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Rating:
Radiohead, with their strengths and their (few) flaws. That band, but without the burden and pressure of being Radiohead, of making critics tremble just by hearing their name. Yorke and Greenwood (alongside Tom Skinner) leave journalists orphaned of their fetish and shuffle the deck. The abandonment syndrome is evident in the first reviews. Articles heading, for example: “Why is this album not under the name Radiohead?” “Radiohead in disguise.” “The best side project of Radiohead.” And notice how this review begins...
Fetish, fetish, fetish.
Thom and Jonny are a step ahead of those who think they can judge them and show the grit of the young here. The feeling is that they truly wanted to shed a weight, a responsibility, the nightmare of having to meet expectations (what is A Moon Shaped Pool if not an album where Radiohead force themselves to be Radiohead? Whereas The King of Limbs could have been the true, uncomfortable direction of the band). Without that name, they can return to being themselves, without the fear of disappointing or seeing a 6.0 on Pitchfork.
So they throw a bit of everything into the mix. From electronic syncopations to wave regurgitations, the robotic rarefaction of the machine man (The Same) and the tremendously human (We Don't Know What Tomorrow Brings), the disconsolate gaze on existence and political itches. The orchestral nightmares of Suspiria (Pana-vision) and the jazz smokiness of their best moments. The ballads, at times, return to touch the golden proportions of the past: a bitter chewing on the future, on our collective conscience, counterpointed by the airy beauty of Yorke’s melodies (Free In The Knowledge).
The three manage to deliver an immediately accessible song form (thirteen tracks in 53 minutes, with no room for lengthiness) while exploring their new influences. But, as usual, it's a vertical exploration, and Nigel Godrich ensures they do justice with an almost incredible sonic layering. In the depths of the songs, the orchestrations of Greenwood, the soundtrack composer, roam - the flute, trumpet and trombone, violin, viola, cello. An exquisitely played album that makes you almost tactilely feel the love for the instruments (The Smoke, The Opposite).
Sonic flourishes that sometimes clash against the roughness of creative obsession, the kind that pushes the instruments almost to madness. Skinner's timing (a great card shuffler here) and the orchestral shading exalt the insane moods of some pieces. An adrenaline rush not felt in a while in Tom and his friends’ records. That intellectual violence which, however, knows how to hit the gut. Thin Thing, A Hairdryer, vertigo that marks a new youth.
The album sounds very good and could have been something truly great, with a bit more patience. In the sense that the grit and energy slightly fade in the second half with too many pieces echoing the more fluid and atmospheric Radiohead (Open the Floodgates, Waving a White Flag). I would have liked to hear a less whiny and introspective Yorke. A patchwork album (like Hail to The Thief) can stand, but I would have preferred different patches in some cases.
The freedom and energy of the new debut work, but only up to a point. It misses precisely that paranoid obsession in conception, that moral and aesthetic gnawing that birthed “inhuman” things like 2016's True Love Waits. The freshness and different sounds of some tracks clash with a certain underlying mannerism felt in the more canonical pieces. I can’t deeply move myself. In the end, even they, started as Smile but ended up again at that sweet obsession called Radiohead.
Only the feeling is missing to underpin those exquisite paranoias.
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