Radiohead
Live in Florence 09/07/2003

THE REVIEW

The view over Florence from Piazzale Michelangelo is breathtaking. It's 7:45 PM, and I wonder if Thom Yorke and company are aware of how much such a valuable setting can elevate the audience's expectations. About four hours later, I'll have my answer: aware or not, even Radiohead knows how to stir emotions. The stage is a large cube, and the first one to step in is Jonny Greenwood. What will be the first instrument he plays? Guitar? Laptop? Piano? Some strange little box? None of these.

Jonny starts by drumming on two drums (just like Ed O'Brien), while Thom strums and sings There There, greeting us with a ridiculous smile that immediately promises a generous evening. From the first to the last song (the 23rd!), Radiohead showcases live a sublime musical blend, yet also the feeling of being five boys giving it a try (and succeeding very well). A strange and pleasant sensation, considering it's an open-air concert with thousands of spectators. Even though Jonny often forgets several notes along the way (2+2=5), the contrast between his rough and anarchic inventions (see Lucky where he shifts the accents of the solos) and the extreme, incredible precision of his amused brother Colin on bass is perhaps the essence of the group’s performance. Along with Thom’s skill, obviously: in the more intimate pieces, he captivates with his spectacular voice (Pyramid Song and especially Sail To The Moon, whose performance I would note as the best part of the evening), in the more electronic ones, with an intense stage presence of a bewildered and compelling sprite, as in Idiotéque and Myxomatosis. The latter is one of the most pleasant surprises, with that strange riff dominating the cold atmosphere created by the blue lights and the low tones of Thom’s slightly effected voice. The perfect Phil Selway is a discreet presence, not so much the case with the volumes of his bases and his drums, which perhaps impose themselves too violently. If there’s something that leaves me puzzled, it’s the encroaching nature of the rhythm section: to appreciate Jonny’s bursts, I almost always have to strain my ears; Ed O'Brien's guitars I can't hear at all. A shame, because whenever this play on volumes is broken, the air is intoxicating, thanks to the sharp riffs of I Might Be Wrong, the wall of guitars in the last verses of Fake Plastic Trees, or the absurd sounds Jonny pulls out of his Telecaster at the end of The Gloaming, which concludes the first part of the concert. The band returns on stage twice, loudly called back by the crowd among which I float elated. Karma Police is the conclusion: ideal, because it draws out from the audience the last strands of voice and last emotions. P.S. 5 stars even if they didn't play Exit Music or A Wolf At The Door or We Suck Young Blood.

Here's the setlist: There There, 2+2=5, Morning Bell, Lucky, Scatterbrain, The National Anthem, Backdrifts, Sail To The Moon, I Might Be Wrong, Fake Plastic Trees, Myxomatosis, Where I End And You Begin, Pyramid Song, A Punchup At A Wedding, Paranoid Android, Idiotéque, Everything In Its Right Place, The Gloaming - - - Go To Sleep, Just, Like Spinning Plates - - - Sit Down. Stand Up, Karma Police.

A note on the Low: their slowcore certainly isn’t suitable for being appreciated live (“we’re a very quiet band…”), but the three display good ideas; the frontman’s voice – gentle and deep at the same time – seems perfect for their sad melodies.