Music Review: Radiohead - The Bends (Collector's Edition 2 CDs)

After the self-loathing of 1993’s Pablo Honey, Oxford lads Radiohead moved beyond post-grunge and into coated, quasi-anthemic rock with 1995’s The Bends. The record has softer edges and features many elegant melodies, most of which are still disturbingly offset by Radiohead’s refusal to play by the rules. Notes bow and sparkle, reflecting both the band’s growth and apprehension.

After the release of Pablo Honey, the band hit its first American tour. It was a miserable experience and the band felt trapped by the success of “Creep.” Seemingly destined for one-hit-wonder territory, Thom Yorke and Co. nearly shattered to pieces during the second year of the tour.

The pressure of growth can be nerve-racking. Yorke never wanted to help sell to the MTV generation, yet here was his band at the tip of it all with this fucking popularity for this fucking song.

Something had to give.

The Bends is fundamentally a manifestation of the strain the band was under and the development of what was lurking deep within. Ironically, The Bends is the quintet’s most radio-friendly record. Brimming with melodic pop-rock tunes like “High and Dry,” “Just,” and “Fake Plastic Trees,” the album is often cited as a bridge to the art rock the band is now famous for.

One could consider The Bends to be a sort of tightening of the loose screws left sketchily in place after Pablo Honey. And now that it’s been reissued as a gorgeous Collector’s Edition — complete with B-sides and other goodies — there’s no time like the present to take another look.

Consider the opening tune, the swirling crack of “Planet Telex.” Jonny Greenwood’s guitar rattles, almost uncertain, before punching towards the confident chord progressions that lead to the chorus. Phil Selway works through one hell of a drum mold, drilling away with Colin Greenwood’s bass. The song has a hospitable quality, as if to say, “Hello, then, let’s get on with it.”

Naturally, the singles stand out. There’s “High and Dry,” regarded widely as one of the band’s most accessible pop hits and one of Yorke’s least favorite tunes, and there’s the exquisite “Fake Plastic Trees” with its beautiful lyrics and composition. To this day it’s hard for me to hear Yorke sing “She lives with a broken man, a cracked polystyrene man, who just crumbles and burns” without feeling that swell of feeling.

Article Author: Jordan Richardson

Jordan Richardson is a Canadian freelance writer and ne'er-do-well. He writes stuff here and here.

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