It was nearly 8:30 when we arrived at the Arena and parked in the expensive deck. Ricky and I are giddy as we make our way through the crowded parking structure and past security. I let out a tiny squeal and sorted our tickets. There were zig-zagging queues leading into the Arena, punctuated by uniformed security guards and ticket-takers. A short black woman wearing an awkward wig shoves her flashlight into my bag. Unsatisfied, she takes my bag into her ashy hands and gives it a shake, peering into the contents of my life. We pass the test, scan our tickets and enter the Arena’s marquee.The opening band, Other Lives, is still playing. Before we find our seats, Ricky waits for friends who are also at this sacred event. I join the massive, swirling line in front of the merchandise table. “Thom Yorke, Thom Yorke, Thom Yorke” I say thrice in my head. It’s like chant you’d say in my girls bathroom in 3rd grade with your friends to prove Bloody Mary really exists. I’m trying to conjure the man of the hour.
In line I meet Nell. She has braces and has never been to a concert before. We chit-chat. The line moves up. I part with Nell without an exchange; I am too excited for my over-priced shirt. I’m next in the line, but a blonde Real Housewife of Atlanta wannabe steps in front of me with her chubby, balding male “friend.” She purses her lips and thrusts a finger towards the wall covered with t-shirts, demanding more color options. It takes her 10 minutes to pick her souvenirs.
I pay for my $45 shirt, and Ricky and I make our way to our side of the arena. The lobby of Philips Arena has a host of restaurants and stalls selling roasted nuts and beer. They, too, are overpriced. By the time we wonder to the other side, the opening band has finished playing and the Arena is bustling with hums of excited conversation. We find our allocated portal just as the Arena erupts into chaos.
The erratic piano key pushing, cosmic beeps and blurbs and distant drumming of ‘Bloom’ blare from the speakers; the show had begun. Thom and the boys fill the gigantic venue with an even more gigantic host of sounds. Per usual, Radiohead’s lead singer is jerking his body to and fro across the stage, microphone in hand and ponytail situated on his head like cheerleader at the big game. I’m sandwiched between Ricky and a six-foot- four gay man who is sweating with excitement.
“Bloom” fades out and slips into the next track, “Little by Little”. Once I was finished internally freaking out, I notice how spectacular the set is. There is a huge display of different sized screens that morph to make a new formation throughout songs. What is more exciting than that are the colors and visuals that the screens display. Each song has a specific color scheme that fit perfectly. Sometimes there is even a top panel of smaller box-shaped screens plays up-close shots of each musicians at work.
By song three, Phil Selway is pounding on his drums for the opening of “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi.” Blue waves of color swim across the screens. “Morning Mr. Magpie” is a fireball of reds and oranges sliding down panels. It was perfect. Radiohead plays through “Kid A”, “Pyramid Song” and “Nude.” They play six of eight songs from “The King of Limbs”.
While the setlist is fairly diverse, it is a bit lackluster. Fans looking to hear songs from “OK Computer”, “The Bends” or “Pablo Honey” were left “High and Dry”. There were a few smatterings from “In Rainbows” and some all-time fan favorites like “Everything In Its Right Place,” “Idioteque,” “Street Spirit (Fade Out),” and “Pyramid Song.”
As a fanatic, I would have been over the moon if Radiohead would have played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” Songs that I usually skip on my iPod have become some of my finest moments enjoying live music. The real gem of the show had to be their new song, “Identikit.” “Identikit” is heavy on electronic beats and has funky little groove to it; it was almost dance-y even.
The entire show lasted twenty-three songs, with two generous encores that included seven songs total. The band wasn’t overlay chatty with the audience, besides a few silly remarks from their frontman. The two hours I spent with Radiohead and their obsessive fans was well worth the struggle to procure tickets the moment they went on sale and the $20 parking. I left with a deeper, more fanatical appreciation of my favorite band and a really awesome $45 t-shirt.
