Radiohead burst on to the music scene in 1993 with the release of their debut disc, "Pablo Honey." The music was really nothing groundbreaking, emerging as yet another collection of hard-pop alternative tracks. The album did yield a fairly popular (and radio- friendly) single in the track "Creep," but failed to bring anything new to the table. Radiohead, judging from interviews, is ashamed of their first effort. They almost never play "Creep" live anymore, not to mention any other songs off the album. Pablo Honey is the only Radiohead disc that I do not own.
In retrospect, it may not be such a bad thing that Radiohead's first album was somewhat flat. The band did succeed in getting their voice heard, and they acquired an audience willing to listen to what they really had to say. In 1995, the band released "The Bends," a far more sophisticated and cutting-edge collection than "Pablo Honey.î 1997's "OK Computer," perhaps my favorite Radiohead album, followed "The Bends." "OK Computer" was widely critically acclaimed, garnering a 1997 Grammy Award for Best Alternative Music Performance. Media success and publicity crippled Radiohead for quite some time. The group prided (and prides) themselves on quietly producing progressive, forward-thinking music. They were thrown into the spot light-constantly forced by their label to participate in guest appearances, photo shoots, and interviews in which the band members were asked the same questions over and over again. The band even began to self-destruct a little bit as the members lashed their anger out against each other.
I woke up at 8:00 the morning tickets went on sale for Radiohead's August 20, 2001 show at the Hollywood Bowl. It was a Saturday. I signed my computer onto the internet, went to the Ticketmaster website, predialed the Ticketmaster phone number into my cell phone, and waited until 8:45 (tickets went on sale at 9:00) to begin the furious scouring for tickets. I worked frantically, reloading the web page and blistering my finger on my phone's redial button. Then it happened... Guess who got tickets to one ofthe most sought after shows in the country? Just over thirty thousand people that I didn't know. That's right, thirty thousand tickets sold in just over four minutes.
The solution seemed simple; I would scalp a ticket at the show. Sure, I would take fifty dollars and buy a ticket from some desperate guy in the parking lot fifteen minutes before Radiohead would take the stage. This was my belief until I went onto Ebay out of curiosity and found that tickets were going for about $120, and that was bare minimum. Somewhat discouraged, I decided to give it a shot all the same. At least if I was outside the Hollywood Bowl, I would be able to hear the sounds of the band sent into the sky by the outdoor venue.
On the day of the show, I made the 10-minute walk from my apartment over to the Bowl at about 12:30 (the opening act was set to start at 7:30) in order to scout the layout of the area. As I looked around, a man came up to me and asked what the line was for. He pointed over to the box office where a group of about 40 fans stood (and sat), forming a sloppy line. My newfound friend and I walked over to inquire. A young man with sunglasses and shaggy hair informed me that at practically every concert, tickets are released at the last minute at face value. This sounded too good to be true, but true enough to put me in the line.
I quickly made friends with the other people standing there waiting for tickets. Everyone around me took turns stepping out of line to make cigarette and six-pack runs. I stood my ground, fearing the release of tickets in my absence. I didn't hesitate; however, to enjoy the spoils yielded at the many returns of my day-companions. Thrice a mustached employee of the Bowl urged us with a microphone to go home, yes, three times. People did clear out. Many of the abandoners were true fans, albeit realists. The third time the microphone man told us to go home, he informed us that there was a 100 percent chance that we would not get tickets. I sat down crushed. Luckily, confident and resilient fans surrounded me, almost disallowing me to leave.
Sure enough, about 45 minutes before the show, the mustache man told us that if we were by chance to get some good news in the next few minutes, we were to remain calm and maintain our place in the orderly line. Ten minutes later, I had a ticket and it made sense; it was a handicapped ticket. It was all so clear: the venue has to keep the handicapped seats open just in case someone ends up in a wheelchair between the time they buy the ticket and the time they show up for the show! They have to get rid of those seats at the last minute.
I kicked back in my seat, about two sections back, about halfway between the stage and the very rear of the venue. I was literally in the dead center. I could not have asked for a better seat, and I wouldn't have gotten one that good from a scalper for less than about a hundred dollars. "The Beta Band" started things off playing a four-song set; followed by the immensely talented DJ Kid Koala who worked the turntables while the stage was set.
The lights fell and the crowd collectively rose cheering to its feet. And then it began. The intense bass intro of "The National Anthem" tore through the darkness and when the rest of the band joined in, the lights and lasers fired on at full intensity. Radiohead is renowned for giving nearly flawless technical performances. They really don't do any "jamming" and the solo is almost never used. They just play their music together. Thorn Yorke, the lead singer, does not do a whole lot of communicating with the crowd. He doesn't need to though since he, with the band, says all that he needs to say in the music. Thom did take two brief moments to make dedications on behalf of the band: one, was the charged anthem, "Paranoid Android," sent out to members of the Monty Python comedy team who were in attendance; the second was "Street Spirit (Fade Out)," dedicated as a goodbye song to America since Hollywood was the band's final stop before heading to Europe and Asia.
The band played a blistering 22-song set, performing almost every song that I wanted to hear, and left the stage to the tune of 30,000 screaming admirers. We thought they were done, but then we saw movement. Thom Yorke, armed with his acoustic guitar, crept out from backstage. He joked, "The boys have gone off to get drunk, and left me here to finish things." He played a "yet to be released" song that the band has tinkered around with since the, days of their third album, the critically acclaimed "OK Computer." All they could ever do was perform it. Thom capped the night off with the beautiful and haunting love song "TrueLove Waits."
