Radiohead in 100 (+) gigs

The tickets for these acoustic gigs, previews of the new album (The Bends) that was finished and announced just before Christmas, are available free to W.A.S.T.E. subscribers. I phone the hotline the day before and leave a message as instructed. Julie from the management calls me back; I’m on the list.

We get the bus through to Edinburgh. La Belle Angel, a small club hidden away on the Cowgate, takes some finding. Rebecca and I kill time until the doors open at 7pm and right on time a load of people suddenly turn up. Inside, we go down a long passageway and find Tim who has the guestlist. Ed, Colin and Phil are mulling round. Once we’re inside and sitting down, Ed comes over to say hello and seems extra tall. He asks after Val, expecting to see her with me, and says she sent the latest PID to them. I tell him what a great idea this night is and then promptly run out of things to say. He goes off to mingle. Colin says hi too.

Rebecca spots Thom hovering about with his coat on. As more people show up we shuffle ever nearer to the front. I’m near a pillar – front and centre – perfect.

After a little wait Thom and Jonny come onstage from outside (this place is too small to have dressing rooms) with two acoustic guitars and Jonny’s battered Fender.

They play My Iron Lung, with Jonny twanging something resembling the song I’ve heard before. Street Spirit, which works so well like this and Banana Co that, Thom says, is “better used on the Criminal Justice record than on the album.”
“It’s very early,” says Thom “You must all be sober.”
“Nooooo” comes a cry from the back of the room.
“Well apart from one person.”
They perform Nice Dream. I hug myself and try to stay quiet. Rebecca is attempting to tape the show on her tiny tape machine.

They do High And Dry and Thom says it’s about Evel Knievel. Someone shouts “Who?” and Thom groans “Oh God, that makes me feel old.”
They play the very new Bulletproof and then swap guitars for Lozenge Of Love. Jonny manages to envelop the acoustic in the same way he does his own guitar. Bent over and wrapped around, hidden behind his hair.

Fake Plastic Trees is for “The people in the Fan Club who are all on the guest list.”
They end their short set with You. As the applause dies down Thom says “And now for those of you with tape recorders: The Album.” Planet Telex sweeps onto the PA but everyone is chatting. I spot a girl from my English class. Rebecca and I move back towards the bar to have a seat. About half way through the first side of the album I give up trying to hear it, there’s too much chatter.

I go to the bar and get a pint of Grolsch and almost spill it as an enthusiastic Colin bounces into view and asks “Was it good?”
“I’m speechless,” I say, “This was such a good idea!”
“What’s your favourite?” asks Colin.
“Nice Dream – from when you did it ages ago – I loved it. And then you didn’t play it again for a long time.”
“Portsmouth? London?” says Colin, keen to work out where I’d heard it.
“I dunno,” I say, “On that tour.”
The album play back is half way through and Just comes on.
“This is Just,” says Colin.
“Yeah,” I say, “I like this one.”
Colin mimes a bit of bass and goes off to mingle.

I sit back down and drink my beer too fast. Rebecca spots Thom on the way to the gents and suggests we go and stand in a more opportune position to catch him when he comes out. We go back towards the stage and mill about and when he appears he spots me and comes to say hello.

I gush about the show and find I’m offering him a hug and being taken up on it. His coat is furry. We have a few more brief words and then some autograph seekers descend on him. They don’t want to speak to him just push records and pens under his nose. I step back and listen to the still-playing strains of The Bends. We’ve reached Black Star; I’d forgotten this one! I twirl around on the spot laughing, having a happy moment. We’re standing here with Thom listening to the most important record he’s ever made, the most important record I’ve ever heard and he knows that I get it and I know that he gets it.

At this moment I don’t care if I make a fool of myself. The kids get Thom to do drawings with the autographs; I look over their shoulders to catch his eye and exchange grins. He signs someone’s Russian book, a T-shirt – one of the free ones given away tonight that we’d somehow missed out on. As quickly as they come, the kids disperse. He side steps into a little recess at the bottom of the stairs and stays to talk to me. We have to lean towards each other’s ears so that we can hear. “I hate it when they’re so drunk that they don’t know when to go away,” he says.

I tell him again how great the set was tonight. He shrugs and points out that Jonny was playing notes all over the place. He’d been really nervous, it’s been a while and this is the first of these acoustic sets in Britain. The album has finished playing by now. (I must have blinked and missed Sulk). Thom goes over to the DJ booth to start it again and comes back, keen to tell me about the dance mixes on the new single, which he seems happy about.

“How are you?” I ask, prepared not for a cursory ‘I’m fine’, but for a full status update.
“Ok…but…” he begins, “I managed to get the flu after not having anything for about six months about 3 days before the Oxford gig… I took three paracetamol before I went on and it was like ‘bleugh’!”
“What happed to the homeopathy?” I ask. (Mentioned in an earlier letter – might have been a joke about Kurt Cobain…)
“Fnnnarrrr!” he snorts, “Pure paracetamol now.”
“Oxford was with Supergrass wasn’t it?” I say changing the subject slightly.
“Yeah,” says Thom, “They (he nods behind him to Ed and Colin) like them but I’m not….” He trails off not wanting to diss them too much.

I ask him if he got my latest letters and he says “Yeah. ALL of them. It’s just after something that happened last year and I’m so damn busy…”
After receiving a disturbing letter Thom is now less keen to reply to everything he gets sent. He asks me not to tell anyone the details. I gasp and interrupt his flow and he never really gets to the end of the story.

Somewhere in all this Rebecca asks him about Marion, who will be the support on the tour. He picked them out of a batch of crap demo tapes, and he quite likes them.
Reluctantly he says” Well I suppose I’d better go and do my job…” He moves to go and I touch his arm and we shrug at each other.

Rebecca and I go and sit down near the door and watch a group of lads talk to Ed and Colin. Phil has gone. Jonny has been wandering around the venue all night, unbothered by anyone, just making everyone marvel at how skinny he is.

Thom is still mulling about, but he’s on his own now. People have got what they came for and they don’t seem to just want to talk to him. He sticks his hands in his pockets, blows his nose on a bit of tissue and looks very vulnerable. He shrugs as I catch his eye. One of us says “Well that’s that then.”
He passes us on his way out, “See you on the tour?”
“Glasgow definitely,” I reply “and as many of the others as I have money for.”
He pulls a face and is gone.

Shortly, Tim appears and sits with me. “So what about Val?” I explain she’s been busy with a new job and he says “Fuckin’ ‘ell – Work?!” We agree that this is indeed a strange development.
“So are you coming to the dates?” he asks.
I list a few of venues that I think I’ll be able to go to. Rebecca says something about it being two great bands on the bill and how as she’s providing the transport, she’ll be along too.
Tim says the Oxford show was really nice, people shouting for My Iron Lung. It didn’t get the radio play it needed though.

“But High And Dry” I say, “Surely? There’s a lag time before the tour, it should get played because it’s great!” He says just to tell Val that we can come along to any dates. Colin appears, needing Tim to take him somewhere and he pulls a face at me. They leave with Ed in tow.

There are definitely no T-shirts left. We say more goodbyes as we go out the door into the cold Edinburgh night. It’s windy and rainy but I can hardly feel the pavement beneath my feet. I hyperventilate with joy. We walk back to the station and catch the bus. We go into a burger place to use the loos and check that the tape Rebecca made of the gig has worked. Back in Glasgow, it’s Valentine’s night and we have to wait in the cold for a cab back to my flat. As soon as we get in, I copy the tape.

 

12 March

I take the train to Manchester with Rebecca. When we get to her place, Val has a special promo copy of The Bends on vinyl, dispatched from Caffy. My immediate reaction is that it’s a masterpiece. It’s so different from the first record but more recognisable as the band I’ve come to know.

Then we watch her advance copy of the Astoria video. I spot my arms aloft, my watchstrap clearly visible during the first few songs. I don’t have time to take it in yet. We also watch the video clip for High And Dry – no Hollywood clichés are left un-filmed as the band perform on a California hillside while being drenched in water, they all look very determined not to crack their faces. Jumpers are stretched with the weight of film rain. We talk until late, planning the next few days.

13 March

The Bends is released today. Rebecca is over excited about seeing Marion again and I only care about one band at the moment and I don’t feel like talking about the support. We go into Manchester to survey the record shops. The Bends is in window displays, piled high and playing out all over the place. For old time’s sake I buy the cassette in Piccadilly Records. They’re playing it in HMV too, so I buy my copy of the Astoria VHS there. We return to Val’s flat where she spends about three hours getting ready. We go back into town to Chorlton Street and catch the coach to Wolverhampton. I put my new tape in my Walkman. Val taps me on the shoulder from the seat behind to tell me off for sighing too audibly as it unfurls itself into my headphones.

On arrival in Wolves we go on a memory-sparking walk to the Civic Hall and have some beer in the pub. We make signs advertising the fanzine. Later we find Tim on the door of the venue, chasing off bootleggers. He presents Val with a laminate pass and says there are after show passes for us on the door. We hand our zines and our sign to the merchandise stall, leaving Rebecca to go to the front of the stage. Val and I get more beer and sit on the floor to talk. It feels like tonight is going to be significant. The album is real, there is a buzz in the room, and we can feel the excitement

I wander down to the front as Marion come on and the extra beer doesn’t make them any easier to appreciate. They’re all right, but they don’t exactly set my soul on fire. Rebecca disappears once they’re done and I am left alone to apply some determination to getting to the very front. I find myself talking to a skinny girl and a drunken boy who was here for the last show and who also remembers ‘Bra-Girl’. I’m standing in virtually the same place as last year with a touch of de ja vue kicking in as I hang onto the barrier.
Thom has an orange Harvard sweater and sunglasses on. Colin stands very still while Ed does a lot of moving. Jonny plays one-finger keyboard, his guitar slung around his back for Planet Telex. They’re playing the album tracks. Somewhere in-between songs Ed spots me and flashes me a grin. I return it and give him a thumbs up. I’m all mad hair and sore arms, thrashing about to make space for myself at the front. During Blow Out, which has migrated to mid-set, Thom is dead centre and stretching out his arms to the crowd. We make eye contact and exchange daffy grins, I stretch my arms out in return. Creep is the penultimate song. I thought they wouldn’t play it today, but it’s still their song.
“We’re not the next U2,” says Thom, “U2 are the next Radiohead, they’ve got a lot of catching up to do.”

I stagger out at the end through lots of Nirvana T-shirt wearing teenagers. I find Val and Rebecca in the ladies. Val gives me a hug, she says I look as bad as when I was at Reading. I’m slightly hysterical. I’ve got it bad. I retrieve my bag, change my shirt and stick on my pass. Tim directs us to the bar, which is closed. He goes away and presently returns with a crate of Stella.

 

At the arrival of the booze the bar suddenly becomes busier. Present are Caitlin Moran from The Times and Peter Paphides from the Melody Maker; Caffy, Caffy’s mum and her chap; assorted sweaty indie kids; some members of Marion and their sundry hangers on; Colin, Jonny, a bottle of champagne that Caitlin Moran soon commandeers and Tim, who continues coming and going.

I stand on the fringes as Val chats to some journalists. Rebecca is rambling on to me but I’m not really listening. I keep nodding and smiling and drinking. I spot a small group of people and there’s Thom in his big coat. He ducks around some people and pulls the wickedest face at me and waves. I lean over and grin back. He’s got a can of Guinness from somewhere. He breaks from the group and comes to talk to me. We lean on a mirrored post. I tell him about the record shops this morning and how exciting it was to see the record at last. He tells me they were at the Chipping Norton studio, where they did the first record, recording a B-side on their day off, with no producer just making it up, how it was like old times and how ace it felt. He says it’s weird that they’re still playing some of the old stuff, he wrote Stop Whispering when he was 17 and it feels strange to be playing it alongside the new ones. We talk about a couple of the reviews and he says something about John Harris in the NME talking about “The wind of change”. Val and Rebecca join us and talk turns to the band’s appearance on Top Of The Pops. Thom says their transit van was a bit of a contrast to Stevie Wonder and all his minders. The studio was full of dancers hired to accompany the chart acts.

Thom says things have been a bit of a “headfuck” (his favourite phrase at the moment) the boss of EMI took them to a really expensive restaurant and got them drunk, they couldn’t quite believe he was being nice to them. “He can smell money” says Val cynically.

We talk about the new PJ Harvey album (To Bring You My Love). He liked the first one and the single’s clever but she’s sacked the band, sacked the management, it’s how it goes. It’s all a bit too Nick Cave now. Rebecca eagerly asks about Marion and he says “Well I like his voice…”The only support he’s really gone for has been Strangelove…

We talk about some of the magazine features that have gone with the album launch. He knew the MM one would turn out unbalanced, the way they jump on something he said about “my fear of women”, he pulls a face. The Vox one took four hours to do.

Val mentions the density of Nirvana T-shirts at this show. “Well,” says Thom half joking, “We’re filling that gap. Kurt was ill. Paul (producer of the first album) says so. He was just trying to express himself.” As for Eddie Vedder, who Val quite likes, he’s not really on the same wavelength, he liked a couple of the songs…
“The Maker wrote about you like you were dead, and I wish they wouldn’t.” I say with disgust.

“They want all their pop stars dead,” says Thom.

He’s not going that way for them, all that stuff in that piece by The Stud Brothers had upset his mum.

We talk for a long time and cover a lot of musical ground. Thom makes to leave and I tell him about standing next to the same bloke as at the last gig, and remembering Bra-Girl. “Oh yeah,” says Thom laughing, “you were just about standing in the same place.”

Val tells him we have to wait for the late bus back to Manchester and he seems bewildered that we don’t have a B&B. We say our goodbyes and head outside where Caitlin Moran is snogging Pete P . We have plenty of time to kill and we wander across town and marvel at our good fortune. We get to the bus shelters to freeze for a couple of hours sitting close together and nodding off. The bus finally comes at 3.30am and we float back to Manchester.

 

The discovery that we have to catch the last train back to Manchester from Sheffield tonight puts me in a bad mood. The last train is at 10.45pm, I’m convinced there will be a race to catch it even though the venue is pretty close to the station. Rebecca leaves early to interview Marion. Val and I follow later and I meet my brother and his mate (who came to the previous Sheffield show).

Tim has put me on the list. This is a different venue to the last time they played here (this is the other University) and it’s a wide stage with everything in the one room. We stand at the sound desk and Val encourages me to go to the bar. I have several pints and avoid watching the support.

I end up being pretty wasted and this is the worst remembered gig I’ve been to so far. I danced a lot at the edge of the mosh. Inventing a hand-jive for Planet Telex. I’m happy and sad at once and I don’t understand why.

The gig ends in time to get the train after all and I have to leave without looking back.

Me and my hangover get the train back to Glasgow in the morning with the day’s music papers for company. Reviews of the album abound and there are a strange set of photos of Thom with a dog in the NME.
When I get back, I convince my flatmate JC to come with me to the show in Glasgow tomorrow.

I spend the morning running about at Uni trying to print an essay that I have written in the one day I had between shows. It is too short but it will have to do. For the duration of this tour I’m doing as little work as I can get away with and I don’t even seem to be missing many lectures.

In the afternoon, I walk up Sauchiehall Street for a reccy, the venue isn’t far from my flat. It’s raining and I think I see a tour bus going past. Rebecca turns up outside the Garage to instigate a queue where she is joined by the travelling Marion contingent, and my new friends Anne and Maree (the Manics fan who was at the Edinburgh show who I have since been hanging out with). We file inside as the doors open and I find Tim at the top of the stairs. I have a brainwave.

“Am I on the list tonight?”
“You can be,” says Tim “but you’ve got this far…” he points to the ticket in my hand.
“I’ve kind of promised it to somebody.” I say, giving him a pleading look.
“OK.” He says, “Wait there.”

He goes to sort it and when he comes back I use the payphone in the foyer to call JC back at my flat. She’s been indecisive about coming and I make her mind up for her. “Get down here. Now!”
I run back downstairs and approach the guy who is giving out postcards on the door. It’s still early and it’s not busy yet. I give him my ticket and explain that it’s for my friend. I tell him her name and describe her. He seems a little bemused but agrees.  I go back upstairs, call JC again and tell her the plan, then race to the bar to get a pint.  Marion are already starting. I find the others standing on the left hand side of the stage. I stand behind them for now. I drink half my beer and trade scathing comments about the band with Maree.  I have completely gone off them and they don’t stand up to repeated viewing like Radiohead do.

On the way back from the ladies I find JC and bring her to the front. I try to explain how she’ll have to protect herself if she wants to stand here in the crush but she puts me in my place, she’s seen Stiff Little Fingers here and she knows the score. Maree, Anne, JC and I take over the front row from the Marion gang and put jumpers over the barrier to protect ourselves.

Thom’s got a little blue top on tonight and is all belly button and Paddington Bear hard stares. This is the aggressive and confrontational Radiohead that I’ve seen in Glasgow before.  I feel better for being less pissed than in Sheffield and more conscious of the details. Ed is having major guitar trouble. They play Blow Out mid set and Thom says something about it being the last time they let the crew choose the set list.

“Blah Blah Blah” shouts a Glasgow heckler.
“Blah Blah Blah? Is that the best you can do?” Thom gives his best middle finger and launches into something loud.
We’re getting totally crushed at the front. Thom looks at us, concerned. I get a set list at the end.

Afterwards we reconvene near the production office in the foyer. JC is enthusing about Ed. Jonny, Phil and Colin all go past and then Ed, who speaks to me. “That wasn’t bad,” I say being understated. He disagrees “It was about the worst gig I’ve ever had with all that guitar trouble.” He doesn’t seem too troubled though. I say “See you in Preston.” And he’s off again.
JC is open mouthed. “That was Ed!”
“Yeah.” I say.
“Ed’s nice!” says JC.

I know now that Thom will come out last.  He appears just before 11pm in his big blue fake fur coat. “Have you seen that Japanese girl who’s following us round like you are?” he asks. I haven’t seen her. He’s concerned about her. I ask how the gig went last night. “Fine,” says Thom “but we got to the end and I was going to say ‘thanks for having us in…’ but then I couldn’t remember where we were, I nearly said Dundee, but then Aberdeen, Dundee? Was it Dundee? Shit. In the end I just said Scotland.”
I introduce JC and say I’m proud of her for sticking it out and staying at the front.
“You looked like you were getting killed down there!” says Thom.
“Yeah it was murder.” I reply.
I feel self-conscious now I know he can see me. He wanders off in search of the Japanese girl but soon comes back. “What am I going to do now?” he asks.
“Well,” I mug, “There’s the super indie disco boogie upstairs.” (The Garage is, at this point in the mind-1990s pretty notorious for its indie discos, where misbehaving Glasgow students end up after running out of pubs).
Thom pulls a face and goes to find Jonny. They come back. He shrugs and goes upstairs.

I round up the remainder of my people and we go upstairs to The Attic, the Garage’s midweek disco. When we get to the door, the bouncer is trying to stop Thom from taking his rider-beer inside. We go in and loiter on the dance floor. Thom and Jonny find some people they seem to know and stand at the bar.

I get a beer and sit out the hated Oasis. I dance to Sabotage. Back at the bar Thom can’t get a minute to get served because of people asking for him to sign things. They play Help by The Beatles and Thom pulls a face. “Better than Oasis” he says. “Or Blur.” I’m about to argue the point on that one, when Tim appears to take them away. They’re driving to Preston tonight.

“Should have given you a laminate!” Tim says to me as they leave.

 

I wake up early, flushed with excitement and pack my rucksack. I’m learning to travel light. I’m reading 100 Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez for my English Lit course. I get through a lot of it on the train to Preston. I’m early when I get there, so I go for a cup of tea in the shopping centre close to the station. I go back and meet Val from her train and we find the nearest pub. It’s a long walk to the Uni where the gig is. She’s the jittery one for a change. Rebecca is already there at the door and a queue is in full swing. We dump our gear in her Metro and return to form a guest list queue. Inside we say hello to Tim and take our zines to Pete on the T-shirt stall. Rebecca goes off to be with the Marion contingent at the front while Val and I go to the bar.

It’s a smallish venue but tiered so that the view is pretty good from all over. We go up a step and sit near the sound desk. We get through Marion with more beer and then stand up for Radiohead. Val can feel a charge in the atmosphere and her hunch is justified when they come on. Back here the new stuff sounds ace. The crowd are going crazy and it looks mental at the front, for a while I’m glad of the space and the view I’ve got from back here.

That is until they play Vegetable and Thom goes over the barrier into the crowd. I’m dumbstruck and I can just about hear Val saying “I’ll bet you’ll want to kill me now!” as it was her idea that I should stand with her tonight. I’m kind of glad I could see it all happening though, it would have been nice to be at the front but I can’t deal with getting crushed two nights in a row. Thom gets back up on stage and says something about “body contact” but doesn’t do it again. This is the best gig where I haven’t been at the front. The sound is better. It’s certainly a different experience from back here, less intense but less physically demanding.

We go back to Pete at the T-shirt stall and Val chats with him while I choose a shirt. We’d quite like his job but he’s pretty nonchalant about it, an old hand at this game. We see Phil. Val talks to him about drumming. She seems a bit drunk. We hang around in the foyer, the others are thinking about leaving as all around us people are packing up gear. I don’t want to go yet. Always wait until you’ve seen everybody. Thom arrives, drinking coke and complaining about having “Sticky trousers”. Val makes a smutty remark. “Is she pissed?” he asks me. She asks him about the crowd surfing.

“It’s what I live for! I’ve wanted to do it for ages. I want to do it during Creep, what do you think?!” We ponder this and doubt he’d get back to the stage in one piece. But we think he should get Fan Contact more often. He looks at the T-shirt Rebecca’s just bought and points out Mother’s Day on the list of dates. “Well it’s important isn’t it?!” Val admires his denim jacket; “I just got it in Oxfam today for £10, good eh?” The stitching is coming undone at the back but on Thom it looks cool.

The Japanese girl Thom was looking for in Glasgow shows up and he introduces her to us as Myoko. She stays with us but doesn’t say much. We’re all standing around wondering what to do next. Someone says isn’t there a thing on upstairs? I pull a crumpled flier from my pocket. “After Radiohead” it says. “Let’s have a look at that.” Says Thom, he takes it and reads aloud, “A mix of mainstream and diverse indie” and looks back at me. “A diverse selection of Blur and Oasis.. and Elastica if we’re lucky!” Did I say that or did he?
“No Radiohead though.” He says.
“Lots of people shuffling about.” I say, “Oh dear.”
“But its two quid.” He doesn’t like the idea of us all having to pay to get in. Val points out that this is a daft notion and waves her laminate in his direction, indicating the one on a lace around his neck.

Suddenly a man in a suit and a man in a security uniform rescue us from our dilemma. “If you’d just like to follow my man here upstairs he’ll show you the way to the bar.” Thom motions to us lot and the guy nods and we’re all shepherded upstairs to a dark Union bar busy with student drinkers and noisy guitar music. Before we know it Thom is buying drinks – Red Stripe all round except for Rebecca who is driving. We move away from the bar because people keep spotting Thom and wanting his attention.
The music can just be heard over the inadequate PA. When Thom realises what is playing he leans over excitedly. “It’s Fugazi!” I don’t know their stuff and he tells me a bit about them. “The first three albums are brilliant.”

Val asks about the rest of the tour. Truro was chaotic and the best show so far for Thom. “We’d pay for them to come and write about it but nobody will go outside of London.”

Colin’s been playing with his Apple Mac after shows. Thom and Tim went raving in Bristol. (He mimes some dance moves.) I can’t help laughing but he can do it with a straight face. I’m reminded of Val’s version – the big fish, little fish, cardboard box hand jive. They met the guy from LFO and his girlfriend kept asking them if they had any speed…

They have a hectic schedule, with half a day at home before they go on to the USA and Canada. He’s not seen his girlfriend for weeks, he’s paying rent on a flat when he’s never there, for all that he’s paying, he says, he might as well put his stuff in storage and move into a room at the Randolph (the biggest hotel in Oxford). The only thing stopping him is that he’s not been back there long enough to sort it out. Now he is in a position to buy a house and he doesn’t have time to find one.
PJ Harvey’s Sheila-na-gig plays and he says “They were good, her band.” The DJ follows it with Elastica and we all agree that they are rubbish. “They were nice, apart from her, I met Damon as well. He’s very tall.”

A random guy comes up and gives him a phone card. “Here you go Thom, phone home. You don’t belong here,” then goes away. Thom examines the card, it’s just an ordinary phone box card, and he puts it in his top pocket next to his shades.
When the others are in the ladies I’m left with Thom, talking about how hectic it was all getting. It goes quiet between songs and he sighs and says “Isn’t my life boring!” and pulls a ‘not’ face. I tell him he’s lucky.

Some of the other punters are getting a bit rowdy. “Stewdants!” says Thom and we move out of the way. We’re talking about the press coverage of the album when another random bloke offered to buy Thom a drink. Somehow this turns into a round for all of us. Thom’s not finished his first, Val puts her can unopened into her bag and Myoko and I crack ours open. When he finishes his I give him mine, suddenly reaching that stage of drunkenness when I know I’ve had enough.

He has to leave at 1am and keeps asking us the time. Those of us with watches offer them so he can check the time. Val asks if she can have an interview tomorrow, by this time we’d decided that we were definitely going to Middlesbrough for the next show. “Be sure to be there between 3 and 4.” He says. We take that as an affirmative. We assert our intentions to do the rest of the tour.
“But not London.” Says Thom. “Don’t do London.”

We all stagger into the courtyard outside and stare up at an illuminated church spire. Val says it looks like a rocket. And it sort of does, all buttresses shining in the lights. “Like all the spires in Oxford,” laughs Thom. We all stare at it drunkenly for a while. Then he has to go. We leave him and go to get the car and give Myoko a lift to her B&B (he was very concerned that we help her.) Then we three head into the small hours and back to Manchester.

We keep putting off our departure from Manchester and when we eventually get on the road we get diverted onto the Motorway (which we’d been avoiding as it didn’t make for easy going in the little Metro), but we still manage to arrive in Middlesbrough by 3.30pm.

Outside the Town Hall we find the tour bus and the crew loading gear from the trucks using a couple of ramps into the back door. Myoko appears from nowhere. We can’t see a way in. As if by magic Thom pops up from under one of the ramps. It’s an obstacle course to get in and out of the place. We climber inside and he goes off to finish listening to some CDs on the bus. We go into the main hall and sit down at the side. Izzy appears from somewhere and greets Val with enthusiasm, she sees me and remembers me from Sheffield last year. We introduce her to Myoko and they chatter on in Japanese from then on.

About half an hour later Thom comes back, “Right then,” he says, “you’re not all coming in are you?”

We’d already agreed that Val is doing this interview on her own. Me, Rebecca and the Japanese contingent sit and watch as the crew check the lights. Tour Manager Tim, sound man Jim Warren and Phil are playing Frisbee in the large space in the middle of the floor. Jonny is at the sound desk. I show some of the PID zines to Izzy and Myoko. Val comes back after over an hour clutching a half drunk can of Red Stripe.

The band start sound-checking Human Behaviour in fits and starts as they test the levels. Val doesn’t want to stay (“Sound checks are boring!”). We all troop outside, it’s cold and just about everything is shut. Middlesbrough on a Sunday afternoon doesn’t have a great deal to offer us so we have to go into McDonalds, the only place open, which seems to be where everybody else is hanging out. Rebecca finds Alison and Fiona (her fellow enthusiasts) and we leave them to their Marion-mania.

Val and I walk up to the railway station, and huddle on a bench on a deserted concourse with her Dictaphone between us. There are no trains so it’s the quietest place we can find to listen to the interview tape.

Thom has told her lots of stuff about being in the studio, different stories than the ones we’ve already read and he seems so much more sorted than he did before they’d had the album finished. He feels vindicated. Both he and Jonny had “gone off on one” somewhere along the way but it makes sense now it’s finished.

Time is getting on so we go back to the venue where Val floats in with a wave of her laminate unchallenged by the door staff. I have some trouble as Tim hasn’t left the list yet. I call to Val and she finds him and comes back with AAA stickers, which silence the stroppy woman on the door. Everyone is inside now. I agree to meet Izzy at the front later, then Val and I look for the bar. It’s a rather mangy arrangement in the basement, shared with the other venue on the site. After a beer, we decide that we can’t go on without hearing the rest of the interview tape. We soon discover that the only place where it is quiet enough to hear it is in the disabled toilet cubical so we lock ourselves in and pin our ears to the Dictaphone.

Thom would like it in writing that he thinks the Elastica record is “shite”. Val asked why he thinks so many foreign fans, especially Japanese, come and follow the band, he says that it might be about Britishness but it’s not the same as with Blur. One day Damon woke up with the idea that he should start wearing shell suits. Val says you had to be there to get the face pull that went with this derision of ‘Britpop’.
Britpop “feels like a party that we haven’t been invited to.” Says Thom.
“Well,” says Val, “in the old Hollywood films, all the best people always arrive late to the party.”
“That’s it! Say that I said that!” laughs Thom.

Thom remembered playing guitar when he was about fourteen, getting drunk with a friend while they attempted to play Wild Thing, he has a tape somewhere. They are talking about loads of stuff and I can barely take it all in. Val’s very proud of this interview, of being able to get one of her proper conversations with Thom onto a tape. I hope she is able to use some of it. We realised somewhere in all our excitement that the cubical didn’t have a ceiling, and we can be overheard. It was probably a bit weird for the other users of the loos.

The support have finished and I squeeze through to find Izzy at the front of the stage, on Ed’s side. I’m cutting it a bit fine and I’m stuck with my head in the speakers, feeling a draught from the bass heavy. The crowd is mad for this one. There are casualties and nutters and Thom doesn’t surf.

I throw my weight about a bit and make a space for myself, trying to feel everything to the tips of my outstretched fingers. Later, I don’t get hassled or forced to leave due to my magic green AAA sticker. There are lots of people waiting around, Tim is protecting people from the bouncers so they can stay inside a bit longer while Thom and Jonny sign things. Two young girls, one with a ‘100% Brownie’ T-shirt on are being very vocal at Thom. She’s so little she looks like she might actually be in the Brownies. “We saw Paul Daniels here, “ she says, “we got his autograph too. He’s short too.”

“Well, you know,” says Thom, “All the famous people are this height: Paul Daniels, Prince…” He steps back and admires her T-shirt. “I was going to get one that just said ‘Brownie’ on it, but I got this Action Man jumper instead.” (It’s blue and it’s got shoulder patches). “I wanted to be Action Man when I was a kid…”
He asks the how old they were, and I don’t catch their ages but they are still at school, they ask him and when he replies “Twenty six,” they look at each other and chorus, “Well, you might as well be dead!”

The St Johns Ambulance people are in the foyer with a girl they pulled out of the crowd. Someone says something to Thom and he suddenly grabs Jonny and pulls him toward the first aid station. The girl was in shock and they were trying to calm her down (like that was going to work).
“If you’re not prepared for it then it’s a shock.” I say, meaning the crush at the front.
“Well,” says Thom, “you’re hardened! The only time I ever stuck it out for a whole gig at the front was for The Blue Aeroplanes, but there was a guy who must have been on acid or something, he thought he was really strong and me and my mate got battered, so never again.”

Thom’s excited to hear that the promoter is taking them all clubbing in Manchester tomorrow. Phil hears about this with less enthusiasm, Mrs Phil is coming and it’s not her scene. “Oh he never gets drunk or anything,” says Thom, “He’s so boring!”
On the way back to Manchester, after we’ve dropped the Japanese girls at their B&B, I remember something Thom said in the interview, he was talking about how much they had to do, how daft it was all getting. “If it gets too much we’ve got a pact, get out the old Radiohead Visa Card and fuck off to somewhere hot and exotic.”

Wake up with a strange introspective feeling about last night. I shouldn’t be so paranoid. We go and pick up more fanzines from the printers and then get the bus to Piccadilly, where we bump into Lisa Abuse. She’s up to her neck in exams and isn’t coming to the show. Val, Rebecca and I adjourn to the pub. Later Rebecca tells me that Val thinks I might be losing it. Maybe I’m just not very good at trusting people. I’ve been tired and irritable. I’m not used to being in people’s pockets like this.

We head into the Union at about 5pm, its becoming quite familiar to us in here, we take up our post at the top of the stairs, from where we can hear the sound check, Thom is having another go at Human Behaviour. The band runs through Lurgee twice then Just and Fake Plastic Trees.

Maree and her friend Sadie arrive. They’d had trouble getting tickets and had to concoct an elaborate story to blag their way onto the guest list. I start trying to fill them in on the gigs they’ve missed but I keep getting distracted. Thom dashes past on his way up the stairs, he tries to say hello, I lean past Maree and say “boo” – it somehow fits the face he’s pulling at us. Tim has given me an All Areas pass again and I feel very lucky.
When we get inside the venue-proper I join Maree at the far left of the stage. The very active crowd gets progressively livelier. I give up trying to get any further forward and am out of the crush by the time Radiohead come on. I make a space at the far side and try not to get deafened by the bass or knocked over by the wind and vibrations from the PA stack.

Thom holds up his can of Red Stripe and says, “Does this look like fucking tea to you?” and is fuelled from the outset. The power is theirs. Bones is wired at the start. The crowd know all the words to High And Dry now and then they go mental for My Iron Lung. Creep is all edge of the stage stuff. “It’s still ours and it’s still good.”

“The traditional Prog Rock wig out,” Blow Out is saved for last. There’s water dripping on Thom’s head, like the venue itself is sweating. Maree gets crushed at the front but she’s happy.

I find Izzy, Myoko and the rest of their group. Val appears with instructions for me to protect the Japanese contingent from the bouncers, as they are invited to the after show. I find myself standing firm, trying to look like I know what I’m doing and saying things like “It is impossible for her to leave,” to very large men whose job it is to put us on the street. Eventually Tim appears and we manage to persuade the security people that all these fans are meant to be staying.

Val is hunting for more booze, she’s on a bit of a mission tonight. Her friends Claire and Ste are here. Claire looks very glam in a leopard coat.
We find the after show room; Ed is smoking with some people who are all sitting around a table. There’s a load of us in the room by then, I feel a bit awkward, bedraggled and drenched from the show, but we find somewhere to sit and some warm beer arrives. Rebecca is talking to Fiona and Alison, who’ve somehow managed to stick around, Val and Izzy are deep in chat and I speak to Claire and Ste. More people arrive, Phil and his wife, Colin and Jonny. Thom appears to be smoking. (In Preston Val offered him one of her Berkleys and after deriding her for smoking Menthols, he declined, and said, “Only draw!” with a saucy grin.) They must have finally found some then!

Manager Chris is around with quite a few unidentified people. They’re not going clubbing after all. I talk about festivals and the album to Claire and Ste for a while; they flit about getting the inlay card to their copy of the album signed whenever they spot a band member. Claire gets up, I steal her chair, she ends up going to the Gents because it’s nearer, and Val hugs her when she comes back. Ste says, “You can’t have her she’s mine!” which Thom catches on his way past. He laughs and gets out of the way.

Later he’s sitting cross legged on the floor, signing Myoko’s shirt, we’re sitting around, and he’s talking to Val about the gig. “It was really hot up there. Everyone was getting so crushed. Were you at the front?” he asks me.
Ste, quite well oiled by now asks Thom if his fur coat is blue. I’m rather taken by this coat, and turn round to offer my black leather jacket sleeve for comparison. It seems strangely important to establish what is black and what is blue. (I didn’t understand quite why until later).

Myoko has draped herself over Thom’s knee. She’s leaving tomorrow, to go back to Japan and graduate from her photography course. She’s finally relaxing and enjoying herself after being quite reserved up until now. Language will not be a barrier to her. Somewhere in all this Thom told Val he thought she was cool, it’s her last show tonight too. Tim suggests that I borrow Val’s laminate for the rest of the tour, but she won’t part with it.

Everyone’s leaving; I go for a hug and a feel of that blue fur coat and get squeezed back. Everyone’s hugging each other. Rebecca and I are coming to the next shows, “But not London” we chorus. We troop outside, the last to leave again. Everyone is friends and drunk together. Even Izzy’s wobbling a bit.

With an inner glow we wander off in search of a taxi. The last thing we see at the venue is Thom letting himself into the bus with the little key on a string round his neck.

Back at Val’s, we ramble drunkenly and make suggestive remarks. “Should I get a tattoo or just get a shirt printed? ‘On this day Thom Yorke said I was cool!’”

 

We drop Val down Oxford Road the next morning. As we drive away, waving, her distinctive pink hair and leopard collar recede into the distance.

I don’t know it now, but I’m not going to see her again. I realise later, when this tour is over and I try to get back in touch with her, that beyond the music she likes and the fact that she knows I like this band at least as much as she does, I don’t know Val very well at all.

I know that she gets tired easily and she has made vague allusions to suffering from M.E .or possibly some kind of arthritis. She doesn’t talk about it and won’t answer questions about it, so I stopped asking. She’s older than me, older than the band by a few years too and it just seems impolite to ask. The same goes for anything about her life outside of music. Any enquiries into her past, beyond tales of gigs attended and records bought are carefully deflected.

She has a lot of big ideas and ambitions but for all we talk about them, they never seem to get closer to happening. I am caught up in the whirl of excitement, of the imagination of her plans, we will take on the world and people will read zines written by fans not just the London-centric, stuck up opinions of the music press. One day, maybe, the band will let us run the fanclub… or Chris Hufford will give her a job.

This is 1995. The internet is still a twinkle in a nerd’s eye and Val was still using Thom’s old manual typewriter to write reviews of records played on a stereo bought from a catalogue on hire purchase. Bussing round to the community centre to get the best price for photo copying and exchanging people’s coins sellotaped to cardboard and self addressed envelopes for a samizdat screed of opinions and obsessions.

I was juggling. University, overwhelming, lonely and less apt to provide the answers to all the big questions than I needed it to be. There was now this other side of my life that I hadn’t even imagined a couple of years ago. Free to jump on a train and leave town. To keep gigging until the money runs out. Our heroes (and very occasionally heroines) know our names and buy us drinks.

After a while, the letters stop arriving and Val stops answering her phone. I even call the operator to check if she’s been cut off, but realise that the surname ‘Savage’ is her fanzine nom de plume, too perfect to be real.

She didn’t like the new songs much, Planet Telex and the new direction were already too electronic for her. In a way, her work was done. The band had the confidence to do it now, all those long conversations had made their point. Thom thought she was cool and maybe there was nowhere to go from there.

 

 

It is a very straight drive across very flat land from Grantham, where we stayed the night at Rebecca’s parents’ house, to Norwich. It’s a sunny day; we have mellow tapes on in the car. The Verve, Arthur Lee’s Love.

We follow a ring road around the outside of town until we find a car park near tonight’s venue, then stop at the shops to get a few supplies.

At the Waterfront, Fiona and Alison are already waiting, they’re introducing Izzy to the delights of Diamond White cider. Izzy spots the band on the cover of my copy of the Eastern Daily Press and goes off to buy one of her own. Later Thom and his girlfriend pass us on their way inside, “Is that the Guardian?” he asks.
“No, no just the local one.” I say.
“They picked the worst picture!”

I stick around and talk to Izzy. If Val were here we’d have found a pub by now, but in the middle of the afternoon, there is nothing open. Izzy and I are getting on well, comparing notes, promising to send each other tapes. We have a long walk to the railway station to use the loos, it kills some time. When we get back we settle down close enough to catch a bit of the sound check. Some of the others go a bit nearer to see if they can see anything in this rather oddly laid out venue. They come back with a mysterious object, given to them by a roadie. It’s a bit of one of Phil’s drums (a snare skin) and we end up putting it in the car.

We wait for a long time. We’re too far away from the town centre to do much else. It gets cold and dark. Rebecca is worried about whether we will be on the list tonight. When we reach the door and we’re not, she gets a bit panicky. I’m relatively calm for once and send someone in to ask for Tim. He soon appears, all smiles, and produces passes from his little belt-bag.
The deal with these triple A passes is that we can use them to get in, but not to wander about once inside. We’re only slightly behind everyone else when we get to the front. The Waterfront is a very small space with a low ceiling. I fetch a Red Stripe before the crush starts and get settled in. Soon the usual hyper-feelings take over, all this waiting makes me edgy. I keep my spot in spite of a lot of pushing and shoving during Marion’s set. When they’ve finished I swap places with Fiona, right at the front next to Izzy. We anchor ourselves to the barrier and stand firm. I can feel the pass burning a hole in my back pocket. We’re so close to the stage that even though there are bouncers and photographers in the pit, they’re not going to be in our way.

It is a rapturous set. They play The Bends and Thom is a little loose at first and then a bit more confrontational. By the time he gets to Bones he’s all electric-shock legs and jumps. During Vegetable he teases the front row, leaning over the short distance, grabbing people’s outstretched hands. We can almost touch his guitar from here. Planet Telex is a frenzy “Dance to this you fuckers!” Creep is for “Radio 1 listeners.” It would be perfect if he jumped into the crowd now. There is such an intense and concentrated feeling in the thin, sweaty air  it feels like you could touch it.

I’m not sure how, but I remain uninjured tonight, maybe I’m getting used to protecting myself. There were a couple of people passing out. It’s very hot and the ceiling is dripping. Concern is expressed about this from the stage and Blow Out is dedicated to “the people at the front.”

Ed laughs at me laughing at something. Before Ripcord Thom shouts, “This is fun! You’ve got to make the most of fun!” there is a look of total surprise on his face. The band are on fire and feeding off the crowd’s reaction. As they leave the stage, Ed grabs the central mic and yells “You were fucking amazing!” there are cheers enough for another encore but they’ve already gone.

I peel myself off the barrier and hug Izzy. This was the best gig since the last best one. I fetch some water and find the others. I sit down to catch my breath, can see the Marion contingent talking to Jules, their bass player. I wander outside, the door staff here are a bit more relaxed than they were in Manchester. I see Tim and he says “That’s why it’s good to do so many!”
“Worth it!” I gasp and he’s pleased. Jonny is chatting to some lads who are explaining to him that the girl who was shouting at him wasn’t talking about “Happiness”. She was shouting “Show us your penis…”!

As I go back inside, I pass Thom and splutter “That was good!” and he pulls a face that simultaneously says ‘Understatement! Oh wow yes! And I know!’ He’s in a rush to collect everyone and get going. Tim asks us how far it is to Northampton. There is no question that we will also be heading there, the next stop on the tour, after tonight, we have to have one more.
We take Izzy to her B&B and then struggle out of town on the one-way system. Alison and Fiona are following us back to Grantham to sleep on the floor. It’s 3am and there’s not much traffic. When we get in we catch the end of the late night music show The Beat and to the delight of every one but me, Marion are on.

 

Fatigue and traffic queues. Another one-way city. We have trouble parking when we reach the Roadmender. The others are conferring about directions when I spot Jonny walking across the road some way in front of us. He’s got shades on and big expensive-looking headphones. Eventually we park in a multi-storey then go for a wander into town and have some food.

Back at the venue we see Caffy and then see Thom with his girlfriend again. Izzy appears and we leave the others to go for a walk. Waiting outside venues all day for something to happen is cold, tiring and induces a particular flavour of depression in me. We walk to the market square so she can get some chips; I introduce her to malt vinegar, which she loves. They don’t have it in Japan. We sit and talk some more. Marion don’t really move her either. We spot several of them looking around Our Price. We go back to tell the others that waiting by the venue is a bit of a waste of time, the objects of their interest are out shopping, but they still want to stay where they are. Hanging about with nothing to do takes the edge off my happiness, so when Izzy suggests walking to her B&B, I go with her.

By the time we return to the Roadmender it is time to form a queue. Tim comes out to give us the passes today. Thom passes by but it’s like he’s got blinkers on. Despite the power of the stickers we’re penned in behind a fence by the venue staff. It’s getting cold and I’m starting to feel tired.

Today is our last gig. We just want… I’m not really sure what we want. Thom to ourselves again for five minutes? We keep knocking it down, 4 minutes, 3, 2, 1. Izzy has letters for Thom and Jonny, for now they’re stowed in her teddy bear-shaped camera bag. I feel like I must at least say goodbye. We’re in a weird position. We’ve been hanging out with them for the best part of a fortnight. But now their real friends are here we don’t really count. I know I’m being unreasonable but it doesn’t change how awkward and empty it makes me feel.

Once we get inside, I change my shirt, dump my bag with Pete on the merch stall and buy a pint while Izzy bags a spot at the front. We’re very far over on Jonny’s side and there’s a light and a speaker in front of me, but it leaves space for a crumple zone. By now I find Marion’s formula posing and guitar slinging hilarious. The place is jam-packed, and I’m glad of being in this spot as there is nowhere else apart from the very front row where I would have been able to see anything. The Roadmender is an old school building with the hall as the auditorium, the toilets are still very school-like, and there are lots of little rooms off to the sides that must once have contained classes.

Thom’s not quite on it tonight. But there are moments that make me frustrated to be stuck standing behind this light. Bones is about “feeling it and meaning it or not and not seeing why he should have to ALL the time.”
He’s giving out chords. Anyone Can Play Guitar in A minor. E minor for High And Dry (I think). I want to off load all my feelings, but chances of escapism are tempered with the knowledge that this is my last show of the tour. Norwich was so good, it flicked the switch and this doesn’t quite do it in the same way.
After there is a lot of waiting about despite having proper passes. Julie from the management is around, moaning about never getting a holiday (as if her’s is an ordinary job!) She’s going to Japan in May with the band. Caffy is around but she’s tired and not making much sense. Izzy and I stick together. I tell Rebecca just to go with the Marion gang and not to worry about me. Colin, Jonny and Ed are talking to people; Phil and Mrs Phil are leaving. No sign of Thom.

I thank Tim for everything and he says, “As long as you enjoyed it.” At the moment I probably look like I’m not. I ask Caffy if she’s seen Thom. He’s had an interview and no one has seen him.

I need air and take Izzy outside. Thom is signing something for another Japanese girl, but his girlfriend is waiting for him and he’s anxious to get going. We catch up with him and Izzy gives him her letters and then nervously in broken English asks him a question about lyrics that she’s been itching to ask all day. He apologises before she can finish. He’s got “so much to do in the next 24 hours.” He turns to me and says, “Can you believe they had me being interviewed coming straight off stage and tomorrow I’ve got to do eight interviews before we go on?”

I make sympathetic noises and say, “It’s not fair.” This is old, stressed Thom. “Good luck with all that…” I trail off because he pulls a face at me. I pull one back, I mean it. He’s desperate to leave. Izzy and I stand there for a second feeling awful and let him go. I call “Goodbye,” pathetically. We go back inside feeling like it’s the end of the world. The others are deep in conversation with Jules from Marion. I don’t like the look of him. We mope about, there’s no booze left and nothing to stay for. When we go outside again, we pass Colin, he remembers us and shakes our hands.

Rebecca and the others want food now, so we find a late night chippy. But Izzy and I don’t feel like eating. How can something that makes you so happy hurt this much? I don’t even understand what I’m feeling. I hug Izzy when we drop her at her B&B. I will really miss her. Rebecca talks all the way home, but I just want to sulk in peace. I really don’t want it to end. I don’t want to go back to reality.