Long Live Radiohead
I once sarcastically bemused about the Brits here.
But when it comes down to it, Radiohead are survivors. Those of us that survive with them by candle light and non exclusive LPs on days apart from Record Store day... the things collected non ironically in our lives, the love given without a capitalist bloodthirsty begging in the darkness behind porcelain draped smiles; they remain to be the real animal inside. We are better than the veneer of gloss and man made money. Things seem weird only because those holding the mirror get to warp the reflection. They used to waddle on concrete cross sections of busy metropolises shouting of doomsday and rhetoric; now we've paid them through sloppy corn syrup, hydrogenated sugar overdoses and buzzfeed clicks to turn the unmotivated masses to the proverbial cynical boom of optimism via chronic cronyism. It isn't complicated. You are not less intelligent than an algorithm. They've molded the boogeyman into billions of views, unattended psycho babble forums and the scripted actors that read lines, from those that change their names soaked in mononymously infamous dynasties. And unlike Cher to the masses, these people do not want to entertain you, they want you to fear your neighbors and especially, fear yourself.
Let me tell you something -- after visiting forty-five other countries in the past half decade -- the world is not ending -- the world is not against you -- your neighbors are not against you.
We did not suddenly come into the walking apocalypse we used to laugh at in white Nike sneakers and purple tarps over bodies. No... normal, 'god'-fearing, neighbor-helping, tax-paying Americans have been bought and sold into a civil war, one that is taking place on cold drives, distant locales, and at its base -- Ones and Zeros. Trust me my friend, turn off your phone, chuck your handheld device, bury your laptop and stop believing the boards posting comments. I know that has been sold to you as some self help book before. But let me tell you after spending seventeen days in the Nordic summer, only to come home to Newark as the American entryway -- the rest of the world is not inundated with the bright sex and sound of extreme violence and pornography. After speaking with Icelandic white haired, rational beautiful beings for over two weeks about their art and home building and friend sharing and love gathering in something as simple as a visit to the local park to sustain the basis of a healthy community; only to come home to the passage way of gnarly gold bedazzled monsters screaming on flatscreen televisions, trying to look out the plate glass window of the international airport to the Jersey Shore, only to see possessed children smacking each other, to overweight fathers downing another pleasureless beer, and to the angry mothers stuck with decisions and debt they never wanted but were sold outright to... No... America is in a self made entertainment prison complex of conscious torture.
I know, as a born and raised citizen, to the lucky world traveler I've been -- that we should not blame the uneducated here -- that we should never act disgusted to the obese -- and that we should call out the race relations made up on the whim of corporate winds. The season has changed to one and only -- war for profit; on the poor, the hungry, the disadvantaged and the helpless. Those barely left in the middle are shaking and shouting for 'pragmatic' dogma. Something they've been easily fed for years. So be kind to those on the streets, many will join them too, even, maybe you. Be kind to those that cough, that sickness is making its way to your PPO any day now. Be swift with those working for a change, because agreeing with them would be the last thing those who control all the money systems would want. Small people with big ideas.
No. They have the worlds largest engine chugging away for them made by something that eclipses those meek, ancient pyramids. No -- those ignorant fools only wanted to live forever in symbols and felines they so worshiped. These modern day Pharaohs only want all of living thought, accumulated into the largest technological construct ever to be advanced by the all consuming, mother nature killing resources of all life as we know it, to become some Twilight Zone meets Star Trek Next Generation Borg that launches from Earth to Mars and beyond our solar system.
Think that's some tinfoil left over on my cap?
Think that space exploration or the cloning of the genome is really for any of you? Look up to the stars, you're not invited to go anywhere up there, trust me, if anything, on that.
It's their world now.
It's soft, dark, inexplicable, maddening and almost.... just almost completely unbelievable.... as if Eric Blair wasn't dead on.. That to know the future, it seems to only be, now and only imagined, as a synthetically constructed, third world made, corporal boot, smashing against the hopeful, dreaming face of the likes of John Lennon, somewhere unseen by the ever-seeing eye of the twenty-four hour news gaze et al Flint, Michigan. City by city -- in a world so hilariously hyped as a 'global village'. Do you even know if anyone is alive in South Dakota.. Has anyone checked? They'll shut off, poison, disrupt, turn against, hypocritize and alienate anyone suffering. So that the silence is the only thing acceptable between brunch and DVR'd syndicated simulated sponsored moments of emotion.
All our artistic heroes are dead thanks to war, poverty, excess drugs and a terminal cancer. A cancer they have helped thrive in our collective conscious, and are asking, no shouting the sale of its spread beyond our hive mind to something none of us can afford to be responsible for.
No one else of significance has stood up against tyranny since 1968.
If you think any candidate today has some hope they are selling otherwise, in the same exact system hundreds of millions are being oppressed, then.. well, opinions are like assholes. They might like to get fucked a lot, but they still have to pay the tax man come time.
So you want some neat review of Radiohead. like that most all the tracks are songs they've been working on for decades... or that it's minimalist or incorporates strings heavily influenced by Jonny's new millennium film score experiences.. Here it is.. It is insanely rich, comfortable artists, that will maybe for the last time you will ever be alive for, make complicated, beautiful sonics that reach out and help nullify the absolute sorrow and absurdity of modern living. The rest, sponsored and paid for to hide the basic human suffering in plain sight, to The View, to Ryan Seacrest, to the Superbowl to the nightly fear-mongering news placated by a laugh track...
Welcome to the last, uncomfortable real artists that get to do something for themselves, and not the almighty, hypnotizing and invisible coin purse that will forever control the masses... using math. If that doesn't artistically incense you, then you're already dead inside.
For that alone, A Moon Shaped Pool should become an artifact of our own American tombs... and when they find them, radioactive from pummeling wealth and lain with the orange skin and toupee of Trump's neo-con demagogue -- the transmission of our times will be read plus-5-day-live-ratings of streaming vertical content selling that same corn syrup we worship more, than our very livelihood.
What does The New Yorker and Pitchfork (and 21 other media outlets) have in common? Oh yeah, they are owned by the same war profiteer disguised as a travel conglomerate -- Conde Nast with its boardroom as repugnant as the Syrian genocide you're ignoring.
So thank your whatever god or deep time and space black void you do not believe in enough to do anything about, because burning down the house, would be the last thing comfortably numb prescription addicted response avoiding mammals, should do.
That's what I think about the new Radiohead album. That's what I think of our preening American lifestyle, and that's what I think about every other numbing PC opinion you're socially engineered to rhetorically dump on your unsuspecting, debt collecting, tech addicted network of digital neighbors since dawn of facebook.
Burn the witch.
I can live with the evil inside of man. However, I do not know how much longer any of us are supposed to live with the utter illness it causes humankind as a whole. How do you do it?
Take pills? Get drunk? Cyberstalk strangers until you harass them enough to put the muzzle of a gun to their unkissed lips?
Radiohead will still make selfless, unmarketable large scale moments for wild haired consumption.
What a time to be alive, at least for the purity of self destruction, and the response-call our last bastion of old guard musicians... get to make.
Long live Radioead.
P.S. This would have been even more hyperbolic and nihilistic if I wasn't under the influence of TV.
P.P.S. Thank all that is the Spaghetti Monster for Peteski -- for he is doing god's work for the rest of us left broken and neon in such an easily contained, lost landmass of moneyed dreams only to be experienced through the new, American Nightmare, for, you have to be awake to be screaming this much.