Do You Remember...?

Redefining The Landscape Of Rock Music

On April 5, my Substack Notes feed was flooded with tributes to Kurt Cobain. I noticed a recurring question kept popping up:

“Do you remember where you were when you first saw the video for ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit?”

I remember seeing that video, and I liked it. Do I remember where I was?

No.

While I respected Nirvana, I was never a massive fan. My favorite among the Seattle bands was always The Screaming Trees with Mark Lanegan. In those early days of Grunge, however, the whole Seattle music scene felt like I was experiencing my generation's equivalent of Haight-Ashbury. It was such an exhilarating time filled with countless bands to discover—some were exceptional, others were decent, and a few were, to be honest, just lucky to be in the right spot at the right moment.

In 1993, I moved to London and experienced firsthand the renaissance of British guitar music. These bands didn’t look or sound American. They proudly embraced their British identity and accent. The cultural wave, dubbed "Britpop," was intricately linked to class distinctions and the divide between the North and South. The South was home to the middle-class, or posh art school Londoners, while the North boasted the gritty, council estate, working-class lads.

Much like the Grunge movement that preceded it, some fantastic bands emerged. But some fashionably hip young men also graced the covers of the NME and Melody Maker without having released a single, let alone an LP (remember Menswear, anyone?).

The first time I heard Radiohead, who released their first album at least a year before the explosion of Britpop (or the term), was their single ‘Creep.’ It had a clever pop hook and chorus, but I didn’t think much of it, nor did I particularly like the album it was on. However, two years later in 1995, I decided to buy their second album, ‘The Bends.’ I was completely blown away by the transformation in the sound, creativity, and depth of each track. The simplicity of their earlier work was replaced by the caustic, teeth-grinding intensity of ‘My Iron Lung,’ the poignant beauty of ‘Bullet Proof,... I Wish I Was,’ the scorching guitar finale of 'Just,' and the stunning, yet haunting closing track ‘Street Spirit.’ Lyrically, these songs carried a profound emotional weight missing from their debut. Their cleverness and sophistication set them apart from the Britpop and American bands. More importantly, it was clear that they were discovering their own unique artistic identity.

Do You Remember Where You Were?

This past April, as everyone reflected on Cobain's life and the grungey sonic earthquake of ‘Smells Like Teen Spirit’ debuting on MTV, I recalled a different pivotal music moment.

I can vividly remember where I was when Radiohead performed on Later... with Jools Holland on May 31, 1997, unveiling tracks from their soon-to-be-released album, ‘OK Computer,’ for the first time.

Twenty-seven years after that performance, it is essential to recognize that the surrounding context always plays a key role in grasping the importance of any culturally impactful and innovative artistic expression or movement.

In May 1997, the Britpop phenomenon was at its peak. Thirty days before Radiohead's performance on Later… with Jools Holland, Tony Blair was elected Prime Minister. Blair’s “New Labour” won in a landslide. The victory was celebrated as a significant triumph for young Generation X, who had endured eighteen years of Conservative governance. England secured wins in two World Cup qualifying matches, including one against Poland on the same evening Radiohead performed on Jools Holland. In 1996, Oasis had played to a massive crowd of 250,000 at Knebworth, while Blur had just released their hit ‘Song Two’ a month prior, in April 1997. This monumental track would go on to echo through sports stadiums worldwide to this day. Thankfully, the silly media-hyped Blur vs Oasis rivalry was behind us. And “Cool Britannia” was now being used to describe Great Britain, a clever nod to the phrase “Rule Britannia.”

Yes, London felt like the epicenter of the universe, and I was right in the midst of it.

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I once read a comment from Jimi Hendrix where he expressed his excitement for new albums by Bob Dylan and The Beatles, noting that there was always an element of surprise by both artists.¹

I felt the same way with Radiohead.

The anticipation, excitement, and hype that Radiohead was performing new songs live on Later... with Jools Holland was electric. There was mutual admiration for all bands performing on the show. Holland was a respected jazz musician, and the bands always performed live.

It was a Saturday night, and my wife was two months pregnant with our first child. I was working as Head of Art at a school in Twickenham, and a few months before, we had bought our first flat in South Ealing, a neighborhood in West London.

That evening, we invited friends over, ordered a curry, and had dinner together. After eating, we played a board game and had drinks. The England match was on in the background, but I was more eager for Jools’ show to air around 11:30 pm on our 22” Sony television.

With no idea what the band would perform, the first song, ‘Paranoid Android,’ was a stunning six minutes of sheer brilliance I will never forget.

The stage was awash in blue light. There were whimsical chicken scratch doodles, and text scribbled across huge banners behind them. The band, dressed casually and exuding an unassuming presence, launched into the track with its now iconic acoustic intro. Guitarist Jonny Greenwood sported an armband on his strumming hand, focused intently on his guitar and pedals, his floppy hair partially obscuring his face. Meanwhile, singer Thom Yorke, now with shorter, unbleached hair, shook his head rhythmically, donning sunglasses as he stepped up to the microphone...

Please, could you stop the noise?

I’m trying to get some rest.

From all the unborn chicken

Voices in my head

The camera pans to rhythm guitarist Ed O'Brien, playing a cabasa, the traditional Italian percussion instrument.

At 1:57, bassist Colin Greenwood plays a thumping heartbeat bass line that shifts the song into an entirely new time signature. Yorke begins to chant “ey ya ya ey ya ya” in a captivating loop before landing a heavy blow with the powerful lyrics...

Ambition makes you look pretty ugly.

Kickin' squealing Gucci little piggy.

Yeah, Yeah, Yeah...

Seconds later, feedback from guitarist Jonny Greenwood can be heard reverberating, chirping, and echoing from his monitor. The song dramatically shifts as bright white lights flood the stage, and Yorke belts out...

You Don't Remember

You Don't Remember

Why Don't You Remember My Name

Off With His Head, Man

Off With His Head

Why Don't You Remember My Name?

I guess he does...

The song then explodes into a cacophony of fuzzy white noise. Jonny Greenwood goes into full frenzy mode, sucking out nervous, jittery sounds from his guitar that are utterly chaotic and manic. O'Brien is up against his amplifier, exorcising feedback from his guitar, and Yorke is shaking his head uncontrollably at the mic. In the back, Colin Greenwood ups the tempo with his groove, playing tight in the pocket as Phil Selway punishes his drum kit with his heavy beats.

At 3'27, the band transitions into a more subdued time signature that feels orchestral and almost religious in its delivery. Just moments after Greenwood unleashed a crazed guitar solo, he now has his guitar resting on his back and gently plays a keyboard while Yorke passionately pleads...

Rain down

Rain down

C’mon, rain down.

On me...

At 4:59, O’Brien joins with backup vocals while Yorke delivers the final chilling lyrics...

The panic,

The vomit

The panic,

The vomit,

God loves his children,

God loves his children…

Suddenly, Colin's heartbeat bass line unnervingly thumps back to life, the deranged, skittish explosion of fuzzed-out white noise returns, and the band erupts into a full-blown wig-out jam. The camera pans back and forth between the band members, but mainly on Jonny as he aggressively siphons sound out of his guitar, making it obvious why he needs to wear the arm brace.

And then, without warning, it comes to an abrupt halt.

That night, as I watched and listened to the premiere of that song in front of a live British audience—both in the studio and those of us who watched it live on television—I was completely stunned. A wave of goosebumps surged through me, and I could feel the hairs on my neck standing on end. I knew right then that I had just witnessed something extraordinary. I turned to my wife and friends in disbelief and was speechless. I wasn’t the only one feeling this way; the audience burst into applause after the song, the camera did a 360°, and the other bands who performed that night looked gobsmacked. For several days after, music lovers everywhere were asking each other, “Did you see Radiohead’s performance on Jools?”

Looking back on that performance, I now understand why the memory is so vivid. Much like The Beatles legendary US premiere on The Ed Sullivan Show in 1964 and The Sex Pistols unforgettable and controversial moments on The Grundy Show and later on Granada TV’s ‘So It Goes’ in 1976, this was a television event that transcended the band itself and marked the dawn of a musical revolution.

Even now, after twenty-seven years, rewatching their performance of ‘Paranoid Android’ on Later... With Jools Holland gives me chills.

At the time, the band was challenging and pushing the boundaries for themselves as musicians but also redefining the entire landscape of rock music. In just over six minutes, they proved it wasn't necessary to adhere to the conventional, tired, rock and roll formula we have become all too familiar with. Instead, Radiohead delivered intricate, abstract compositions, unconventional time signatures, and lyrics with raw intensity and went straight for the jugular.

At that very moment, the band proved they had discovered their artistic voice and were boldly proclaiming the future of rock music.

As a fan of the 1960s British rock group The Pretty Things, I also can’t help but hear the parallels between ‘Paranoid Android’ and the Pretties' 1967 single ‘Defecting Grey.’ Both songs feature complex time signatures that evoke a sense of unease, along with an explosive surge of fuzzed-out white noise that erupts with ferocious intensity. They both unfold like mini-operas, weaving narratives while simultaneously dismantling and destroying the musical conventions that preceded them.

What I admire and respect greatly about Radiohead is their ability to showcase their influences without ever resorting to imitation. They draw inspiration and transform it into something entirely their own.

Three years later, Radiohead would release their fourth album, ‘Kid A,’ pushing their innovative approach to even greater heights. This album embraced an even more abstract and electronic sound, drawing influences from a wide array of genres, including Kraftwerk, Can, 1970s Scandinavian bands like Träd, Gräs & Stenar, and Älgarnas Trädgård, as well as Electronica and Free Jazz. The realm of rock music and what it could be was changed forever.

The greatest artists always challenge themselves and constantly push the boundaries, seeking innovative ways to creatively express their ideas. Whether you like their music or not, it is undeniable that Radiohead stands out as one of the defining and greatest artists of our time.

Yeah, I remember exactly where I was on May 31, 1997.

1. I have trawled the internet trying to find his exact quote, but I can’t find it. It may have been in one of several books or magazines I have read on Hendrix.