review: THE KING OF LIMBS

Nature is strange. It seems, on the surface, to be a mass of isolated living organisms connected only by the desire to continue their existence, and that of their species. However, for this to occur, they have no choice but to rely on each other for sustenance, air and anything else the need to survive. They don’t care about the species around them; they simply use them for their own individualistic purposes. Somehow, in this cacophony of individualism, there is a harmony of an ecosystem that works together but will only continue to exist if every component does so – for, if any one part is removed, it will cease to function and lose all harmony.

It is no surprise that given The King of Limbs’ tree ridden artwork and the fact that the album itself was named after a tree (which can be found in the Savernake forest in Wiltshire, England) that nature might be present in the music. The album seems almost to have a delicately constructed ecosystem of its own, taking a myriad of vastly different and, seemingly, unconnected musical elements and effortlessly blending them together into eight, perfectly constructed tracks.

The concept of the ecosystem seems particularly present in the opening track: ‘Bloom’. It begins with a build-up of loops – a series of barely rhythmic keyboard notes, a skittering electronic beat, an incessant snare rhythm that doesn’t even seem to share a time signature with the rest of the piece which, at first, seems more at home as a soundscape than a song. However, ‘Bloom’ manages to be both and what holds it together is Thom Yorke’s voice - the crucial element of the ecosystem that keeps the song as one, tying together its densely meshed textures.

The density and complexity of the song are what, no doubt, have caused it to be endlessly reshaped; within its labyrinthine workings, there are a raft of ideas to be played with. It was the most remixed track on TKOLRMX1234567 (the official remix album for The King of Limbs) with artists such as Harmonic 313 and Jamie xx building new takes on the original (the latter of the two was entirely composed of Thom Yorke’s ooing between the verses spliced with Gamelan-esque percussion and a ton of reverb, create something that barely resembles the original but is equally atmospheric and effective).

Radiohead themselves have also reworked ‘Bloom’ many times; the soundtrack to the first version their experimental app: Polyfauna was entirely made up of stems from the track and Yorke has used treatments of it in his DJ mixes. Perhaps the most notable transformation of the track is the live version (as heard on The King of Limbs: Live From the Basement) which is essentially a rationalisation of the song’s loops into a faster, more driven arrangement that increases both the tension and the euphoria of the piece. On the other end of the spectrum is the solo version Yorke performed at the ‘Pathway to Paris’ gig at COP21 using only the opening keyboard loop and a set of minimal, folky chords that cast the song in a more contemplative light, taking it from a teeming opener to what wouldn’t be out of place as a bare, cerebral closing track.

However, despite the many reworkings, what constantly endears me to the original is the sheer weirdness of it; some of the loops barely fit together yet, as the song goes on, serenaded by some icy notes on the flugelhorn, the whole thing just seems to work, skilfully weaving electronics with processed guitars and orchestral recordings as well as a satisfyingly throbbing bass-line into a seamless environment of sound. Nevertheless, when all the layers are stripped away, there is a lingering sense of unease – the lone, two-note motif behind the rest of the track seems to give a sense that, between the trees and the birds and the perfection of the ecosystem, there is something else lurking, waiting to pounce.

It is this aura of build-up that pervades the first half of the album; it is there in the percussive guitars of ‘Morning Mr Magpie’ and the slowly ascending chords of the psychedelic ‘Little by Little’, coming to a head in ‘Feral’, a structureless mesh of chopped up vocals and aggressive percussion which, as it does on the rest of the album, feels almost alive, again resembling the humming forest ecosystem that seemed evident in ‘Bloom’, though this time it is much darker and less harmonious, the strange, insubstantial samples and the menacing bassline give it a sense that somehow nature is fighting back and by now there is no way out. We are lost in the heart of the woods and it is in this strange trance-like state that we experience the second half of the album.

If ‘Feral’ shows the sonic forest at its most dense then ‘Lotus Flower’ could be seen as a clearing, channelling the album’s pent-up energy into a slow release. The backing for the song is melodically sparse, placing the vocals centre-stage – a tactic that works; the thin textures emphasise the song itself (showing the true versatility and uniqueness of Thom Yorke’s voice) and when we do finally get a basic countermelody at the end of the chorus, it has all the more impact, making the song feel truly transcendent.

What follows is ‘Codex’ - a song that also places the vocals centre stage, over a carpet of lush piano chords accompanied only by a subtle kick, a stark contrast with the rhythmic density of the album’s first half. The track seems to exude the sensation of calm, like jumping into a “clear lake” on a warm day with only “dragonflies” looking on, fading into birdsong through which the next song ‘Give Up the Ghost’ appears. Both tracks make use of brass instruments (in Codex, the flugelhorn returns­), repeating and harmonising with the vocal melodies, adding an extra note of unexpected beauty to the two songs (the low horn on ‘Give Up the Ghost’ seems especially unusual but the sound it creates is amazing - Radiohead certainly have a knack for finding brilliant but little-known instruments to enhance their songs, without their ingenuity, far fewer people would know of the existence of the Ondes Martenot), as well as strings (which add a note of apprehension to ‘Codex’, before the final return of the extremely satisfying chord sequence); a sample of what appears to be a violin serenades the end of ‘Give Up the Ghost’ until it is left isolated, only to be replaced by the sound of a ticker tape (which, probably not coincidentally, is also the name of the company Radiohead created to release the album).

This long fade-out could be seen to signify the album’s end and, had the album ended at ‘Give Up the Ghost’ it would still have been a great album. For me, though, the closing track ‘Separator’ is what adds the icing to the cake, completing the album’s arc and bringing back a sense of drive. It begins with simple beat and baseline before a pleasantly meandering guitar line enters, cascading under the vocals (which seem to have been subtly processed, making them even more ethereal). Eventually, the track becomes filled with layers of chromatic ambience, with Yorke singing “Wake me up/ Wake me up” - an appropriate closing line for an album that feels as a whole, so much like a dream.