When I interviewed Thom Yorke in early August – one of two, typically scant interviews to which he’d submitted (“submit being the word,” he joked) to promote the Ashmolean Museum’s exhibition of Radiohead’s artwork – I reminded him that he’d said he would be back in his painting studio this autumn. I thought I was being clever when I then asked if his long-dormant band might be returning to the recording studio.
“I have no idea,” the frontman replied firmly. “Not on the cards from where I’m sitting.” Even less clever, my failing to follow up with: “And what about returning to the stage?”
Four weeks after that conversation came the surprise announcement of 20 European and UK shows, kicking off tonight in Madrid with the first of four gigs at the 17,000-capacity Movistar Arena. No Oasis Live ’25-style, year-long banking of excitement and brand deals here… Radiohead are, quite simply, back.
Seven years and three months since their last gig, the five bandmates – plus auxiliary percussionist Chris Vatalaro – are emphasising their decades-deep closeness by playing in the round, roaming in and out of each other’s spaces, in the centre of the arena. They’re further intertwined thanks to the circular frame that encases them, its panels sliding up and down across the show, images of the occasionally walled-off musicians playing on the screens.
They begin with “Let Down” from 1997’s OK Computer, the perfect, keening, atmos-rich slide into the evening. “2 + 2 = 5” is the immediate, thrashy follow-up, guitarists Jonny Greenwood and Ed O’Brien going hard at it on either side of Radiohead’s comeback merry-go-round. The King of Limbs opener “Bloom” has a rushing, sinuous, lengthy instrumental lead in, the younger Greenwood on a third set of drums, Vatalaro adding to the feverish turbulence, Yorke (eventually) on wailing, impressionistic vocals. They do similar on the mantric “Ful Stop” from 2016’s A Moon Shaped Pool, Yorke boogieing free-form with a little handheld keyboard. No other rock band can do pell-mell jazz jams like these and make them not sound like some instruments tumbling down a staircase. Or, worse, noodling.
Sandwiched in between those two was that other thing Radiohead do better than all their peers: a bruised, battered anthem in the form of the ever-wondrous “Lucky”. At times, though, the more adventurous songs that sound so great on record kill the vibe in a sold-out arena full of ravenously up-for-it fans. “The Gloaming” is a glitchy bluebottle buzz in search of a song. The washed-out, shapeless ambience of “Daydreaming” and the wonky, lurching “A Wolf at the Door” stall the momentum as we head to the close of the main set.
There is, too, little in the way of crowd interaction. Yorke gives a couple of muttered greetings, but that’s it. Given the band’s awkward, unresolved, unwanted role in the debate surrounding artists and Israel, there’s certainly no mention of Gaza (and no discernible protests outside the arena when I arrive). Even during a scorching “Paranoid Android”, when a Palestinian flag is waved vigorously from the barrier, right in Yorke’s eyeline, there’s no response.
When Radiohead hit their groove, it’s obvious how much we’ve missed this British guitar band’s still-radical take on what guitar music can be. On “Myxomatosis”, over elastic, hip-quaking bass, the screens rise and fall to reveal five musicians bathed in boudoir pink, bent over their instruments as rubberband man Yorke patrols the rim of the stage. “No Surprises” is as lovely as always. “Everything In Its Right Place” from 2000’s Kid A is a moment of unfettered ecstasy while “The National Anthem” from that same album also stays on the right side of the sexual/cerebral divide. It’s music for dancing with an industrial funk swagger.
Into the seven-song encore and the gnarly and/or sublime stalwarts, including “You and Whose Army?” and “There There”, come one after the other. With house lights up, phone lights lofted, screens fully raised and band fully present, the rapturous, arena-scale choir responses to “Fake Plastic Trees” and final song “Karma Police” tell their own story. This might be their first show in 87 months, but Radiohead are already, again, transcendent.
