Radiohead in 100 (+) gigs

March 24th -April 3rd

I go back to my parents and promptly get ill. A fortnight of late nights, hangovers and standing around in the chilly night air have given me a bad cold. I sleep a lot, watch videos and write up as much as I can remember about the tour. My brother, who has recently bought a drum kit, identifies the circular bit of discarded gear that I’ve brought back from Norwich as a snare skin. I leave it with him in case he can use it.

The music papers have, as expected, all chosen to review the London Forum show. They all seem to have developed an established Radiohead phrase book. Even the Guardian’s reviewer toes the line.

 
I send a Thank You card to Tim via the management office. There is a TV ad for The Bends with a clip of the High And Dry promo and I keep a tape in the machine in order to catch and record it – but it’s so short it barely registers. It looks very odd among all the other ads for cars and lifestyle that play during the late night Channel 4 Yoof programmes.

Radiohead are going to support R.E.M. at Milton Keynes Bowl on July 30th. Maybe all that talk in the reviews about ‘stadium rock’ isn’t so far off the mark.

I’m still writing up my diary on the train back to Glasgow. I arrive back to lots of post from my pen pals. Kate in Croyden has sent me a tape of the Forum show; it was broadcast on XFM (the London-only indie station). It sounds like Thom was having a weird show. I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing. Against the odds he seems to be enjoying himself.

Jonny is on the Mark Radcliffe show reading extracts from his favourite poetry – e.e.cummings, Thomas Hardy and Friday Night At The Royal Station Hotel by Philip Larkin. I also find Volume 13 – a CD/ book of rarities that has the demo version of Nice Dream on it. The lyrics are different from the ones on the album, more like the Craig Cash session version that I’d heard at Val’s. I write a letter to Thom that I won’t ever send.

April 11th -15th

Val sends me a parcel of ‘zines but asks me not to phone her because she’s “cross with me.” I’m not really sure what I’ve supposed to have done. I don’t think she liked the fact that I carried on the tour without her. This sinks my mood. I’m running out of money so I go to Edinburgh to get a lift down south with my Uncle. I get back to my parents and find a big square parcel that contains a signed copy of The Bends on vinyl and a 12-inch remix of Planet Telex. Rather confusingly it doesn’t say who it’s from. The next day, another parcel makes things a little clearer. A promo copy of the Astoria video, a CD of the My Iron Lung EP and a Melody Maker compliments slip. I’ve won a competition! I can’t help thinking there’s something fishy going on here…

 

I get back to my University work with a sense of impending doom. Literature rots the brain.

The Astoria is gone now, but my memory of my first visit there lingers on and thankfully there is the video to mark the event.

Those are my arms; God, the director must have hated me. The mosh is alive, it’s moving so much and is so tightly packed that I literally couldn’t get my arms back down… and I had a compulsion to stretch out and reach for the sky or the stage and feel every note, and watching it now, in those early songs I still do. Ed is trying a little too hard, what with the flowing white shirt and jumping on the riser before the first song is even over. Phil’s got his little hat and Colin has a ponytail for goodness sake. But Thom, who starts nervous, comes alive as the set unfolds. Jonny is all hair and lips; they both look so brittle and skinny. The whole gig is as tight as Jonny’s arm brace. So much tension. There were a couple of moments where I thought I might die that day, and I wouldn’t have minded.

I was bruised from the two gigs in two days they’d already done and I was running on very little food or sleep. But we’d had a lift with Thom in the band’s old van to get there and I’d been in a dream-like state all day… He wouldn’t talk for most of it, resting his voice, nervous as hell because MTV were filming the gig, the first time they’d done a whole show for cameras. We’d got into the compilation tape in the van, my first real introduction to Nick Drake, Syd Barrett and a load of newer stuff that I already recognised. A tape I’ve tried to recreate from memory several times since.

As we pulled into central London, Thom put his sunglasses on and went back into himself, psyching himself up. Val and I withdrew to Tottenham Court Road where she forced me to eat something despite the fact that I had no need for such inconsequential things as food. We hid out in the pub for a couple of hours until the gig began. She went upstairs to the seated area, while I tried for one more night at the front, but I got stuck behind some real London gig types, about three rows back and for all my efforts never managed to make it to the magic spot on the bar. (I’m kind of glad of this now, because it’s mortifying enough to have my arms on the video, if you were actually able to see my face, I’d never be able to watch it again).

The bruises on my arms from being at the front the night before in Wolverhampton hadn’t started to hurt properly until I got crushed again in the Astoria’s moshpit.
The band were soon playing like their lives depended upon it. People think I’m on drugs at gigs, but I never have been, it’s just I dance like no one is looking at me and I feel it, all of it, with all my extremities. Watching this gig again, you have to remember that The Bends wasn’t even recorded yet and most of the people in the room had never heard the new songs before, it was only the third night that some of them had ever been played to a British audience. By the time they get to Black Star, the first of the new ones, my arms are stuck in the air, I can see my silver bracelets on one wrist and big Swatch on the other, and I’m wedged in. And then Creep kicks in.

I knew I wasn’t going to survive another moshpit, but I couldn’t move, I had to fight to stay standing up, I’m still there in the slow bit like a drowning woman. But I love this. (I’ve got the shivers down my spine watching it again.) The light is on the crowd and I can see my bracelets as I reach for the stage. I somehow stay on my feet as the song builds through the high note but by the time it hits the climax I’ve fallen back. That’s when I had to move, all I can really remember is feeling like I was being asphyxiated, my ribs being squeezed, unprotected because I couldn’t get my arms down.

Thom reaches “I wish I was special” and someone shouts, “You are!” I don’t think it was me but I’ll never be sure. There is applause and Thom says, “This one is about knowing who your friends are.” And they play The Bends, it crashes in, Ed is still in full Pete Townsend mode, grandstanding it, Jonny doesn’t need to, the song consumes Thom. If you could sing through gritted teeth, this is what it would sound like. I think at this stage I was still in the middle, but a little further back, the low incipient moan of guitar begins the next song, and I know what it is, even if no one else does, I know if I stay here I won’t stay conscious. So I crawl, literally crawl, out to the side. The Astoria has a very wide stage, with a pretty good view across the floor, I have to go quite a way out before the crush loosens enough for me to be able to breathe again.

My Iron Lung. Jonny plays the intro and Thom pulls a face, lips pursed in a “Oh yeah come and get some” pout and he gives an approving nod. The rhythm kicks in and his voice just holds. He’s smiling for the first time, a sly grin; it’s all working now. Is that still my hand in the air? I thought I’d got out by now. The memory plays tricks. The crowd can’t all know this song yet, but it provokes a crazed moshpit. The guitar line comes out perfect, so tense, so wired that it ends up on the album version. Every time I hear it I feel this urge to rent my garments and stretch and scream. They drop into Prove Yourself and I know now that they’re in their element, Ed’s calmed down a little bit and Jonny’s got his head down, all hair. Thom hits the long note; Phil and Coz are just concentrating.

Maquiladora is the ghost of the nasty rock album that might have got made but in that moment it sounded great, all warring guitar lines and endless John McGeogh chord progressions. Three guitars full on. Thom’s sweating now and Jonny’s shirt is too small. The quite-bit-loud-bit of Vegetable, Thom without a guitar bathed in yellow and then blue light. Jonny’s hair like it’s been cut to look at it’s best when draped over his face as he bends into his guitar.

There is silence as Thom starts Fake Plastic Trees. He’s playing an acoustic for the only time of the night and it descends into a rather scratchy ending from Jonny. They’re almost too self-conscious to be playing a slow one and follow it with the wake up call of Just. I’m still hanging on for dear life but I love this one, it’s mine. People around me are bewildered that I already know the words and by how much I’m grinning. Ed’s jumping about on the drum riser again.

Thom introduces “The single that never was a single” and gives a sly grin – I like to think it was for Val up in the balcony, a little credit for stealing her phrase. And they hit Stop Whispering. Thom’s red sleeves against the blue light of the rest of the stage. By now Ed’s shirt is undone as they go quiet for the “it doesn’t matter anyway” section of the song… it builds to a rather muted, yet still angry “fuck you” less petulant than it usually sounds, meaner. Then a storm of strobe lights finish the song. They don’t pause for breath, going straight into Anyone Can Play Guitar, both Thom and Jonny are bent double over their instruments. The pit is a raging sea again. Ed and Jonny change ends, like Jonny has only just looked up and realised how it’s going, flicking his hair from his face. There are an ocean of hands stuck in the air now. Thom fighting his guitar like he’s defending himself from it. Jonny flicking his switches then in a hail of noise they leave the stage.

When they come back, Ed has a fag on and a towel round his neck, Thom looks like he’s about to start giggling and plays the madrigal intro to Street Spirit alone. Colin has finally taken his crumpled jacket off and is wearing a glittery T-shirt underneath. Thom catches a laugh and sticks his tongue in his cheek like he’s made a mistake but I can’t hear a bum note. There are people up on shoulders now, swaying to a tune they’ve never heard before. Street Spirit isn’t quite yet the thing it will become, but Diane, the singer from The Julie Dolphin is at the back of the stage adding keyboard sweeps to the chorus. The rhythm is constant, Philip still concentrating and Ed is finally holding his red guitar still. Thom’s hair is matted with sweat as the song rings to a close.

Pop is Dead is “Dedicated to the members of the Press as it always has been”, and a few lyrics are changed, “One final cap of speed to jack him off… bunch of fuckin’ losers.” but it doesn’t matter now, because WE are winning.

It’s a flash in the pan sort of song and only a warm up for the real finale anyway. Blow Out begins and Thom whispers something in Jonny’s ear and makes a kiss-off face. Ed is back to showing off, Thom redirects what angry energy he has left and Jonny keeps his tricks up his sleeve until the very end throwing out chords all over the place. Thom grits his teeth, Ed pogos and Jonny thrashes through another strobe storm. I’ve transcended the pain and the tiredness, my memories of the actual event are vague, mashed up with the video, but I was as lost in this song as they were; heads thrown back, eyes closed. Thom’s guitar reaches the floor and he kicks it down, “Thankyouseeya” and he jerks the mic away, leaves the stage in a hail of feedback and it’s over.

 

MAY

I go to more gigs in Glasgow when I get back, trying to find the elusive feeling and never quite managing it. I have fevered postal exchanges of Radiohead gossip and photos with Izzy in Japan; long sessions of tea drinking and tour stories with Maree after English Literature lectures, and becoming a bit anaemic after a half-hearted poverty-enforced attempt at vegetarianism.

I am living on the edge of my student overdraft and falling asleep listening to Pink Moon by Nick Drake. I continue to not smoke dope at parties; listen to The Bends at top volume at every opportunity and over analyse the meaning of the B-sides. I try to make the rudimentary Radiohead websites work on university computers, hungrily watching any TV clips I can lay my hands on (The Ozone, the Fake Plastic Trees supermarket promo). I watch the mail deliveries waiting for the Ansaphone “fan club pack” to arrive. When it comes the purple and silver metal “R” badge takes a permanent position on my jacket.

I sit up late and write adoring yet sarcastic letters to Thom, some of which I actually put in the post. I worry about what all that touring in America is doing to him. Meanwhile I barely notice how much I am struggling to pass my English Literature course and realise too late that just as I was starting to find some people to talk to, a lot of my friends are leaving to spend the next academic year studying abroad.

May 27th 1995. Later…With Jools Holland on the BBC. Other guests include Elvis Costello, which has me imagining Thom meeting one of his heroes. They seem nervy and intense, you don’t realise how fierce they are until you put them in a room with other bands. Thom’s weird leg shuffle causes some odd comments from my flatmates when we see it on telly.

JUNE

Fake Plastic Trees makes it into the charts and Radiohead turn up on Top Of The Pops (still kind of a big deal). Their performance is beamed in from the USA. To my surprise, Thom now has orange hair.

Thom and Jonny play some songs on Radio 1’s Johnny Walker session, including the first play of Subterranean Homesick Alien, named for “Sir Bob, St Bob!” Dylan. Thom says “acoustic” like he’s from the North of England. The song is so perfect, I play my tape of it continually and it helps distract me from my exams.

More letters from Izzy: she went to the pub with the band in Tokyo when they were over doing promo. I debate going to Milton Keynes Bowl for the REM support slot (I don’t manage it because my succession of crap summer jobs don’t actually make me any money) but some of the set is played out on the radio. I don’t get good enough marks in my exams to stay on my English Lit course. I spend the rest of the summer worrying about what the hell I’m going to do next.

JULY

Izzy reports for NME on the formation of Phil Is Great – a fan club just for Phil!

Britpop peaks with article in Melody Maker. I go to the Leeds Heineken Festival, which is still free, and see Pulp.

Radiohead dates are announced for October/ November. The tour is a gift, a list of towns where I have somewhere to sleep for free.

Just is going to be the next single and it’s getting some radio play.

W.A.S.T.E. Newsletter #9 is a combination of philosophy and football.

There’s an informative Dazed And Confused piece where the band interview each other. Thom mentions Mo Wax records for the first time and Jonny’s started to get him into jazz.

AUGUST

The Just video is brilliant and the single gets into the top 20. Thom’s REM diary is in Q Magazine.

SEPTEMBER

Just is number 10 in the charts. The Chart Show ‘pop fact’ claims Jonny has got married. There’s a photo spread in Smash Hits from the Milton Keynes gig.

The War Child album project happens. The record is recorded and released in the space of a week. The Radiohead contribution, Lucky, sounds like the best thing they’ve ever done. After listening all day, I nearly miss it when it’s on the radio. The reviewers of the Help LP, agree with me about Lucky. Radiohead are “unable to be anything but brilliant”.

I go back to Glasgow to face a year as a part time History Of Art student. I’m reading a lot of situationism and feeling a great deal of self pity, paranoia and confusion. I don’t like my new flat and sharing is doing my head in. I’m drinking too much, trying to get a job and failing. I’m buying clothes in charity shops and dressing up in a shirt and tie.

OCTOBER

The band have their gear nicked in Denver. This upsets me at the time and feels really important. I hang out with Maree a lot and she feeds me with photocopies of Japanese magazine photos of the band. I learn how to blag myself into gigs to write reviews for a student tabloid called Chutney. I resign myself to the fact that Val is no longer answering the phone.

 

I can barely contain myself. I give up trying to have a normal day and go to the venue at 4pm to find some new Japanese girls have already formed a queue. I talk to some of the other keen types at the front, one has been to three REM dates including Milton Keynes, which has her converted to Radiohead. Another is a mass of teenage hormones and hyperventilation. It starts to get cold and I have a moment of de ja vue. Maree shows up at about six o’clock, I’ve managed to keep our place in the queue and things start to improve. I spot Tim and Caffy, they’re looking for Izzy.

I realise it must have been her I saw from the corner of my eye earlier on and we run up the street to greet her with hugs. She’s changed her hair, brought one friend with her and gained another since they arrived. They all come and stand in the queue with us, no one seems to mind. She saw Radiohead in the USA. It was like “Oh, Hi Izzy! Meet REM!”

I ask her directly how she can manage to afford it. She’s 25 and quit her job in insurance. She’s spending her savings and the exchange rate on the Yen makes it sensible to do that abroad right now. Phil passes and is asked “any spare tickets mate?” by a tout.

Inside the venue, there is a girl with green nail varnish who is impressed when I tell her I’ve seen the band so many times. She tells me I look like one of the characters from the film Clueless. We run for the front. There is no time for beer and we’ve lost Izzy because she’s trying to get a ticket for another of her new friends. We fidget to the funky intro tape until Sparklehorse come on. I’m slightly perturbed by the presence of a double bass, trumpet and banjo on the stage. In this Britpop era these are rarities. They do the maudlin melodic thing, so I close my eyes and drift away.

Tim the Tour Manager is putting out the set lists and lighting some Halloween pumpkins on top of the guitar amps. He leans over and tells us that Izzy and her pal have got in and there’s nothing to worry about. It’s all waiting and tension for a bit longer until the sampled intro and then the shimmering and by now familiar Alice Coltrane piece. With the pumpkins glowing on the amps, it’s all gone a bit magic, mystery and suspense.

Thom appears, hair even more orange that it had looked on Top Of The Pops, in a yellow plastic jacket, big red and white shoes and a dark polka dot shirt. Jonny’s in a floppy shirt, Ed’s had a haircut and Phil’s in bright green.
They go straight into My Iron Lung this will be visceral all the way, I can feel it. Then they crash through Bones and Anyone Can Play Guitar. Smiles and singalongs all round. They are really here and it really is Glasgow Barrowlands again! They do Vegetable, Prove Yourself, High And Dry is a big wallop of a pop song. They play Sulk to our surprise. They do Man-o-War (Oh God, oh God!) They do Blow Out and go off on one and then go off stage.

When they come back they play Lucky, beautiful. They have new gear, which is a bit weird, I’m looking for the familiar stickers and markers, they’re not there. Thom’s acoustic now has a “Protect Choice” sticker and Jonny’s Fender is already developing scars. Colin is being particularly funky and moving about. Jonny is actually looking at the crowd for once. Thom is all flailing limbs.

Maree blacks out and is hauled over the barrier during the penultimate song Street Spirit. They end on The Bends and I feel like I’ve been shot. I’m drenched (the bouncers had water squirters). I sit on the floor once there is room and try to recover. I need a drink. I’m wet through.

Izzy appears. She has a pass and so she doesn’t have to avoid the security guards who are starting to throw people out. I say goodbye to some of the girls I was talking to outside before the show. One has Thom’s sweaty towel… Maree, Sekiko (an older Japanese woman) and I retreat to the toilets and spot Paul Prentice selling his “official” fanzine on the T shirt stall. We mill around. I’m all panic and paranoia but I keep hanging on and hanging on. Suddenly the last of the burly security guys have gone and I see no obstacles. I make a dash for it upstairs, followed by Sekiko.

With a quick ‘Where’s Tim?” to Jim the soundman, which I feel legitimises my being up here, I head for the dressing room area and find… everyone! It feels like a scam. Apart from anything else, I had to see Tim to sort out the rest of the tour. He’s very cool about it, “Just write down names and places.” He can’t believe I’d not been given a pass, had bought a ticket and didn’t want to blag in a load of other people. No, I say, just me. Any gig but not London. I know the drill by now.

Izzy is drinking and is already funny. There’s no Thom yet but the others are all around, Colin is talking to a very boring man. We are perusing a copy of the Radiohead World Service fanzine which has the lyrics to Lucky.

I get my breath back and feel 100 feet tall. Caffy asks about the student paper I’m writing for and says she’ll send me some stuff to review. I ask if she’s heard from Val, but apparently she’s ill and is going to be out of circulation until at least February. She’s not coming on this tour at all. It’s a shame she’s not coming but I selfishly feel better for knowing it’s not because of anything I might have done.
Thom’s off being interviewed by the NME, he comes out of the inner room and then, Charlie Chaplin comedy style, goes back in again (to fetch his eye drops).
I’m feeling bold and come straight out with “You look knackered!” It was too hot and they’d got used to playing half hour sets as a support band so an hour and a half felt like a lot. Maree asks him about Sparklehorse and he says “That guy has melodies I’d kill for.” He wanted something different and not indie guitar, after “bloody Marion”. If not them, he would have had “a techno DJ or something.”

“Want to see something really disgusting?” and he shows us how the end of his finger nail has all but come off and makes a guitar strumming motion in explanation. Earlier Izzy’s pal, Keiko, had bought him some plasters, which he still has. Thom asks me if when they played here with James at the Barras did it sell out? No… he giggles as tonight it has.. “It was awful that one.” He remembers!

Tonight it was quadraphonic sound with speakers at the back, could we tell? Not from the front not really. Phil sees me and congratulates me on my rendition of Vegetable, I was singing it with feeling. Oh my god he can see me from back of the stage. He says it again, “You knew all the words!” When you’re getting killed at the front then you sing like you mean it. They all think I’m mad. I know it.

I ask about the gear. It just went. The whole van disappeared and they haven’t seen the driver since. It’ll turn up in 20 years as memorabilia. Maree gets to talk, the Japanese fans give Thom his presents, Keiko gives him a T shirt. Izzy, thinking of the Lucky lyrics, asks “Who’s Sarah?”
Thom leans in, conspiratorially, “An old friend… erm.. don’t tell Rachel…” It’s all in what he avoids saying. Ah we see. “It just scanned so well.. so there it is…” he grins.

Izzy gives Thom a present, all wrapped up, for his new house. I fidget with my Get Lucky badge (a black cat from an old book club) but don’t get chance in the huddle to give him anything. Thom’s off to bed. “See you tomorrow,” he says.

Maree is very happy as we go outside. I’m skipping down the street. I don’t remember how we got home. She sleeps on my floor. We lay talking in the dark, solving the problems of the world. Eardrum buzz and very little sleep. Excitement.

 

I eat breakfast while listening to a tape of Thom and Jonny on XFM sent by my Croydon pen pal (it was only broadcast in the Greater London area). She’s sent the whole session from the Gary Crowley show, it includes another new song, An Airbag Saved My Life, the title is inspired by, “A headline in an AA magazine,” says Thom.

I take the noon train to Leeds, at York as I change trains I walk past Rick Witter singer of Shed Seven. I’d been to see them with Val and she was quite friendly with them. I say hi and tell him I’m off to see Radiohead. I take great pleasure in telling him it’s going to be a sell out show.

I meet Nik, an old school friend who now lives near Leeds and go for a pint. Then to the venue for a quick recce. After a bite to eat, I go back to queue up at 6.30pm and find Izzy and Keiko waiting. I’m on the guestlist and have an aftershow pass. Nik has a bought ticket and is intent on leaving as soon as the show ends to catch her bus home, which means I can’t sleep at her house if I want to stay. I tell her not to wait for me, I’m so used to being able to get home from gigs in Glasgow at any time of night that I’d not really planned for this. Oh well. I leave her and move to the front during Sparklehorse’s set, close to Ed’s side tonight. The venue is big and packed. I’m trying to record the show on my crappy Dictaphone in case they play Man-O-War again, it’s tricky though as I don’t tend to stand very still and trying to hide the tape machine under my shirt makes the sound muffled.

Thom comes on wearing a pair of joke shop bottle bottom glasses that Pete the T Shirt guy had on earlier. He keeps them on for My Iron Lung but then hurls them off ,“I can’t see a fucking thing!”

It is a shorter set tonight, I notice because I’m not dying by the end of it. Thom puts down a heckler who shouts “Ginger!” with “It’s out of a bottle!”
Blow Out is still a monster track that gives me shivers, Planet Telex explodes into a funky bass monster and I need some space to dance to it. They do play Man-O-War but my tape doesn’t really work.

Nik rushes off but I’m in no fit state to find out if she enjoyed herself. Izzy and her friends find me and we put our stickers on. We get herded into the lobby by strict bouncers, one of the barmen is busking Wonderwall, which is becoming the topical tune of the tour. We’re kept out in the cold, but someone brings us cans of pop. Colin and Ed pass through and wonder why we’re still outside.

At midnight Caffy appears and takes everyone who’s still here upstairs to the dressing room area, she has with her a snapper from Raw magazine (short lived Britpop publication) and he’s taking photos of everyone. Thom surfaces wearing the T shirt that Keiko gave him last night and is again bombarded with novelty gifts from the Japanese contingent. A bottle of sake from Sekiko, which Thom says he’ll save for a special occasion, Izzy hands him a first aid kit and we look at it with bemusement. Someone has been to a joke shop and bought bubbles and magic smoke paper. We share a filmy bubble passed from Thom’s fingers to mine where it disintegrates. These little gift ceremonies stand in for conversation where there are too many nerves and not enough English spoken.

Thom goes to fetch his bag and on his way back past us someone comments on the amount of badges on it. I take my “Get Lucky” badge off and give it to him, “Add it to the collection,” I say.
“Are you sure?” says Thom.
“Sure!” I reply .
“Cool!” says Thom and he seems quite chuffed, I explain that it was from school book club.
“They gave out badges instead of books?!” We giggle and it’s a little moment that makes loads of numb-bummed hours of waiting around on cold pavements worth it.

Phil passes me on my way out and he’s still teasing me about my singing along, “We didn’t do Vegetable today…”

“Oh give over!” I holler after him.

Outside Caffy and Terri Hall ( her partner in crime at Hall or Nothing PR) are launching fireworks while they wait for a taxi. I go with Sekiko and Keiko to their B&B round the corner. We sit up talking, empathising and reading music papers until gone 3am. Sekiko snores a bit and I can’t sleep. In the end I go in the bathroom and get a couple of hours kip on the floor.

It feels weird to be in Manchester without Val. I arrive with Keiko and we go to the Tourist Information Office to get a hotel, we find Izzy already there and we all get a bargain £17 deal for Sasha’s, the city centre hotel where I’d ended up in the bar last time I was here, nice coincidence. We go for a wander so the girls can get their photos developed, Keiko buys a woolly jumper from a stall. Tim had looked cold the other night, she explained, she wanted to buy him a thank you present.

We take a long walk down Oxford Road to the Academy, as the bus station is in the process of being demolished and without Val I don’t feel like dealing with public transport. I’m trying not to spend any more money and I don’t want to arrive at the venue too early. When we get there it turns out the band arrived at 10am. We sit around and get cold. Izzy and I go for chips and a cup of tea and as we walk past Abdul’s I tell her about last time I was here. I think we should hide out in a pub for a bit, but no one else wants to leave for fear of missing something. I compare notes with Izzy, she’s been to over 30 gigs on three continents so far. At about 5pm the band start to sound check; Some intrepid girls have wedged the back door of the venue open so we can hear them play India Rubber, Thom is warming up his voice, there are a few false starts at Subterranean.. and then they batter into Nobody Does It Better, which becomes a messy guitar jam, followed by an off key crack at Street Spirit and Banana Co.

I fetch more tea, go to the nearby theatre to use the bathroom and then come back to find a queue forming in front of the Academy. Tim and Lisa Abuse wander by – she’s finished her course and is doing something else now but is coming back for the gig. Tim says there is officially no after-show tonight, “It’s not because we don’t like you or anything.” The band are going home as they have day off tomorrow.
Keiko gives Tim his jumper, it fits and he seems genuinely touched that she’s included him in the present giving. She says she’ll start a fan club “Tim is Cool!” she’s the president.

Back at the queue and the girls who’d been hanging around the back door are now first. But we discover a separate door for the guest list. It feels like a snub to them, they’ve been annoying us a bit with all their “Oh he’s so short in real life” banter.

Inside it’s already quite busy, Sparklehorse are growing on me, I can see Thom stage left nodding his head appreciatively, lost in the last song. The pint of beer I had on the way in means that I’m now desperate for the bathroom. Bad planning. I’ve waited too long and now it will be a mad dash to get through the throng and back again in time for Radiohead coming on. I have to fight my way through the crammed hall and put myself in a bad mood. I make a lot of enemies on my way back, which wrecks the anticipatory feeling that needs to be cultivated before the band come on stage. I keep making gestures to point out that I have queued and have previously been at the front but everyone thinks I’m pushing in. “Gosh I thought I’d never get BACK!” I annunciate loudly as I get back to put one arm on the barrier. There’s no room now and the loud girl next to me expresses her displeasure at my appearance by hurting my arm.

There is a change of set tonight, with Street Spirit first. I’m trying to take a few photos but now I’m not on the barrier it’s difficult to stand still and as soon as they play Bones it all goes mental and I’m in pain from trying to stay on my feet. It doesn’t cross my mind to move.

Thom does Kung Fu moves during Creep and suddenly there are crowd surfers, I’m trapped half on the barrier and half off. I get the fear and turn my head away from the front. I’m over charged and angry, tired and losing my grip. They play Man-o-War again and I have a moment of clarity, the lyrics are clear and I’ll never hear it the same again. Blow Out gets a strobe, Lucky is the highlight again, with Jonny standing on a box, wiggling his hips, the guitar part hits the heights and drives the crowd mad. Planet Telex is funkier than anything else and Banana Co makes it into the set. Thom forgets the words to You, and says “bollocks” off mic then tries again and gets it back. They end on The Bends after a bit of a rant about it being “a good record”, earlier he’d said something about how as a front man he should say something original, and then pointedly confined himself to saying “Thanks for coming” between nearly every song.

Heeding Tim’s words about no after show, I get outside as fast as possible and go back to our earlier perch at the back of the venue. The evening doesn’t feel complete yet. Phil drives away in his Polo, the van is there for the rest of the band. I sit on the little fence and feel crushed, literally and emotionally. I got hurt in there and I just feel like I have all this energy that I don’t know what to do with. Lots of kids have gathered, they want to see the band off, get autographs, touch the hem of the garment. I feel sick and people keep asking me if I’m OK, I must look a sight by now. Ed comes out and attracts a small mob, then Jonny, I sit and wait, watching it all unfold.

There is a larger crowd now and I notice that Thom is in the middle of it. I get up and walk around the outside of the group. Thom’s got his backpack on, covered in badges but not the one I gave him last night, maybe he lost it. The crowd parts and I’m now in front of him, my badge is on his yellow jacket, bang in the middle. I throw out an arm for an awkward half hug and wheel off feeling better. The crowd hinder the progress of the band getting into their little van and then make it difficult for them to get out of the car park, “This is fucking uncool!” Thom chuckles as they try to avoid running people over.

Izzy, Keiko, Sekiko and I get a taxi back to Sacha’s. I have a bath and then doze off listening to them talk in Japanese. They all go to the other room and let me sleep.

After a couple of nights in my old bed at my folks, I get the Sunday service bus into the city and walk through the Victoria shopping centre towards Rock City.

Myoko is also on her way to the venue. When I get there Keiko is outside with a big bunch of flowers as it is Jonny’s birthday. Izzy is still on her way from London with Caffy, I hang around for a bit and get irritated by the other people. The point of all this waiting about doesn’t seem clear anymore, but I don’t feel like I can do anything else, I’m too strung out. Eventually we get to hear the soundcheck as a reward for standing in the cold and Jonny comes out to collect Keiko’s flowers.

Inside, on the guest list again, I find my brother and his mates. Jonny is DJing from the back of the room, it sounds like the same record my brother and I bought yesterday on a visit to the local charity shops, a Hammond organ easy listening version of Light My Fire.

We get some drinks and find a good spot on the steps, on Jonny’s side of the stage, it feels like a long wait before a band comes on. Caffy and Izzy show up, they’ve had some “vodka training” this afternoon. The wide expanse of Rock City is packed by now. No one quite knows what to make of Sparklehorse, but I think I’m starting to “get” them. Jim and Andy go into the throng ready for Radiohead to come on. I don’t feel like it tonight, I want to try and tape the show, but my pocket recorder has its limitations.

There is a lot of dry ice and then they emerge. Thom has some glasses with yellow lenses on and braces holding his trousers up. “Welcome to Rawk City… heheh” and they hit Street Spirit straight off. Bones and Just see the middle of the room bouncing, they play nearly all The Bends tracks and Creep sounds particularly good. Thom turns the mic on the front row and they sing Happy Birthday to Jonny. “Over the hill at 24…” our boy is in a good mood tonight.

Blow Out is discharged mid-set, Fake Plastic Trees, Lucky, You, and Subterranean Homesick Alien with just Thom and Jonny playing. My brother comes back to where I’m standing and he’s completely soaked. I fear he will black out and I drag him to the bar. I have to beg for some tap water as the barman wants me to pay for a bottle. I point out there is a big dehydrated lad about to pass out across his bar and he gives us a tiny plastic cup.

They end on The Bends and I’d like to hurt the pillock behind me who can’t sing in tune. Keiko comes back from the front with a plastic cup –“Thom’s drink”. I have a taste, vodka and juice, and then one of my brother’s friends takes the empty cup as a trophy!

When they’ve gone we stick our green after show passes on. Deus Suds and Soda plays and I feel like dancing; I’m less battered than usual. I find Caffy and lose everyone else. She says this gig was better than London, which was too big. As I go to the cloakroom to fetch my bag I pass a wild-eyed girl who I’d seen before the show. She starts talking intensely about how much she enjoyed it and fails to notice Thom behind her, he mouths “Hiya!” at me; the girl doesn’t even notice and leaves without turning round.

Caffy goes off to round up some journos, so I go to find Izzy and agree to catch up with her later. We are hanging around waiting to find out where our passes will allow us to go. Thom is fielding a couple of autograph hunters and then a rather weird bloke who doesn’t seem to take the hint that he should leave.

Izzy has a plan. She takes my camera and asks Thom if she can take a picture. I whirl him away from the intense bloke and he sticks his tongue out for the camera. It gives him his cue to escape, Izzy and I go to find Caffy. She takes us down to the dressing room, several corridors away in the basement. We hover about, not sure if we are supposed to go in. It’s not a big room and there are plenty of people in there already, cleaning up the band’s rider. Thom appears again and wonders why we’re hiding in a corner. We’re given drinks and take in the scene, an NME photographer, another guy who must be the writer, a handful of people we don’t know and some crew members.

I have my bag with me and inside is an inflatable birthday cake, that I’d found in my bedroom at home. To cut a long story short, my brother and I had ordered some joke shop stuff from a mail order company about a year before; as my birthday was only a couple of weeks away, my mum had inflated the cake and left it in my room to find when I got home. That morning, realising it was Jonny’s birthday, I’d deflated it and stuffed it in my bag on the off chance of getting the opportunity to give it to him, it seemed to fit in with all the joke shop stuff the Japanese contingent had been passing around earlier in the week.
“Where’s Jonny?” I ask between puffs into the cake.
“Back at the hotel. What is that?” Thom has started paying attention.
“It’s just silly… it’s a cake.”
“You bought that?!”
“No! I found it at home…” this sounds less plausible now I say it out loud.
“Well blow it up and we’ll leave it outside his room…”
It’s difficult to inflate a cake when you’re laughing as much as I was at this point.
Colin comes in, sees the cake and likes the idea, “We can put it in a box and get room service to deliver it.”

Thom passes around some cans of Red Stripe but Izzy has spotted a bottle of Stolly in the ice box and large drinks are made with cranberry juice, “Caffy is my vodka teacher!” she laughs.
“Get drunk!” says Thom, who has been on the red wine.
“You too!” says Izzy. I have one later but I pour it myself as Ed’s measures are half and half. Talk of vodka leads Thom’s train of thought to his brother getting a job in Moscow and the conversation wanders.

“Have Sparklehorse grown on you yet?” he asks me.
“Slowly,” I reply.
“The album’s great. It’s just the one guy doing everything.” He is somewhat in awe.
“It was pretty mad down the front tonight, I’m glad I wasn’t there.”
“I can’t understand how you stand it at the front,” he says.
I ponder for a moment. It’s not easy to explain to him. “Well I need to be able to see… and that makes it worth it.”
He pulls a face but I think he’s starting to get it now.

Later on I’m putting something in my bag and Thom spots the badges on it. I have sets of little people on pins.
“Wow they’re good!” he points.
“They’re ‘Worry People’,” I explain that they were a present, “They make them in South America somewhere, I think it’s about wrapping the thread around the wire to occupy the hands, like some people have beads.”
“Brilliant!”
“You can have one.” I take one of the pins off my bag. Thom protests but it seems like the perfect thing to give him and I have two sets. He pins it onto his jumper. A member of the crew comes by and points, “Ah worry people!”
“How did you know that?!” Thom is surprised he’s the only person who’s not heard of them.
“You have to whisper your problems to them and they take them away.” says the roadie. This is even better than my idea! “You should worry when your worry people have a nervous breakdown.”
“I guess I should put them on my jacket then,” says Thom, “so they’re on a level to tell them my worries”. He puts his jacket on and pins them next to the Get Lucky badge. I sneak a photo as he comes back around the corner.

Thom’s braces are hanging off his shoulders and consequently his trouser hems are dragging on the floor. It draws my attention to his feet and reminds me that Maree had been talking about his shoes. They are big rubber soled orange snow board sneakers. I tell him I like them. “You can get them here now.” He says, though he obviously got them abroad.
“What size are they?” I stick my foot out and we compare feet. They’re a 7 like my DMs. We talk about the Pretenders recent cover version of Creep, he doesn’t mind because they have to pay for the privilege but he’s not heard it yet. I describe it and there is a little flash of pride across his face when I tell him that Chrissie Hynde can’t quite hit the high note.

Izzy and I stand there talking and giggling, Thom wanders off and comes back with a bowl of what looks like cornflakes, “Frosties and vodka!” I don’t believe him!
He tells us he got the yellow jacket in a charity shop in Oxford, he lets us feel how nasty and plastic it is. Which reminds me, “You know that record Jonny was playing earlier on with the version of Light My Fire?” I ask,
“Yes. S’awful!” says Thom.
“Well me and my brother found the same one in Oxfam yesterday… he keeps buying them.”
“You can get too much of a good thing!”
“He’s got this other one and it’s called Everything You Ever Wanted To Hear On The Moog…”
“Everything You Ever Wanted To Hear On The Moon?”
“No Moog, like the keyboard you know?”
“No MOON was better. Hang on.” Thom dives off to get his bag. He comes back with a little hardback note book. He writes in it with a Japanese biro.
“You’ve got to get the brackets (on the moon).”
“Is that the ideas book then?” I ask. I only get a glimpse of the familiar scrawl inside it.
“Well you have to keep it all together don’t you,” he says and puts the book away.

Caffy shows up and it’s time for bed. Izzy and I have to leave with her. She is easy going and lets us sleep in her hotel room, with me taking the generously carpeted floor. We eat the complimentary biscuits and contemplate stealing a set of plastic ducks from the bathroom (but forget to take them with us in the morning.) The vodka helps us sleep. Thom gave the rest of the bottle to Izzy to take with her. Later I find the soggy label in my pocket.

The Cake was later to be immortalised in the NME…

 

We forgot the little ducks in a rush to get a taxi to the station to get a fairly early start, Myoko finds us at Ely when we change trains and it’s a nice journey. When we get there I drop them at the Holiday Inn and set off on foot for the college where K lives. I stop off at the market and buy a bunch of dark orange Chrysanthemums. It’s a sunny day and on my walk through Cambridge with the flowers, I must have been smiling because people smiled back at me.

K is stressed but has the afternoon off, we have lunch and listen to The Cookies (she is having a girl groups phase). I go out at about 4pm to get some more blank tapes and to swing past the venue to see if the sound check has started yet. Myoko is there in the cold but Izzy has gone back to her hotel for a sleep. Just then Thom comes around the corner with huge shades on and a big shoe box in a bag. I ask him if Jonny got his cake. “Yeah”, he laughs, “he’s been walking about with it all morning!”

I skip off back to the college, it’s too cold for hanging about and besides I want to see my friend. We drink strong tea, then later on Guinness and then raid yesterday’s papers for reviews. The guy in the Observer has completely missed the point. K gets dressed to go out and plays me some Shostakovich.

When we get to the Corn Exchange they are overly strict about who can stand where with which tickets. K has one she’s bought but I have to hang back and join a guest list queue and then wear my pass for the whole night. We’re sent upstairs but find that K has to go to the back, up high in a seat and I have to stay in the middle mezzanine level with a limited view through some railings and the ceiling of the tier above making for a weird letter box effect. There is no sign of Keiko and Izzy until the very last minute before Radiohead come on. This is my last gig of this tour and my good mood of earlier on has sunk.

They enter with The Bends and seem on good form. I have a terrible view from here but maybe tonight my recording will work. By leaning forward to see better I’ve lost my seat to a couple of people and end up having to kneel down for the whole gig, which made moving difficult, it doesn’t seem right to be seated for a Radiohead gig.

Lucky comes in the first half of the set and Thom changes the words in Man-O-War. He announces a new song, Bishop’s Robes, about school. “It’s like Killer Cars and will be on the next four B-sides.” Thom sings the entire song sitting on the floor, it’s a slower, reflective number. For once during Blow Out I can see what is going on across the whole stage I forgetting where I am and get into it. Maybe it’s just a different view from here, not as bad as I thought. It pulls straight into Fake Plastic Trees, Thom announces in his best BBC voice that this is being recorded for the World Service. The encore is Thom and Jonny doing Subterranean Homesick Alien and Nice Dream. Then Thom says “Some dickhead in the Observer, not that I read the press ever, but someone left it in the dressing room and I read it, three years after the event, it said,” and here he adopts a snide monotone, “’Radiohead don’t really have any good songs except for Creep… all that misery stuff doesn’t wash.’ And that’s the sum total of his opinion on Radiohead…” Lots of shouting from the audience. “And that’s why I don’t need the press…” and the chords of Street Spirit twinkle through the room.

They end on Stop Whispering, the “fuck you” drowned out by cheers. Then there’s a second encore of You with Ed doing lots of triumphant jumping. The band applaud the crowd and leave the stage laughing. Nice to see they’re making a habit of enjoying themselves.

I wait for K, we go downstairs and I spy Tim, having little to lose as it’s my last night, I ask for another pass from the pile he has in his hand. I stick it onto K, who is spoiling her glamorous rock chick look with a cardigan. I find Caffy and Izzy, who enjoyed the view from the special balcony. It’s all very organised here in contrast to last night and we have to wait for the bouncers to show us through to the aftershow bar.

There’s a box or two of bottled Fosters lager, but only Tim has an opener. I lean over and take Cokes from the bar for Izzy and the others. I take some photos of the Japanese girls. Izzy bought a fake fur coat from the market and she looks like a grey teddy bear. Thom has worked his way down the room, I get pulled into the conversation when a woman asks about the worry people, still pinned on his jacket. Are they from Peru or Chile? “We’re big in Chile apparently” says Thom.
He’s going home to Oxford after this.
“I’m going home tomorrow,” I say, and he gives me a hug, I manage to entangle my bangles on the worry people, but get unhooked before I damage anything.
“It’s OK,” says Thom, “They’ve still got their heads on.”
“Well,” I say as he goes, “send us a postcard or something from somewhere.”
“January!” he says, like it’s the light at the end of the tunnel of touring.

He makes about three attempts to leave, each time getting caught up in another conversation or having to go back for something, the last time he passes I wave and on impulse lift my camera, he waves back looming in to make an out of focus close-up. And with that he’s gone.

I hug Izzy and Keiko. I’m going. I hug Izzy again. They’re going to tomorrow’s show. Colin, always the last to leave, is still holding court with his Cambridge pals in the corner. K and I go out into the street. Duncan the roadie is loading up gear and laughing at a road sign near the exit. “Meeting place for the retired”.
We have soggy chips from one of Cambridge’s upmarket food vans and stagger back to K’s college. We finish the Guinness, I feel gently elated and all is right in the world.

 

Living in a student flat with dodgy electrics, having to share a TV with four other people, not having a VCR on which to record anything… I was always worried about missing something. Without the means to buy my own TV and living in an era before You Tube had even been thought of, trying to catch any clips of Radiohead on TV was a precarious business. It usually involved a volley of phone calls to my brother, still living at the parental home with ready access to a VCR, and pleading with him to bung a tape in and hit record. In this way I eventually got to see whichever three minute segment of Top Of The Pops or the ITV Chart Show happened to feature the band.

When I found out that the band might be on the Smash Hits Poll Winners Party, a distinctly unusual place for them to turn up, I tuned in. My flat mate’s instinct was to turn over when the Singing Squadies performed their hit. The full running order shows how much of the show was given over to the current boy band screams (and sworn enemies of real music) Take That.

Just in time we flick back to the right channel and catch Radiohead in formation on the large Wembley Arena stage, performing My Iron Lung, with the only live vocal of the whole show. Thom pulls exaggerated faces and the others faithfully mime their parts. Jonny however dumps his guitar on the floor, twirls it around by the neck and generally shatters the pretence. At the end of the song, Thom, clearly out of patience with the whole charade, stalks around in a circle. The presenters are clearly shaken and don’t quite understand what they’ve just seen. Without seeing the rest of the show it’s hard to explain how weird the performance looks amid all the boy bands and bad pop jokes. The audience sound scared.

It’s a great Radiohead moment, rescued from the jaws of some ill advised request from EMI to become a dissenting gesture against the dying pop beast. Later I hear from Sekiko (who somehow got into the audience for this show) that they had to come back to London between shows in Belgium and Holland to fit this in, none too pleased. She went to the European shows and later sends me tapes which include new songs “No Surprises Please” and “True Love Waits”. The next phase has begun.

 

The year seems to go by quickly. I’m still doing my part time degree course and still living in a student hovel. Radiohead bubble under in my consciousness. Highlights are the wonderful Street Spirit promo video; writing to Frances, a girl who I met at a gig who is putting together a funny little fanzine called Lewis and swapping compilations of video clips with a chap called Pete. By the midpoint of the year he has amassed about 25 hours of footage from TV around the world plus a few bootlegs. I copy my collection of clips and a tape of Japanese TV that Keiko has sent to me (which involves pulling in all sorts of favours with the University AV department) and swap with him. I trade tapes with Roger, a guy in Canada who has constructed the most comprehensive Radiohead website so far, and catch up on the support slots the band have been playing in the USA. In the summer I get a part time job in an art gallery and move out of the hovel. By July I’m desperate for a gig…

A month of anticipation culminates in a night of broken sleep with my stomach in knots. I take a coach to Manchester and meet Maree at Chorlton Street station. She’s been living in London, hanging out in exalted circles and is even more glam than usual. We take a cab to the venue which is in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by semi-derelict carpet warehouses. We find the only vaguely inhabited pub so we can use the toilet, but we don’t feel welcome enough to stay for a drink.

There’s no where else to go so we head back to the Apollo and hang about at the front. There are some kids outside and we can already hear Radiohead soundchecking. They seem to be playing new stuff, all of The Bends and You but we can’t hear that well from here, are they playing the whole set?

Lisa turns up, she’s now working as a PR. She thought she might be working on behalf of the Fan Club tonight, but it turns out we just have to pick up tickets left at the door in Julie from The Management’s name. Lisa heads inside to find Tim. Frances, who I have been writing to and swapping tapes with, turns up and joins in the general nervous atmosphere.

Phil is outside waiting for some friends, he’s totally shaved his head now and no one except for me recognises him. I ask him how it’s going and he tells me Belgium was good, America was good and asks me how big the festival is going to be this weekend.

We get inside, the Apollo is a big theatre space. We all get to the front but the stage is still very far away. Scott Walker is on the intro tape. The Divine Comedy are the support but only do eight songs. Neil Hannon is showing off an impressive vocal range, a nice suit and a cigarette roadie. Any other time I would have really enjoyed their set, I’ve seen them before but no one else here seems to have heard much of their stuff.

I spot Tim and call to him, he says “Hi” and asks if I want to stay and how many friends have I got with me and gives me sticky passes for later.

The feeling as we wait for Radiohead is familiar but different somehow. Marvin Gaye on the speakers sounds almost too laid back. They come on just after 9pm, almost on time. Thom’s got Action Man camouflage trousers on and a T-shirt bearing the legend “Final Home”.

They open with My Iron Lung and do a lot of jumping around. Thom looks like he’s trying very hard to “rock” during the first new one, Electioneering.
It sounds like they’ve changed the end (compared to the Canadian bootleg I’ve heard). They play Bulletproof and though I’m not even trying to record or take photographs tonight, I feel like I’m actively having to try to pay attention. Something doesn’t feel quite right.

They’ve played all of The Bends apart from Sulk; they play Lucky and most of the new stuff – I Promise, Lift, No Surprises (he’s rearranged the words) and an acoustic encore of a song called Let Down, which sounds like it could end up being fantastic.

Somewhere in all this Thom introduced what he called their “Pink Floyd number.” And then they played a track I’d not heard before, a long rather rambling messy nightmare of a thing. It’s all over the place, I don’t like the gestures he’s making or the lyrics about “Let it rain”. Very worrying.

After the first encore he asks “Any requests?” and after much on-stage debate we get You, the first Pablo Honey track of the night. They ask again and I’m shouting for Subterranean until I’m horse, but I’m drowned out by all the rabid cries for Creep. Thom says “No I’m bored of that song!” but there is a lot of booing. Earlier Maree had said “If they don’t play Creep I’ll love them forever.” But they give in and play it, which makes me quite angry. Thom stands stock still with his arms by his sides, but he still gives it some effort where it matters, he could quite easily have let the audience take over the singing. After that there is nothing else they can do and the show is over.

As everyone moves away from the barrier I feel a bit dizzy, chewing gum being the only sustenance I’ve had all day. I’ve not felt the elusive feeling. Something didn’t kick in tonight.

We wait around in the corner with our passes on. We then get herded down some damp stairs into a brightly lit room, which has been serving as the catering area. It’s nearly 11.30pm now and Maree can’t stay long, she’s booked on the bus back to London. I talk to Caffy, there were some gigs in Oxford before this, which somehow I’d not found out about in time. She’s not working tonight, she just really wanted to see the band. She’s coming up to Scotland for T in the Park, Mansun are playing and they’re her favourites. I have a swallow of a can of Red Stripe that Tim has put in my hand, but there’s not much around to drink and so I give it to Caffy to finish. Tim takes me aside and asks me what I think it would be like, from my perspective on the other side of the barrier, if the next time they tour it was big venues like GMEX, Wembley and the SECC. I tell him I’m biased, but I like to be close enough to be able to see. It’s a scary thought. I introduce Frances to Caffy and they chat about fanzines.

I still feel a bit shaky and I’m finding it hard to hold a proper conversation. Frances has to go, her dad is waiting for her to give her a lift home. He’d had her spare ticket for the show. “Why didn’t he come back to the after show?” asks Caffy. We both laugh at the idea.

Everyone is asking after Val, but I’ve not heard from her in months. Frances leaves and I stay. I’ve booked the coach back to Glasgow in the early hours so I’m in no rush. I drink a can of fizzy orange and feel a bit better.

Thom appears some time after midnight, in a checked shirt that doesn’t go with his camo fatigues. He’s got a Guinness in one hand and a bottle of Bordeaux in the other. He also has plastic cups and pours wine for Caffy and I before we’ve even said hello.
“How are you? How was it?” I ask.
Before I can say it myself he says, “Terrible.”
It didn’t happen, it didn’t click. He knows it too. He doesn’t know what this elusive thing is called either but we both know something was wrong. “I knew since I got up this morning that it wasn’t right.”

We’ve found some seats now and are about to get into the subject, when a guy with a big cigar comes over and completely ignores me as he tells Thom that it’s the first time he’s seen them when he’s not been working. Is he someone important? Where does he get off tipping his ash on me? He’s telling Thom that he likes the Floyd number and he should bring back the beginning part at the end. Thom cuts him off and tells him it sounds like four songs at the moment and he’s not sure why they played it tonight.
I pull a face at the mention of The Floyd. “I don’t want to end up being The Floyd” says Thom.

I’ve downed the wine and stopped shaking. The cigar guy’s gone but Thom seems in a bit of a state. “How big is T In The Park?” he asks me. I tell him that my guess is that it’s probably not as big as Reading Festival, but I’ve never been before.
“We’d better play The Bends stuff then.” He talks about the new songs, about how he doesn’t want to make The Bends again. They could so easily do that now. He knows that some of the songs are great and that they work. They have to touch him too. Lift works, maybe. He ponders, sometimes the songs work for a couple of months and then he goes off them. I tell him it can’t be as bad as that time they were at Rak and he was pacing the floor telling us about it. He doesn’t believe me; this is worse.

I tell him about the tape of the Toronto show I got from Canada, he’s glad I got to hear that gig. He’s worrying about not being big enough to headline T in the Park. Tonight it felt like a big stage and he couldn’t see the audience, it was like singing karaoke. Sometimes festivals are better because you can see the crowd. He’s worried about becoming a product. He’s worried about the new studio and not being able to explain things to people. He’s nervous, it’s all a “bit of a headfuck.” A very Thom phrase. He’s using the word “one” a lot in reference to himself. I’m worried because he’s worried.

I hitch a ride in a cab with some folks who are going back to the Holiday Inn, but I don’t feel like hanging about much more. Caffy gives me her room number in case I miss my bus, but I get to the station in good time. On the coach, I fall asleep awkwardly and wake up in Stockport less than a hour later.

Tonight was weird, I don’t like how it made me feel, like someone was trying to kick my stabilisers away.

Arrive back in Glasgow about 5.30am, having woken up at Hamilton, in time to see the T In the Park site being set up on the outskirts of the city.

I have to hide out in the 24 hour café because I can’t get back into the flat where I’m staying until somebody wakes up. I need some time on my own to wallow.