Radiohead in 100 (+) gigs

I won tickets for Aberdeen and that is the only reason I’m going. By rights I should give in and go to bed for a week. I’m too old for this shit, not fit enough, shouldn’t drink every night, shouldn’t worry so much. I should get a budget for my own room so I can get some sleep. I should have learnt all this stuff by now, but somehow it doesn’t work like that.

We make our way to Aberdeen in the first class carriage. It is dark by the time JC (my 7th plus one in the last 10 days) and I arrive. We have just enough time to check in to the weirdly old fashioned hotel before heading out tothe Exhibition Centre on the edge of the cityin a taxi. I have to hang about for an hour to collect my other tickets. The power of the internet allows Pocki to track down someone who wanted to come who could get here on time. I leave the spares at the box office for someone from the RHMB. Every extra minute waiting outside when a gig in about to start is agony.

Usually given the chance, I would have swapped my seats for standing but I feel like crap, I’m cold and at the end of my tether, so I take the seats. As has been par for the course on this tour, I immediately feel hemmed in, stuck in the middle of a row. There aren’t many other guests in the row, just a couple who are talking about “Philip” and have the only passes in the place. I say something to them about the seating and the woman asks me if I saw them in Edinburgh earlier in the year, when I reply in the affirmative she says, “Why would anybody want to see them twice?” I am painfully diplomatic, you never know if the vaguely posh person you’re sitting next to is one of the band’s family member. “They’re different every night” I tell her and bite my knuckles to stifle the laughter. She says, “Oh I’m sure “the boys” would be pleased to hear that.” I don’t really care who you are, but please don’t be quite so condescending.

I stand up and move about but a steward shines a torch on me, demanding that I sit down again. I can feel the whole seating structure moving. I sit down and start to cry. I’m sobbing for the entire first half of the set. It’s the only catharsis I’m going to get.  It’s my last show of the tour and I haven’t felt the feeling yet. I haven’t really connected. Everything feels so distant. I have a hollow feeling in my chest, a pain, disappointment. And then mid way through we get Creep and I HAVE TO STAND UP. The lights blaze on the guitar crunch and I feel it tear me apart. They play No Surprises in the encore and I attempt to phone Clara so she can hear and I start crying again.

The chaps who bought my spare find me at the end, very chuffed to have made it in time. I find the Japanese contingent and collect hugs from everyone and can’t control myself. I always hate the last one, they all want me to come to Dublin but there’s just no way, I’ll make myself too ill. We linger before going outside.

Outside in the dark I wish I had a hat and scarf. I wish I was in a warm bed but I want to spend a bit more time with people I might not see again for years. We never know when the next tour will be. I want to salvage some feelings. Sam and Keiko and some of the other hardcore are here at a railing near the back of the bus, I join them. Big Colin comes out and tell us that he’s let the band know we’re here and he’ll ask them to come out and see us. (I hear later that Big Colin took pity on them and invited them inside for a coffee earlier on when they were queuing). Keiko appears with a beer for me, blagged from ADF. I talk to Sam about the film he shot of us in Portugal (they showed it to the band, Dilly Gent liked it. Now I really wish I could have talked to her in London) and I talk to Emily, who always seems tired and nervous and jittery, but is probably no worse than I am myself.

Thom and Phil come out at the short end of the bus cordon, the people waiting run down and I end up at the back – I don’t do this anymore. I can only look on and listen in. Thom is on form, Big Colin and I trade some back-chat because we know what he’s like. The Americans start in on politics and Emily comes on like a foreign correspondent, asking formal questions. Colin asks if she has concealed recording equipment. Thom reels off his story of political engagement inspired by witnessing police horses and broken legs at the Poll Tax Riots. Get him on a soapbox says Colin, “It’s all about the music, when did you get so serious.” “Yeah,” says Thom to me, “I just want to dance. I saw you dancing and in Nottingham too.”

Sam gets his set list signed, but only by Thom and he gives it to me – “For your anniversary.” It’s ten years to the day since I met first Thom and spoke to him. Today is also Keiko’s 80th gig. She’s happy. She still has Dublin to go. I wave to the blacked out windows of the bus. Keiko and I trudge up to the Holiday Inn, so I can call a cab (JC went back to our hotel as soon as the show was over). There are lots of goodbye hugs and everyone wants to know if I’ll come back to Japan for the shows in April…

I dosed myself up on cold remedies and went back to work.

As soon as the tour was over there was an announcement on the Zane Lowe BBC Radio 1 show: Radiohead will play the BBC’s Maida Vale Studios, a special acoustic session and a Q&A to be recorded for his show (now in the regular evening slot) and it is happening on December 8th, the following Monday.

The RHMB goes into overdrive and quickly organises people to enter the competition for tickets, Ken taking the helm and sharing email addresses so that no matter who enters, everyone who can get there will be in with a chance of getting inside.

I email Hilda to thank her for the tour and to ask if there’s any way she can fix it… after such big gigs, a little session like this will be extra special. Ken enters the draw using my address (being online at the right moment). A volley of emails to Hilda later, and I’m confident enough to book a flight down, take a couple more days off work and make sure there are bodies for all of the tickets. And then I get an email from Radio 1, because I’ve won more tickets!

On the Monday there is much lunacy as both my flight from Glasgow and Pocki’s from Sweden are equally late. Eventually we meet at Stanstead and take the train to Liverpool street then tube to Tottenham Court Road. We find a noodle bar so we can eat and coordinate with incoming boardies to meet at Russell Square to go to Ken’s flat. Boardies from all over the place (Marv from London, Dop from Belguim, Nien from Holland) are already here. We then go on a London transport odyssey which involves a lot of walking, particularly around Baker Street Underground Station (leading to a lot of air saxophone tributes to Gerry Rafferty.) Everyone’s in a good mood. We eventually have to take two black cabs from Paddington to find Maida Vale tube station as the trains weren’t running. Here we find a shop to purchase beer and then follow the instructions on our maps to find the studios – More boardies – Angie, Jodi, Fiona and the At Ease contingent (Irish Claire, the Italian sisters) are already waiting. Colin Greenwood passes us to go inside the studios and we all act cool.

Kim rocks up in a cab with two bottles of M&S own-brand champagne.  Clara arrives in a cab straight from work, closely followed by Tim C, they will take my spares.

Tim the TM appears on the entrance steps, “Wotcha”. He hands me an envelope with my name on and two tickets inside…and then asks me if I have any spares

Everyone is queuing at the wrong door. I have to wait to claim more tickets at the and miss the best spot. Tim G collars me, wants to know who else he should give his spares to, he has just four tickets left and he wants me to call it! I can’t, I know all these people, or they know me, so I tell him I know Jodi (who is still waiting) and he should get in and the rest should be random. He wants me to go out and hand them out but I refuse the responsibility. I go inside, convinced I’ve missed my chance to get near the front but the others are all sitting on the floor forming a front row and have saved me a spot right in the middle.

We pop the cork on the first bottle of Kim’s Champagne, pour some plastic cups full and pass them round.

Tension mounts while we wait, we are given a stern briefing from the BBC producer about not taking photos or using recording equipment during the set.  “Zane Lowe” (Who is this weird man little man in big shorts?) appears and fauns over his introduction. He’s got one of those DJ voices that sounds insincere because he’s trying so hard to make everything sound “amazing”. Awesome, Zane, awesome.

Thom and Jonny come out from the back and hop on stage. (“Is this it? Do we start now? Have we been introduced?”) They’re going to do a semi-acoustic set:

Jonny plays his Fender with the sticker “Attack no. 1” for opener Go To Sleep.

I Might Be Wrong. Being at the front makes me conscious that people can see my fidget dancing.

Like Spinning Plates.  I literally bite my lip to stop coughing or crying.  Or grinning like a loon.

Bulletproof. There is not a dry eye in the place.

Follow Me Around. An audible “Yay,” as we get an unreleased oldie. Later, when I hear the radio broadcast I can pick out other people’s voices and my own.

Fog. Thom makes a false start on the piano. We all shout “AGAIN!” He corrects himself, “It’s called Fog, Again.”

He turns back from the piano, looks over and sees me, “Alright Lucy? I see you’re on the bottle already!”

I’m surrounded by champagne bottles and cans of red stripe. What a time to name check me.  Everyone laughs and drowns out my pathetic reply, “They’re not all mine! It’s a picnic!” (To my disappointment this doesn’t make the final cut on the broadcast).

They play Lucky. I’m still grinning and biting my lip and trying to contain myself.

No Surprises has Jonny playing the glockenspiel parts on a celeste, and afterwards Thom tells a story about how after they had “toured themselves stupid with OK Computer,” he got drunk in his local with a man who said that No Surprises was the most depressing song they’d ever written and at the time he had to concur.

So he brings us back with Karma Police, Jonny once again playing the celeste and I feel like I could burst from happiness. The whole thing is a dream – like the ones I have where I’m at a gig in a library or a greenhouse, some place where it shouldn’t be, wouldn’t be in waking life.

In between the set and the Q&A, I open the other bottle of bubbly and it gushes everywhere – I fetch some toilet paper to mop up and of course pass the band on their way back into the studio. Sheepish.

Tall stools are brought in then Phil and Colin join Thom and Jonny. Ed is not here (his baby is due.) There is a lot of laughter, Thom succeeds in sitting cross legged on the stool, yoga style, giving everyone a great view of his torn jeans.  We all heckle. It’s like an in-joke that Zane Lowe doesn’t understand. Some of this will get cut for the radio.

Fan: “Is there anything you would have done differently?”

Thom: “No Chesney Hawkes hair do – he copied me!”

On the radio the questioners all sound very nervous, some utterly star struck.

Thom ends by telling us that this year has been “psychologically quite hard for me” but today is like the end of term and they all seem in good spirits. There’s just time for infamous message board user Damien to lower the tone, I don’t find out until later but apparently he accosted Thom for an autograph in the gents at an inopportune moment. Some people have no idea about etiquette.

On leaving I find Hilda and give her a huge hug. Twice. I can’t see Tim to thank him and find out who he let in. I see Julie from the management and ask her if Thom is still about – I think I referred to him as “The Chief” forgetting she wasn’t in on our RHMB-speak.

This is it and I have to act now. I walk through a barrier and call his name and lean over the half open stable door to the green room area. I hand him the another dice wristband, “You might as well have the pair,” it’s not much but I don’t know how to express how I feel, because I don’t really understand what it is. We do a weird convoluted handshake and I say Merry Christmas. I can leave now.

The others are loitering outside, not really wanting the dream to end. They wave the band off and everyone is euphoric, that they got in, that it happened. We start walking away and Plank and a couple of the techs come out. “Don’t drop those guitars” says Clara, “Spare us a Tele mate!”

“You looked like you were going to burst all through that!” Plank says to me and he gives me HIS set list with all the tunings on it. I shake his hand because I never get to thank him. I can barely talk, my voice is gone.

We skip off to the pub, a place called The Prince Alfred which has funny little half doors that you have to open and go under to move between snugs. I am instructed to drink slowly. We meet Max K, the legendary webmaster, now caught up in Stanley’s art world in Bath. He realises I’m “The” Lucy and we catch up on each other’s notoriety.

There are more shenanigans on the tube, everyone is in a great mood, we get sandwiches at Euston station and then go back to Ken’s Bloomsbury pad for more booze, some detuned guitar, a bit of gloating on the board (not me) and then eventually I drag Clara away to go to her place on the night bus. Utterly hollow and exhausted but boy, what a finish.

There will be no gigs in the UK in 2004.

Things quieten down a bit. In January Thom writes an op-ed for the Guardian about the Hutton enquiry (his interest in the David Kelly case will eventually surface as the song Harrowdown Hill on The Eraser).

In May, the NME make a big fuss about the end of the tour – Radiohead play Coachella Festival California. I get sent a few photos (prints through the post, as broadband is not yet universally A THING) from various gigs taken by various friends. The messageboard has become a fixture, having a desk job means a lot of screens open, every bit of news filters through.

The board doesn’t talk about the band much, but Thom posts that he will be attending a CND demo at Fylingdales in North Yorkshire, it’s an open invitation to join him there on September 25th.

Having donated to CND for my T shirt I’ve been receiving their newsletters and learn that the Glasgow branch plans to send a minibus down to the march.

Yasuko and Yama will be in the country. They suggest that I go down to meet them at the protest. The minibus is a free a ride down. It’s on a Saturday, and I’m not doing anything else. So why not?

I’m uneasy about going but I feel like I ought to do something, meet some of the CND folks, they might be simpatico.

The Scottish CND crowd are a very small group of young people. I suddenly feel very English, very middle class and very clean. They share their over earnest war stories and heavy social inadequacies. It might be the passive smoking (they pass around joints and I don’t smoke) but I find them a little intimidating. I feel like an imposter. One of the CND dudes names drops Tommy Sheridan (local political leader and figure of some controversy). Any kind of activism on the Glasgow scene always seems to go hand in hand with “revolutionary” politics. In my meagre experience, people who claim to be anarchists in these situations don’t really understand the argument.

I’m too much my mother’s daughter for this kind of thing and much as I sympathise with elements of their naïve radicalism, I find my common sense won’t let me take them entirely seriously. I’m not political enough for them.

As soon as we get onto the motorway I feel like I shouldn’t be here, but I’m stuck on the bus now. I find the guy asking me questions a bit intimidating, even though he’s only trying to make friends. I shut down, the dope fumes and the lack of windows in the van make me feel car sick. He starts to find this behaviour tantalisingly enigmatic and gives me his number (I am so far out of my depth that I don’t realise he’s actually cracking on to the new girl).

By 2pm we’re only at Manchester, and no one seems to know where we’re going. I’ve done the journey from Scotland down South enough times to know that we’re taking the long way round. The event was meant to start at noon. It was optimistic to think we’d arrive before the demo started. But by the time we finally find the place, in the middle of the moor, it is all but over and Thom has gone. Thankfully Yasuko and Yama are still here. They have photos. He was here and he made a speech.

The whole thing is rather surreal. Yasuko has a B&B in Whitby, so I get them a lift in the minibus back to town. I turn down the return trip to Scotland. I don’t want to spend another moment in that van. We stay to explore Whitby, which is a lot more gothic than I remember. We have fish and chips on the harbour front and go for a pint in a pleasant pub.

I bunk in with them at their room for the night and decided to spend Sunday here. I remember this part of the world from childhood holidays, and it’s actually rather nice to be here again. They want to see the area while they’re here and I remember the North Yorkshire Moors Railway. We have a nice day riding on steam trains and catching up. Then I go to the real station where I say goodbye to brave the Sunday service back to Glasgow.

When I get home I email Thom and Tim.

Tim reckons we just missed them, they left to drive back to Oxford straight after the speech. He tells me the Radiohead boys are in and out of the studio in twos and threes to try out new songs and do demos “which is exciting”.

Thom replies:

“what a bummer missing the event. did you feel radioactive afterwards? i did.
they have a ‘leakage’ problem apparently. thanks for making the effort. im glad i went it made a bit of a difference.”

I transcribe Thom’s speech for Yasuko, it begins “How dare you Mr Blair…”.
There are photos doing the rounds and the demo got mentioned in the papers. Mission accomplished.

2004 was a long year without any gigs. After the weird disappointment of going all the way to Yorkshire and missing the demo, I jumped at the chance to get tickets for Jonny’s collaboration with the London Sinfonietta when it was announced in December.

The faithful Radiohead news sites become quicker on the draw than the official one, At Ease in particular is doing all the work, keeping up with everything that the band do, no matter how seemingly insignificant.

This outing is a big deal to the regulars, they come from far and wide for this tidbit – the Americans are here, Yasuko makes her annual UK trip over from Japan, Naz is here from Paris. Pocki and a load of the boardies all come to London and I meet up with various people throughout the day. Freed from the constraints of a gig, this is a civilised ticketed seated classical concert, we can all socialise and just show up when the doors open.

Jonny’s composing work is a side bar to The Band, but as this is going to be the only show in a long time it feels important to be here and keep up with developments. Apparently the band have been the studio and we feed on any crumbs from the table.

Jonny (in The Telegraph 22/03/05) describes his burst of activity with the orchestras as “an overreaction” to Radiohead’s decision to take six months off after their last tour.  He gives the impression that they’re not in each other’s pockets outside of studio time. Radiohead is just one of his many jobs as he takes on more contemporary composing and soundtrack commissions.

I have virtually the same seat in the centre of the stalls for both nights and as such I don’t have distinct memories of the two concerts which were distinguished only by Thom’s change of shirt and slightly fewer nerves from the musicians on the second night. I recognise Ed, Colin and various people from HQ in the rows in front.

The programme of stark 20th century compositions, Middle Eastern music and a couple of Radiohead tunes, is joined together by Jonny’s new work for the London Sinfonietta. The Nazareth Orchestra reflect his links to Israel and his love of Arabic music (presumably both through his wife and from Radiohead’s early success there which led to them making some enduring musical contacts). The virtuosity of the non-pop musicians is breathtaking and only adds to the oddness of the event.

It’s a restless bill – the fantastic spookiness of Messiaen’s Fête des belles eaux and at other end of scale the vibrant, exotic Enta Omri. Jonny’s own Piano For Children is a disquieting piece played on a partially detuned instrument. There is a weird tension in the air. Are we at a classical concert? Are we allowed to applaud? The audience is reverential in deference to the classical instruments, the awe-inspiring sight of all those Ondes in one place is beaten only by the sound they make.

We try to appreciate the whole concert, but really we’re here because Thom and Jonny will be performing a new song. This comes at the end of the set. Arpeggi, which features lyrics that had surfaced on the website, is performed here with all the special instruments and musicians. It will probably bare little relation to a finished Radiohead song, but it is the nourishment we all crave. The astonishing version of Where Bluebirds Fly, an instrumental now transformed into a vocal exercise pitting Thom’s wail against Lubna Salame’s otherworldly sound, stands out for me, being beyond anything that Radiohead could possibly have made on their own.

Video and sound recordings of Arpeggi and Bluebirds, which I gorged on after the shows, have edged the other music out. Everyone was saving their batteries for the man himself. Rarely performed Messiean is one thing but it cannot compare to the possibility of an unreleased new Radiohead song.

All I appear to have in my notes are a few scraps from meeting Tim afterwards:

He asks me what I’ve been up to for the last year and half and I can only think to say “working” because without gigs to go to everything else in life feels pretty insignificant. We share a moment of nostalgia, maybe there’s only me and him who remember what it used to be like, before all these other people came along.

After the show in the foyer, I’m on high alert but there’s no way Thom could come out and quietly mingle with that electric shock hair-do. I mouth “hello” to Jonny but everyone is vying for their moment so there is no time for a meaningful conversation, even if I could find the words for one.

We all need a gig fix and this is not quite it. It was like being given an aspirin when what you really want is a rock of crack.

There are no more gigs this year. Flipping through my box of cuttings, all mention of the band is limited to Thom’s various appearances and utterances on the subject of Climate Change – he’s “cashing in the chips of celebrity” with lobbying and protest, working for Friends Of The Earth’s Big Ask campaign.

Missives from the studio (mostly about songs that will never see the light of day) appear on Dead Air Space. For once Thom is posting them, so they are typically oblique and then there is this:

 

“What do you think I should do?”

It occurs to me that I have the means to share my answer to that question with Thom. So I email him.

I think it’s a really bad idea to start glad handling the government, even with the best of intentions… I’ve been reading the articles, went to see George Monbiot at the book festival, I just don’t want him to “do a Bono”… I fire off an email and go back to work. At the end of the working day on Friday 30 September, I check in with the messageboard, Max K has made a rare appearance hailing me to check my email. Before I’ve even logged in the message has changed to “check DAS”, it seems Thom decided to share his response to my message with everyone…

I emailed him back saying I “felt rather notorious now” (our South Californian friend had managed to out me and use my full name on one of the other message boards, and I wasn’t comfortable with what that might lead to). The next time I check DAS the post has gone.

A storm in a teacup maybe but after a long time with no communication it was exciting to hear from him (even if it was only a private message for a short time).

In October, Caffy arranged a screening of Naz’s Follow Me Around film in Greenwich, as part of a festival she’s staging. I go down for the show and sit at the back with Clarabele, doubtless annoying everyone else by laughing loudly during all the bits we remember…

The band surface in April with a big interview in NME, spun out over three issues. Much of what has been going on while they’ve been “away” gets fleshed out. It sounds like a familiar story to me; Thom’s been “freaking out” – on the surface doing all the politicking and protesting – being what the NME calls “the world’s most fearless musician” – while at the same time wondering if the band are finished. His refusal to meet Tony Blair made headlines (well thanks for not going through with that one Chief, I told you it was a bad idea) which NME reiterates, theorising that the new record might at long last be politically focused. Thom denies this and expostulates his “new suburbian” idea – which to my mind is more OK Computer in character than Hail To The Thief.

Each visit to the studio puts the band in jeopardy – at least that’s how they describe it in interviews – we get used to this uncertainty, but each time they come back with reports of their near-splits; of various members getting “the fear”; of the precarious nature of the enterprise; it gets more real, more possible, more frightening for those of us that rely on them getting it together and coming back for more.

Each bout of doubt, each time they try something new (in this case bringing in producer Mark ‘Spike’ Stent for an abortive session.) This time though, it does seem like something has actually changed, they are without a label for the first time since 1991. Thom gets a lot of his angst about the music industry off his chest, but even freedom, it seems, is scary. The record is still a work in progress, but there are a lot of songs on the table. There’s a lot of talk about the internet (MySpace has just become a major force, NME focus on the discovery of The Arctic Monkeys), Thom reiterates his familiar cry “you need to sort the fucking radio out” and name drops a few artists he’s interested in but any talk about “grime” is a red herring.

The forthcoming tour has sold out… we’ve had all the now usual madness to get hold of tickets – coordinating purchases, hovering over “buy” buttons at seconds past the release time, caning overdrafts, hurting our credit cards.

The constant state of flux, one of Val’s favourite ideas from back at the start, is still the prevailing mood. Don’t they realise that was always where we were? Maybe this is all a feint to put us off. There is mention of a possible “download only EP” later in the year. A lot of half spoken ideas, hints that they’re planning something unconventional.

NME points out that agreeing to play V Festival seems out of character but perhaps the doubtless large fee will provide a financial cushion to tide them over without a big label?

The May dates are in relatively small venues, followed by some festivals and a couple of larger shows. They want to play the new songs. It’s unclear why these shows aren’t another Gentleman’s Leisurely Tour (like Spain in 2002), some of the regulars are a bit miffed by the idea of Wolverhampton and Blackpool, but at least the two shows in Copenhagen offer a chance for a weekend away.

Meanwhile the 1000 tickets that are actually on sale for the Friends of The Earth benefit show at Koko sell out in the blink of an eye, I manage to get two – one for me, one for Kim – at £55 each it feels like a big commitment  – but it’s a benefit and you can’t blag those can you? I should have realised that any show where they hold back 500 tickets (with none for WASTE and no preference for the fan club) was going to be an odd one. Thom and Jonny are not the only act on the bill, but clearly their first gig in a long while is going to be the biggest draw.  I get tickets for a selection of the other shows and there is a lot of plotting to make sure everyone gets to go where they want to go. I’ve done this enough times, it ought to get easier, but it never gets any less nerve-wracking.

Every time we come back after a long stretch with no gigs I realise again now big this band have got and how crazy it is that I’m still here.

I only know I’ve been asleep because I have an anxiety dream where I’m pulling my toenails out. Sleeping on the sofa at Kim’s after a few glasses of wine, rest is not aided by a ghost call from a friend in the middle of the night, I imagine all kinds of horrors but it turns out she dropped her phone and whoever picked it up randomly called me. Consequently my usual pre-gig nerves are exacerbated by a hangover, tiredness and an unnamed feeling of dread.

7am. Get a text from Yasuko – she’s at the venue already – and she’s not even the first there.

Kim and I take our time, not leaving until 12noon. We have “B2 Breakfasts” and swap the beans for tomatoes in the Oasis Café which is near Romford station. We take the train to Camden Road and walk down to rescue Ya from the queue. We take her for coffee across the road. As we’re ordering, Duncan, Plank and another guy who could only be a roadie come in for beverages. We do nods and hellos and “fancy seeing you here’s” After frothy lattes and a catch up we take Ya back to her spot at Koko and we head up towards Camden lock and the market. I get myself a hat to get my hair out of my eyes and Kim is drawn to all things goth. We have a cuppa in Henry’s pub, and call up some of the others to meet us in the World’s End for pre-gig drinks. We arrive early and toast “the beard” then the boardies begin to arrive – Will, Ken, Tim, Ange, Lewis, Nick, Ricci, Chris, we make sure everyone has their tickets, bought in various combinations for this and the other gigs.

Our journey back to Koko is obstructed by a car on tow flipping over at the junction with the high street. I eat a sandwich and dodge the Friends of the Earth film crew. The queue is around the block. I start to get the twitch. We end up in The Hope & Anchor, because the queue is not moving and it stretches as far as Chalk Farm. We give in and join but it doesn’t move until 7.30pm. Finally inside, Koko is small but vertical, very red. The stage is low and the floor very flat so when we end up way back all I can see are tops of heads. Kate Rusby sings a few shanties but people keep on talking, her set doesn’t make a lot of sense in this context. Simon Amstel is the “host” and he’s self-depreciating if a bit lame with some patter about fair trade bananas and ethical shoes. We’re here to save the world and see Radiohead, the later gets the bigger cheer. Gruff Rhys comes on in a pointy cowl with a casitone keyboard, demo mode Just The Way You Are a highlight of a weird, Welsh set.  He makes it pretty clear that he knows no one is here just to see him.

People behind me keep talking in strident deep voices. I’m restless and irksome and worse than that, I can’t see the stage. I spot Nigel Godrich seated in one of the boxes, and later crick my neck to see Ed in one of the others. Amstel gives up on the banter then has to start again because Thom and Jonny aren’t ready yet. He plays the piano and improvises a song about a dying goldfish… It is becoming clear that this show is not about us, but about Friends Of The Earth. Of course, I should have realised that the gig itself was about the publicity it would gain for the campaign and not about the music, so why are they playing acoustic new songs, usually such a rare and treasurable experience?

The noise when Thom and Jonny appear is very loud. I yelp. We’re a little further forward but with an even worse view due to too many tall blokes in front. It becomes increasingly frustrating. Thom’s hair is short again. Jonny gets younger and thinner. Karma Police first, there is hearty singing along, this song is everyone’s now. There There is a wee bit off key but no one seems to mind. “Stand up!” someone shouts. Thom tries to reads out the FoE message, “Am I doing a good job Tony?” (he’s addressing their honcho Tony Juniper, somewhere in the audience). Fake Plastic Trees and Jonny’s making weird noises “Can you do that again!?” asks Thom. It too is an anthem now and coming back to it, they are oddly detached from it again, most people get the point that drowning out the singer in this one is self defeating. Arpeggi glistens to life, different, gentler than the Ether incarnation. We are resigned to the fact that Thom is going to stay sitting down. Jonny makes it twinkle with the Ondes (or at least I think that’s what it is, I can’t see it.) It’s quiet enough to shut everyone up.

A new one called Bodysnatchers has Thom strumming with momentum and Jonny adding electric guitar that bursts out in all directions. Thom is sitting down picking an acoustic. Too low down to see. Short of doing violent bunny hops I can’t see. No Surprises sounds like it has toy piano on it. The singing along has virtually ceased. How To Disappear with the Ondes give me the chills. For a few precious minutes I manage to be “in it.”

There’s another new one (Cymbal Rush) with a swamped Thom groan vocal for a beat against metronomic piano, and not many lyrics. It doesn’t sound much like a Radiohead song. Bet it sounds good in his head. Street Spirit gets a great reception (and a rapt silence). They leave the stage briefly and the crowd get increasingly vocal.  We move back for I Might Be Wrong and I have a dance. Thom rambles a bit about their still being time to do something about it, “how to win friends and lose people”. Thom must have been practicing picking-style guitar playing, so much so that they even do Gagging Order, an untypical song but one I like. They end on Paranoid Android and after a false start, Thom coming unstuck at the “unborn chicken voices”, Jonny proves that this song is all about his contribution and it’s really great, the ending provides what I need to take away from any Radiohead gig.

I’m still razzed that I couldn’t get a good view. But I’d been dissing the queue all day. I get so full of spite and I hate it. I join the bunch from the front who had a good view. I shall have to make the effort in future, maybe I should have gone on the balcony. I hug Yasuko. I feel empty and slightly nauseous. We hang around and try to come to earth. I spot Tim up in the balcony and shout his name, he waves. “Get that man a riser!” I call.

“See you in Blackpool.” He says, I take that to mean “not tonight”. When I get upstairs I can see the band posse are still in the boxes in the roped off area and this is FoE’s bunfight. Lots of Arcade Fire (they played here recently) on the outro tape. I hang around in vain hope for a while until I get shoo’d out. In the street I get a sinking feeling but it’s just because it’s been so bloody long.

We go into the minicab office across the road and the nice lady asks if we mind sharing with two chaps who are going the same way. We pile into a people carrier. They ask if we’ve been at the gig and we launch into a ramble about not being able to see, Kim having a go at Thom for “pretending to be 5 foot 6.” Kim and I are back to being our usual sarky, saucy selves – she brings out my inner Sid James – we discuss our theory for a Radiohead loyalty card that would earn you the best seats, I’m still hung up on the fact that I couldn’t see. “They should give him a box to stand on”. I’m not happy about all the VIP action that was happening at the show, but am starting to realise that this was a stunt for FoE and not the proper fix I needed.

One of the chaps in the cab is talking about having seen the band lots of times but I don’t recognise one of the regulars, and then the penny drops when he mentions management. “You must be Brian!” I tell him I know Julie, but apart from mentioning that we’re going to the Blackpool show I don’t go into it. I hope we didn’t say anything really nutty. He’s actually TM-ing at Wolves on this tour. It was his idea for them to play V Festival. Kim reckons they’re after “the chav pound”. Tonight they’re off to a club to see “hot new band” The Klaxons. He invites us but we have to go back to Essex. He generously tips the driver. We then continue on an increasingly hair-raising ride back to Romford, with a driver who doesn’t speak a great deal of English and doesn’t know where he’s going, eventually he puts the sat nav on and we get back to Kim’s to crash out.

Next day I recompose myself by wandering around the Natural History Museum (it’s free to get in and I can check-in my bag) until it is time for my train back north. I end up seated opposite a couple from Newcastle who were at the show. They have left their kids behind and are going to Blackpool and Wolves. We talk about the ticket madness, they paid £250 for their pair of Koko tickets on eBay.

Alexis Petridis captures the mood of the show in a review for The Guardian; Tom Robinson blogged his reaction to the presence of David Cameron as soon as he got home and the media section of the same paper confirms a lot of what I was thinking on the night.

The week back at work passes in a haze. Koko was at heart a champagne reception for people like David Cameron and Zac Goldsmith, there’s even a clip on Newsnight. Basically our ticket money paid for a celebrity chef and load of fizz for politicians, spin doctors and corporate types who got the best seats. And presumably Thom telling them to stop pissing on the planet. This is the sort of thing that makes me want to have words.

On Saturday, I wake too early and go to the airport. I am astonished at how much I’ve spent on tickets for this tour. It feels important to be at the first shows. This being a weekend and a location we’ve not been to before, there are several people heading to Denmark for the trip.

In Copenhagen I take a cab to the hotel where Kim and Ken are already installed in the bar (marvellously called “Backstage”), with beers in and food ordered. I check in and join them, then Gabi arrives and we eat expensive but welcome club sandwiches and chat. We’re in Frederiksberg and the venue is at the other end of a very long street. There’s a vaguely retro feel to the shops, but everything is very clean, Copenhagen is a large, spread out city. The venue when we eventually reach it, is a sort of sports hall (with pitches at either side). There are 100 or so folks sitting around (at 6.30pm) waiting for something to happen.

The hardcore are already here, Tea on Neptune, So-Cal, Yasuko, Astral Chris and a load of other regulars are in the middle but there are three doors which open outwards, there’s going to be a scramble. It gets organised when the efficient lady bouncer bosses them around. We all wiggle to the side as the queue moves back. The tickets are scanned with barcode machines (the first time I’ve seen this, what a great idea) and we get frisked (second time today, they were very thorough when I changed planes at Schipol), then we’re in.

There are seats at either side and up at the back, but all the queue people have gone directly for front and centre. We easily slot in on the far right, Jonny-wards, one row back. It’s already very hot and Kim ducks out and goes back to the seats before Willie Mason, his teenage drummer and crusty violinist come on. He is a bit one note. Damn it, in the USA they’re getting The Black Keys as the support. However, he is prompt and off after exactly 30 minutes.

The crew setting up are reassuringly familiar. Ken stands between me and some rowdy Danish skin-head types with Gabi to one side and for a while Petter is behind me. Unbelievably I’ve almost forgotten how great it is to be (almost) at the front. After the last show especially, to be able to see at all is a huge relief. A sense memory kicks in.

The intro radio interference noise starts at 9pm. It goes dark, there is a minute or more of bewildering samples before the band come on stage. The Rhodes is up front. They play Everything In Its Right Place. Everyone claps along. The band don’t look nervous. They’re all grinning! I’m grinning! The feeling is switched on. They play The Bends, they play some new ones, they play Let Down and Copenhagen experiences what might be its largest ever collective orgasm…

Thom plays a tiny three piece drum kit and thumps hell out of it. Jonny bows his Fender for Pyramid Song. There is some shaky percussive fruit. “Show us your fruit!” I keep saying “fucking hell.” This is the band of, oh, ten years ago? This band is enjoying itself and playing rock and noisy cathartic and wonderful. I’m so happy my boys are back.

By the end I’m soaking wet and speechless. People hug me. Yasuko hugs me for ages, as knocked out as I am. Kim had a good view from the seats. These people get it. I try to avoid the front and centre faction, Ange gets it, but the yanks? I don’t understand. Why the long face? I gather myself.

We get moved out to the foyer. I pop my head around the door and spot Big Colin ushering folks backstage, I get no response to my greeting and it doesn’t bother me right now. We head outside to get soft drinks and walk back to the hotel.

In the bar we flake out and get beers. The UK gang all enjoyed it. Tea on N has a face on because she didn’t like the new stuff (well give it a chance love!) I end up reminiscing with Astral Chris and Ken. Some of the roadies come in for a drink, Duncan and Graham the soundman, they’re all staying here, Plank and Colin and a few more. Not much of an aftershow then? The bar closes at 1.30am but they let us finish up and it’s 2 before I get back to the room where Kim is still half awake. We giggle. Our boys are back.

In spite of the late night we’re all assembled in the foyer by 9am as we’re keen to see as much of the city as possible and Kim has to leave at 2pm, she has to be at work on Monday and so she’s bailing out. Gabi and Ken join us and we set off in search of breakfast. We walk towards the centre, but soon realise that nowhere opens until 10am, we keep going and on a tip from a lady on a bike we find a bo-ho neighbourhood a few streets away. The first promising café with a brunch menu reels us in. We watch dog walkers and cyclists pass as we order platters, mine comprises fruit, yogurt, bread, hummus, avocado, pancake, syrup, jam and salad, and a large pot of coffee.

We all fill up and move on, prepared to face the day. We walk through what must be, judging by all the sex shops, Copenhagen’s Soho and then back to the Tivoli Gardens, which turns out to be a retro wonderland of fairground rides, sweets, tacky prizes and references to Hans Christian Anderson. The theme is fun, the weather is nice and we soak it up. I hook a duck and win a windmill, I feel 10 years old. We walk round taking photos and keep going past the parliament to Christiana, the hippy free state where photos are not allowed. Cops and dogs now freely roam, but once it was the free love, free dope enclave. We have a fruit juice and listen to an improv jazz band as people around us inhale furtive spliffs.

A bit more walking (Ken is determined that we will see as much as possible) then a taxi back to the hotel to send Kim off in time for her flight. We have a couple of hours to rest before the show. I have Anna Karenina to finish, she’s already under the train, how much more of this book can there be?

Tonight we get the bus to the venue. Once there I am greeted by our Southern California correspondent, but I can’t make eye contact as I will erupt. Keiko has, naturally, gone shopping. Ken goes for pizza and we share it with the waiting Yasuko (who tends to forget to eat). Gabi and I go for ice lollies, we decide we’re tired and will go for the seats but some how we end up in the queue anyway. I have to lurk about and sell Kim’s ticket, which takes a while but I eventually get almost face value from some nervous Danes.

Our entry to the venue is surprisingly smooth, I head for the toilets then into the auditorium, expecting to find my friends in the seats, but I do an actual double take when I realise they’re all on the barrier on Jonny’s side, in an even better spot than last night.

The queue faction are all trapped four-deep in the middle. Don’t they realise? I’m a bit stunned. We can come and go as we please, like in a dream… I brace myself to get sore arms but I don’t get buffeted or pushed at all. It’s very hot again and I’m a bit too short to get comfortable on the barrier but otherwise, we are here!

It’s a similar, slightly less Bends-favouring set to last night, same new ones, Let Down is aired again. Oh my, oh my! I don’t have enough moisture to cry. The staff get buckets to us sooner than last night, even a plastic cup of water out of what is basically a big bin, is welcome. I try to remain in the fleeting present.

After about half an hour my feet don’t really hurt any more. They play Planet Telex and there is nothing better than this. I’m wrung out by the end. Arpeggi with the full band is lovely. Spooks a surf guitar tune, is a nasty flash of rock. Bodysnatchers offers the opportunity to close your eyes and be taken away.

They’re back in love with some of the old stuff. I think the first night had the better set list but they play enough of it again to make this show just as good. I wring out my shirt at the end.

Keiko appears, cool and collected from the seats. She hugs Chris Hufford, he still never remembers me. Ken is lurking around me like he wants something. Later in a taxi back to the hotel I tell him straight that there’s no need. I choose when, I choose who and he’s forgetting he’s had his turn. Get out of my eye line kids, I’m having a moment. I want to be here and love this and not have to worry about the rest of it. Back at the hotel, the bar is shut, so we get beers from the 7-11 and watch Euro-TV in someone’s room, I stay until I can no longer fight sleep.

The band go on to Amsterdam, I go back to Glasgow. There is already a bootleg of Copenhagen. There is a lot of emailing between us. News breaks that tonight’s (10th May) show is off. Phil’s mum has passed away. For a while the rest of the tour might be in doubt.

The next day the word from W.A.S.T.E. is that the rest of the dates will go ahead. Thom has posted “theeraser.net” on DAS. The page features music and a Stanley Donwood animation. I email Max K, on the inside, to check that this is what I think it is. There will be a solo LP on XL Records as soon as next month.

Curiouser and curiouser.

We are all travelling to Blackpool separately. I arrive after taking an early train to find Keiko smoking a cigarette outside the station. We walk into town and go for a coffee and a chat. There are already funny vibes on this tour, but she managed to speak to Thom in Amsterdam. She heard about the solo record. We are feeling old school. We look at this week’s NME and giggle. We go back to the station where we find Yama and wait for the others to arrive. Once everyone is here we go in separate directions to find our B&Bs. I take Gabi via a route that passes the venue, streets and streets of cheap guest houses. We freshen up then go back to The Wintergardens.

Some of the others are already waiting at the venue but Chris suggests we go for fish and chips on the pier and marvel at the surreal nature of Blackpool. Gabi, coming from Argentina, finds a lot of things about Britain strange, but Blackpool takes the prize for the oddest place she’s been to see the band. She finds it dirty and brash, not to her taste. Having been here before, I have a weird affection for the place. Off season seaside towns appeal to my English sense of failed romanticism. They’re a bad joke, a Morrissey lyric, a faded childhood dream… tawdry and greasy and loud.

In the amusements on the pier we run into Tim who is looking for somewhere to watch the England football match and Mel from W.A.S.T.E. with her kids. We walk through the slot machines and the flashing lights of the arcade games with them, trying to explain the unique appeal of the British seaside to Gabi.

Friday night in Blackpool. The gig is a blur as they so often are. I have a Daily Telegraph review from the following Monday which notes that the band’s greatness can be judged by the songs they leave out – they’ve got more good songs that they can fit into a two hour show. There is room for six new ones tonight:  Bangers and Mash (with the tiny drum kit); the ripping guitars of Bodysnatchers; Nude (formerly known as “Don’t Get Any Big Ideas” which has been kicking around since at least 1998, it’s lost it’s ‘I’ll Wear It Proudly’ harmonium and turned into a slinky, tingly “ballad”. They don’t really do ballads but that’s critics for you). There’s also 15 Step with its electro jerks and House of Cards completing the handful of new numbers. The review notes that no new album is as yet on the books. But we’ve been here before and we know how it works.