's Edition was released. I am going to come to an article that discussed the recording of OK Computer and how the band came to work with Nigel Godrich. In terms of the songs on OK Computer, some of Radiohead’s best and most enduring work can be found. From Paranoid Android to Let Down through to Karma Police, it is a genius album. I know others will write about OK Computer before its twenty-fifth anniversary. Although they will do a better job, I wanted to have a say and draw attention to the anniversary. Before getting to a couple of reviews, there are articles that explore OK Computer in more depth. In November, Audio Media International looked at the recording of the iconic OK Computer:
“But back in 1997, computers were still clunky desktop affairs. With their gradual infiltration of our daily lives then a pretty unthinkable idea for most, the rapid development of computing – not least the potential of the internet – led a swelling company of forecasters feeling uneasy, particularly as an unknowable new century ominously loomed.
That foreboding anxiety is central to Radiohead’s critically lauded OK Computer. Via its 12 tracks, Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood, Ed O’Brien, Colin Greenwood and Philip Selway anticipated a soulless, tech-saturated future. Yorke’s lyrics alluded to the fast-paced, casual violence of an interconnected world (Paranoid Android), Hordes of faceless, insect-like commuters, heads-down within a sprawling modern city network (Let Down) a resulting sense of social isolation (Climbing Up The Walls) and a prevalent back-watching paranoia – a gnawing fear that a 1984-like authority would deem you cancel-able and bundle you off somewhere unpleasant (Karma Police, Lucky). It’s a vision that, in retrospect, seems eerily prescient.
Prior to OK Computer’s release, Radiohead were mainly regarded as being an angst-ridden guitar band, having only really dented the public consciousness with 1993’s unrepresentative outsider-anthem Creep. While 1995’s The Bends foreshadowed a much more colourful musical scope, it wasn’t until OK Computer that Radiohead’s reputation as sonic frontier-expanding experimentalists was established.
ENLISTING THE RADIOHEAD PRODUCER
The sound of their new album was always intended to be a departure, and while The Bends had featured occasional forays into diverse instrumentation, a greater prevalence of off-the-wall arrangements defined OK Computer, and would shift the perception of Radiohead in the eyes of the world at large. Though the quintet had the desire to self-produce, they enlisted Nigel Godrich to help with the recording sessions, having assisted John Leckie back on the sessions for The Bends. The technically-minded Godrich proved to be an indispensable element to the record’s production, so indispensable in fact, that the band would subsequently use him as the man to helm on all their successive albums. He would become the Radiohead producer.
Though initial sessions took place at Radiohead’s newly constructed Canned Applause studio in Didcot, creeping dissatisfaction with the environment as the right creative space to work up their ideas pointed them towards a much more atmospheric recording location.
Bath’s St Catherine’s Court proved a better fit. A 16th century mansion owned by actress Jane Seymour (and previously used by The Cure to record their Wild Mood Swings album), St Catherine’s Court’s roomy ambience and natural reverberation would impart discernible character into the recordings. A notable example is Exit Music (For a Film)’s gloomy vocal, which was captured half-way up the Court’s stone staircase. “It was the band and me and Peter ‘Plank’ [Clements] who was their roadie.” Godrich told Rolling Stone, “Literally, it was just me [as Radiohead’s producer] on the album. I didn’t have an assistant; I didn’t have any help. Plank had never been in the studio before, but he’d help me lugging the stuff around. It was the seven of us plus the cook and Mango, Jane’s cat. The gatekeeper looked over the cat. He’d say, ‘Don’t let the cat in the TV room since it pisses on the carpet.’”
“I think that’s one of the things that makes this record different is the fact that we managed to capture these old sorts of 15th through the 18th century rooms that we recorded a lot of the album in.” Colin Greenwood told NPR’s All Things Considered. “You set up a bunch of microphones in a room and the ambience is going to be different from room to room.” To further expand the spacious ambience, Radiohead’s producer brought along his EMT 140 Plate Reverb.
Setting up a control room in the house’s library, Godrich and the band recorded most elements live “When you’re recording a band, it’s a bunch of microphones, a mixing desk, and a multi-track tape machine. That’s it. There’s a bit of computer jiggery-pokery if need be. but basically they’re a band, and they play together really well.” Godrich told The Mix. Among the gear that Godrich, Plank and the band installed at St Catherine’s Court were an Otari MTR-90II two-inch tape machine and both MTA series 980 and Soundcraft Spirit 24 mixing desks. While most of the gear was relatively traditional, Godrich used the then-new Pro Tools software to polish the mixes. Fittingly, further toes would be dipped into computer music-making as the sessions continued.
At this stage, the band were primarily a guitar band. Godrich mic’d up Thom, Jonny and Ed’s guitar amps with a set of fairly straightforward Shure SM57s. Yorke stuck to his Fender Twin Reverb, while Ed and Jonny leaned on a classic Vox AC30 sound for clean tones, with Greenwood’s Fender 85 and O’Brien’s Mesa Boogie Dual Rectifier Trem-O-Verb being unleashed when a crunchier overdrive was needed.
On the bass front, Colin Greenwood’s sunburst Fender Precision bass was output via a malleable Gallien-Krueger 800rb head in tandem with a beefy Ampeg SVT 8×10 cab.
EVERYTHING OK?
The songs that were being crafted at St Catherine’s Court were sounding like the best the band had yet written. Scene-setting opening cut, Airbag was defined by both Greenwood’s soaring riff in A major, and a hypnotic drum loop (captured with an Akai S3000 rack-mounted sampler, later edited on a Mac). Taking cues from the likes of DJ Shadow. While Thom and Phil were responsible for capturing the required loop, Godrich felt its character lacked edge. Running it through Greenwood’s pedalboard, imparted the right amounts of distorted bite, phasing and occasional wah to its sound.
The multi-sectioned Paranoid Android would take a while to find its shape. Starting with an acoustic-oriented arrangement, the track expanded into a head-banging, heavy-riff dominated rocker, before coalescing into an ethereal, haunting mid-section. Though both of the track’s ‘heavy’ sections were pretty similar, they were recorded months apart. This lead Godrich to have to manually merge each element to just one piece of 24-track tape. Trimmed down by Radiohead’s producer from 14 minutes to a more palatable 6 minutes and 30 seconds, the song would become a crucial statement of the band’s innovative intent, bubbling with both off-kilter guitars and synthesiser textures.
Among the synths that were harnessed on the album, there included an original Novation Bass Station (for the cavernous grind of Climbing Up The Walls) a Korg Prophecy – used to create the theremin-like sounds under the surface of Airbag. The analogue sound of a Moog and Mellotron were also called upon, as well as a quirky ZX Spectrum-based synth for the bubbling outro of Let Down.
On that subject, the uplifting Let Down was recorded in the master ballroom at 3am. Yorke had been Inspired to write its nihilistic lyric when sat in a pub one night. Propulsed by Greenwood and O’Brien’s sparkling arpeggiated Fender Starcaster on Rickenbacker riff (played in 5/4, as opposed to the track’s bpm of 4/4 to add a sense of floaty groundlessness) Let Down was perhaps the most optimistic-sounding record on an album that was shaping up to be darker than anything the band had previously written.
That darkness was evident on two other key tracks, the haunting, nursery-rhyme like arrangement of the now-ubiquitous No Surprises and the chilly uncertainty of Karma Police. Despite being recorded as a song in its entirety, Karma Police wasn’t quite working for Yorke. “We went out for a pint and he sort of complained about how he didn’t like the second half. He asked ‘Can we construct something from scratch’.” Recalled Godrich in Rolling Stone, “It was the first time we’d done that. From the middle section to the outro, it’s a completely different technique of building up a song. It’s not like the band playing. It’s just samples and loops and his sort of thing over the top, which sort of was the forerunner of a lot of things to come, good or bad.” Alongside this sonic maelstrom is Ed O’Brien’s self-oscillating delayed guitar, using a DMX 15-80s digital delay.
Karma Police bled into the electronic voice-delivered Fitter Happier. Less a song as such, and more an eerie stream of consciousness list of the travails of modern existence at the end of the 20th century, Fitter Happier’s distinctive voice was actually named ‘Fred’, and originated from a Macintosh’s SimpleText program. “The others were downstairs, ‘rockin, and I crept upstairs and did this in 10 minutes,” Thom told Select. “I was feeling incredible hysteria and panic, and it was so liberating to give the lyrics to this neutral-sounding computer.”
Across the sessions, the band pushed boundaries both sonic and conceptual, yet there was still room for more traditional fare. The squalling riff-age of Electioneering harked back to the likes of The Bends‘ more frenzied guitar freakouts, while the Bosnian war-inspired Lucky originated as Radiohead’s contribution to the Help compilation. While these tracks didn’t require too much left-field engineering, Godrich was keen to capture Yorke’s vocals as clearly as possible, using both a Neumann Valve 47 and Australian Rode Valve mic on Yorke’s vocals across the album. “I haven’t used much processing, just a bit of plate reverb, or a short delay.” Radiohead’s producer told The Mix, “Some singers just have a great tone, and [Thom] is one of them, so it’s not hard work. The vocals haven’t ended up very loud because it’s not a pop record, but it’s something I’m very conscious about. I’m always thinking, can you hear what he’s saying, because his lyrics are so great.”
With the album recorded, string recording took place at Abbey Road Studios, while full mixing took place at both AIR and Mayfair studios. The project then returned to Abbey Road for mastering. From all involved, especially Radiohead’s producer, there was a building sense that something monumental had been achieved”.
The way Radiohead evolved from their 1993 debut, Pablo Honey, to 1997’s OK Computer is amazing! The band started when Grunge was huge. Rather than follow the Britpop sound or stick too closely to Alternative and Rock, OK Computer was the band – and especially Thom Yorke as a lead songwriter – really broadening their horizons. The New Yorker looked back at OK Computer in a feature from 2017:
“Yorke was twenty-seven when he started working on “OK Computer,” and just coming off several years of touring. (“I was basically catatonic,” he told Rolling Stone. “The claustrophobia—just having no sense of reality at all.”) Though Yorke insists that “OK Computer” was inspired by the dislocation and paranoia of non-stop travel, it’s now largely understood as a record about how unchecked consumerism and an overreliance on technology can lead to automation and, eventually, alienation (from ourselves; from one another).
The disparity between these two things—the idea that everyone has gone on believing that the record is about the rise of machines, when Yorke keeps telling us it’s about how much he hated touring the world in a dumb bus—is fascinating, and at least partially attributable to the record’s fretful instrumentation. (Its lyrics are abstract enough to suit just about any imagined narrative.)
Radiohead came of age in the public consciousness in the citadel of grunge, an era in which rock was more introspective than ambitious; grunge was, in many ways, a fierce response to the bloat of the seventies and eighties, and indulgence of any sort was quickly sniffed out and vilified. (Nirvana, for example, never felt on the verge of incorporating a glockenspiel.) Radiohead wasn’t a grunge band (if anything, it was in danger of being rolled into Britpop), but its insistence on a kind of brainy largesse—on bringing in unexpected instrumentation, approaching rock from an unapologetically cerebral place—felt almost countercultural.
Musically, “OK Computer” was inspired by Miles Davis’s “Bitches Brew,” an aggressive and beautiful jazz-fusion album from 1970. Davis’s producer, Teo Macero, was a student of musique concrète, an experimental French genre in which tape is manipulated and looped to create new musical structures; much of “Bitches Brew” was pieced together after the band had gone home. Accordingly, its paths are not foreseeable, or even particularly human—navigating “Bitches Brew” remains a heady and disorienting experience, in which it is very easy to forget which end is up, or which way is out. “OK Computer” was made mostly live—it was started in a converted shed in Oxfordshire (the band called the space Canned Applause) and finished at St. Catherine’s Court, a stately stone mansion near Bath, owned by the actress Jane Seymour—but Radiohead and its producer, Nigel Godrich, shared Davis and Macero’s yen for disorientation. The reigning sound of the record is panic: darting, laser-like guitars, shaky percussion, moaning.
“OK Computer” was critically lauded upon its release—Spin named it the second-best album of 1997, calling it “a soaring song-cycle about the state of the soul in the digital age (or something),” and a Times piece marvelled at its ubiquity, noting that “although the band’s first video is six and a half minutes long and features twisted animated sequences in which children are shown drinking in a bar and paying women to flash them, it has been in heavy rotation on MTV.”
Still, I’m not sure that anyone really knew how to metabolize its precise disquiet until exactly this moment—which makes the timing of its reissue feel nearly fated. For me, revisiting some of these tracks now incites a bizarre kind of déjà vu—as if I am barely but finally remembering some whispered warning I received two decades back. The second half of “Paranoid Android,” one of the record’s darkest and most popular tracks, features Yorke singing in a strange, ghostly harmony with himself. “From a great height,” he repeats in his crystalline falsetto, stretching the final word until it sounds like some abstract plea. Meanwhile, a second, feebler voice opines, “The dust and the screaming, the yuppies networking, the panic, the vomit, the panic, the vomit.” Is this terribly dramatic? Sure. But if you have ever glanced around a bar—or a subway car, or a coffee shop—and seen a dozen sentient humans all tapping away on a device, forgoing awkward, fleshy engagement for a more mediated and quantifiable digital experience, and felt a deep and intense terror in your gut, then perhaps you’ve experienced some version of what Yorke’s voice is doing here: splintering, dissociating, freaking out. Many other bands have expressed worry about the proliferation of devices and the strange divisions computers have wrought, but I can’t think of another song that sounds as much like a person getting swept into a black hole”.
OK Computer is an album so majestic and all-conquering; it is hard to ignore or undervalue it. Such a wide-ranging and nuanced album, it still elicits big reactions twenty-five years later. I want to end with a couple of reviews. The A.V. Club wrote this in their review of one of the most important albums ever:
“Who could have guessed, when Radiohead's obnoxiously overexposed debut single "Creep" came out in 1993, that the band's two subsequent albums would be such elegant artistic triumphs? The Bends, Radiohead's 1995 sophomore release, was a creative success from start to finish, held together by stunningly dramatic songs like the hit "Fake Plastic Trees." But as good as The Bends is—and it's very, very good—the new OK Computer is on an entirely different level. It isn't necessarily better than The Bends; it's not nearly as instantly accessible, for starters. But it's much more ambitious and far-reaching, packed with meandering, shape-shifting, busy, spaced-out epics that are as unpredictable as they often are beautiful. It's hard to imagine anything here finding a great deal of success in a Hanson-saturated radio world. But OK Computer needs to be heard as a whole anyway: The songs blend together in such a way that they'd seem out of context when heard between Spice Girls and Collective Soul. That isn't to say there aren't marvelous moments spread throughout OK Computer—there's nary a weak spot—but you won't soon forget "Airbag," "Exit Music (For A Film)," "Letdown" or the amazing epic single, "Paranoid Android." You'll discover more the more you listen to it, and that fact alone makes the album downright essential”.
To finish off, I will bring in AllMusic’s take on a masterpiece from 1997. Although Radiohead have released other genius albums, OK Computer, to many, was the first. It was a clear sign that the band were in their own league and had come a long way from their somewhat listless 1993 debut:
“Using the textured soundscapes of The Bends as a launching pad, Radiohead delivered another startlingly accomplished set of modern guitar rock with OK Computer. The anthemic guitar heroics present on Pablo Honey and even The Bends are nowhere to be heard here. Radiohead have stripped away many of the obvious elements of guitar rock, creating music that is subtle and textured yet still has the feeling of rock & roll. Even at its most adventurous -- such as the complex, multi-segmented "Paranoid Android" -- the band is tight, melodic, and muscular, and Thom Yorke's voice effortlessly shifts from a sweet falsetto to vicious snarls. It's a thoroughly astonishing demonstration of musical virtuosity and becomes even more impressive with repeated listens, which reveal subtleties like electronica rhythms, eerie keyboards, odd time signatures, and complex syncopations. Yet all of this would simply be showmanship if the songs weren't strong in themselves, and OK Computer is filled with moody masterpieces, from the shimmering "Subterranean Homesick Alien" and the sighing "Karma Police" to the gothic crawl of "Exit Music (For a Film)." OK Computer is the album that established Radiohead as one of the most inventive and rewarding guitar rock bands of the '90s”.
Even though the U.K. release was not until June 1997, next month, on 21st, is when OK Computer was first released. It will provoke a lot of new evaluation and revision of an album that is still without equal. Such a remarkable album that will be discussed and loved for the rest of time, it is hard to believe that OK Computer is…
ALMOST twenty-five years old.