YourOpinionThatIsOfNoConsequenceAtAll

Radiohead - OK Computer - Amazon.com Music

On September 26, 1995, I formed a very negative view of a band that many of my friends adored.

On that day, I traveled to Noblesville, Indiana with Ray Rizzo to see REM in concert. REM was aggressively mediocre in that performance, but the opener was downright dreadful. It was an English band named Radiohead.

I knew who they were. Their song “Creep” had been on the radio. To me, they sounded like an even mopier and whinier version of Nirvana. They utilized the “soft verse/loud chorus” effect that Nirvana made mad bank with. Their singer, Thom Yorke, sounded like a tortured cat. As the opener their mix was mud. The stage show was better suited for a club. It just didn’t work. (Even allowing the second-tier sound and stage show that openers are forced to endure in deference to the headliners.)

Radiohead was touring behind their second album, “The Bends,” but the only song hitting me from the radio from that platter was “High and Dry,” which was…fine. I focused my listening hours elsewhere.

In 1997, I moved to NYC. It was a distracting year. I still wrote about music for the daily back home, but much less. I was looking for a job writing about music in the Big Apple. I didn’t get a bite—at least not a bite that paid the bills. When my money ran out, I took a job copyediting for a national jewelry trade publication. In other news, Radiohead released an album called “OK Computer.”

I didn’t care. Radiohead was that shitty band I saw open up for REM, the group that had that trendy song “Creep.”

Because of my love of music and my past gig as a music writer, I’ve had friends who are musicians ever since I was in high school. It seemed like every other time I talked to a musician friend, they asked if I’d listened to “OK Computer.” Even Ray, who was with me when Radiohead drained all the excitement out of Deer Creek Music Center in Noblesville that hot September day in ’95, was talking up that record.

No.

No. I was like Bartleby the Scrivener. “I would prefer not to.”

One day, Brad Cates had had enough. Brad was a singer in a band in which several of my friends played. I knew from many conversations with him that he could see inside songs to find good things. I didn’t and don’t have the same taste as him, but I learned to respect his big ears—he heard music better than me, for sure—likely still does. He burned a copy of “OK Computer” and mailed it to me.

I gave in. I listened. If someone feels strongly enough about an album that they would burn a copy and snailmail it 800 miles, it deserves a spin. The first cut, “Airbag,” had a heaviness to it that offered a doorway in. It was moody and atmospheric, like a restrained Led Zeppelin and a tighter Pink Floyd, updated for the times. And then, “Paranoid Android” changed my expectations for ALL rock music, from that first listen until today.

Can I keep this brief? Probably not. The song isn’t brief. Here goes…

“Paranoid Android” starts with some picked acoustic guitar that is punctuated by a descending guitar figure and some percussion. Yorke enters with a narrative that sketches a depressed, angry misfit wanting people to leave him alone. Keyboard textures provide a bed for the eerie and unsettling vocals and guitars. It’s dark and brooding, and there’s a computerized voice somewhat buried in the mix. That robotic voice is meant to evoke Marvin the Paranoid Android, a sad-sack character in Douglas Adams’ book The Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy, a humorous social commentary. Radiohead is playing with us. They invite us to find all the doom and gloom funny.

About two minutes into this 6:23 song, a bass line by Colin Greenwood takes center stage. The song begins to reveal itself as a piece with several sections. Percussion continues to tinkle and drive the tempo, locked in with the elaborate guitar parts. (One critic called the tune “a titanic guitar opera.”) Things get louder, with a screaming Jonny Greenwood electric guitar solo roaring forward, then yielding to an elegiac, wordless, legato vocal chant around the four-minute mark. Yorke enters with lyrics asking rain to fall “from a great height.” Another layer of Yorke vocals sketch out a vegetarian nightmare with “the crackle of pigskin” and what seems like an indictment of God or the beliefs of some people regarding God’s purported wishes and feelings for “his children.” The droning background vocals and Yorke’s list of short phrases then suddenly yield to a full-blown guitar freakout that is equally met by some high-energy drumming from Philip Selway. Guitars take us out, with a frantic shaker edging to the front of the mix…and then abruptly it is over.

Thematically, it’s hard to argue that the song isn’t about alienation and mistrust of technology. The paranoid android that “speaks” during the song seems to mistrust his own existence. The concerns about technology made more sense back in 1997; all our concerns about technology seem now to be buried under absolute and unbreakable bonds of servitude to our electronic devices. It’s too late to mistrust technology now.

I became friends with a graphic designer and rock musician named Chris Bracco while I worked at National Jeweler magazine. I was working my way up the masthead and he was assiduously staying in place as assistant art director—he didn’t want any more from his day job than necessary, because rock was his love. We talked obsessively about “OK Computer.” I can remember several occasions when we were standing on a subway platform or riding a train and dissecting every single note from every movement in every song from the album. I mean, totally geeking out, along the lines of, “yes! And then Jonny comes in with that descending guitar motif!” It was wonderfully excessive.

I listened to “OK Computer” through headphones. I listened to it on an iShuffle (remember those?). I listened to it LOUD on my stereo.

The rest of the album maintains the high quality of “Paranoid Android.” “Exit Music (for a Film), a dirge with incredible weight, accomplishes the nearly impossible: It effectively distills one of Shakespeare’s plays (Romeo and Juliet) into a 4:25 pop song. Radiohead wrote and recorded it for the movie “Romeo + Juliet,” and the filmmakers didn’t use it in the film. (That makes me wonder about the sanity of Hollywood, or at least the director Baz Lurhmann.) The song is as intimate as a lover’s breath, then a big blob of guitar and keyboard weight suffocates the song’s characters in dread. The song ends with sounds that make me think of a flock of starlings singing and flying backwards.

“Let Down” is the best sad-day song I know. When I want to sit in a fetal position in a depression among brambles and vines on a rainy day in the woods, in a deer’s napping spot, contemplating the raindrops running down my forehead, this is the soundtrack for it. “Karma Police” was a hit, and it perfectly expresses the anger of someone who wishes the world would just wake up and be the way the narrator thinks it should be. And at the end, Yorke casts all of the sentiment in doubt as he repeats “Whew, for a minute there/I lost myself.” “Climbing Up the Walls” foreshadows some of the thick, almost monochromatic texture of subsequent Radiohead songs on further albums, with Yorke’s vocals modified almost to the point of utter illegibility. “Electioneering” begins with a tambourine (or sleigh bells?) that reveals itself to be more like the warning of a rattlesnake than a sassy shake of a percussion instrument, then an unholy racket of guitars, bass, and drums subsequently surges behind Yorke’s lyrics about corrupt politicians.

Exclusive: Thom Yorke and Radiohead on 'OK Computer' - Rolling Stone

But “OK Computer” is more than all of this. Ignore the lyrics, look past the mood, and hear the music.

Jonny Greenwood’s lead guitar work makes it all perpetually interesting. He is the kind of guitarist who seeks out the widest possible variety of sounds from his instrument. The riff that obliterates the choral section in “Paranoid Android” reportedly had been hanging out in the back of Greenwood’s brain for a while before the perfect application for it came along. He is a guitar nut, with an ear for sweeping sounds and surprising elements. He spikes the punch. (Consider that the amorphous, staccato grunts from his Telecaster at the beginning of the chorus on “Creep” was an intentional disruptor. He reportedly thought the song lacked energy and was too pretty.) As much as Yorke seems to epitomize Radiohead, Jonny Greenwood is likely the architect of the band’s music. His guitar chimes prettily, moves quickly, growls menacingly, and provides mammoth riffs worthy of a rock ‘n’ roll band. That’s him on keys, too.

Is it the message or the music? Something I witnessed in a now-defunct Irish bar in Astoria, Queens suggests the latter. “Paranoid Android” was on the jukebox at Gibney’s, and I heard it there every time I visited (which was often). One night, I was passing away the hours and the brain cells with a friend at a table and the song came on. After the choral passage arrived in “Paranoid Android” and gave way to some guitar squall, Selway’s drum fill/short solo burst through the speakers, and one of two beefy Queens guys at a table in front of me played air drums ABSOLUTELY PERFECTLY in sync with the record. When the drum part was over, he acted like he had never flailed about with invisible sticks at all. z

Recent Paintings

Recent Paintings

I was fortunate enough to spend another week with the Nanatuck Group, a loose group of painters gathered by Mary Erickson that live for a week at a time in a rented house on the St. George peninsula on Maine’s mid-coast. Here are some of my pieces. (I also interviewed two artists for feature articles and finished up my book on art in the Wind River Mountains during my week there.)

Paint Inwood, a New Event

There’s no place like home, is there?

A friend of mine here in Inwood, Elissa Gore, put together a plein air event in the neighborhood. It was low stakes–no prizes, no rules, and just enough structure to give it shape. About a dozen plein air artists found their way to what we call Upstate Manhattan and painted last weekend at the inaugural Paint Inwood event.

The first day, Friday, I met up with Elissa and about four others on the peninsula in Inwood Hill Park for an afternoon painting. I aimed for an abstract depiction of the Henry Hudson Bridge, but the painting decided it wanted to go elsewhere. But at least that little spit of land that was catching the sun so nicely stayed the focal point!

“Lit Spit of Land” 2019, acrylic, 9×12

That evening, the painters gathered around an outdoor piano at the corner of Seaman Ave and Isham to tackle a nocturne. I forgot the nifty hat that illuminates one’s palette and working surface, so I had to set up under a street lamp with a decidedly warm cast to its light. Between that color temperature effect and the feeble moon, I couldn’t see well. OK, I could barely see anything. I decided it was an experiment in exploring how well I know my palette. Like a good boy, I always place my colors in the same order so I can think less about where a color is and more on what color I need and how to mix it. Nevertheless, for the majority of the painting session, I could not be sure what color was showing up on my painting. Ironically, although we all know cameras lie, the camera on my phone was giving me good guidance, seeing colors in my piece that my human eye at that light level could not. It was a struggle, and it was fun, and a skunk hung out right beside me for a while, eating slugs or ticks or whatever was on the menu that evening, and the fact that I didn’t get sprayed I took as a sign that my painting wasn’t offensively bad to skunks. And it turns out that this dicey nocturne was the piece most people looking at my work liked the best!

“Baseball Nocturne” 2019, acrylic, 16×20

I had been looking forward to Saturday and the chance to paint with a couple of friends. Sarah Baptist and Robin Kappy joined me at the southern end of Inwood Hill Park for the chance to fill a couple of canvases. Robin and I only finished one, from a vantage point on the pedestrian bridge over the Amtrak tracks at the entrance to Dyckman Fields. Sarah, who is a bit of a painting machine, nailed an urban scene under the overpasses by La Marina, then she did an intriguing scene at the foot of the Henry Hudson Bridge. It was hot and I got tired, and a break on some park benches with Robin, overlooking the salt marsh and all the busy birds finding food in the water and sky above the marsh, was delightful.

“Amtrak Clouds” 2019, acrylic, 24×12

Sarah and I got started earlier on Sunday. We walked down Broadway and had a substantial Tres Golpes (con magú) breakfast at Albert’s House of Mofongo, and we were seated right in the windows for some of the best people watching in Manhattan. The A train was disengorging folks carrying tents, tables, food, and summer accoutrement of all stripes, heading toward one of the parks. There were people dressed to the nines on their way to church. Clubgoers were stumbling out into the blinding sunlight. Food carts were finally packing it in after a fruitful night. Sarah and I were planning.

I chose to paint the grocery store Fine Fare, which helpfully features enormous sculptures of two cows and a chicken on its roof. Truth in marketing! Sarah painted the Inwood Library, a much-used and beloved Inwood institution that is losing its home amid local politics (<cough> corruption).

“What We Sell” 2019, acrylic 12×24

The event ended with a display of everyone’s paintings at the RING Garden, located at Broadway and Dyckman. Ω

To purchase any painting, please contact me at babahr@gmail.com.

Sitting in the RING Garden with my weekend’s work
Sucked in by a Good Story

Sucked in by a Good Story

We’ve all met people who are amazingly kind and generous. You feel good around them. You want to celebrate them. Well, in the process of researching my forthcoming book on the history of visual art in the Wind River Mountains (Taking Root in Rocky Soil), I came to know Mary and Joe Back. It started something.

Sadly, I did not meet them personally. This was mostly through their archives, which are stored in an upstairs room in Headwaters Arts & Conference Center, in Dubois, Wyoming. Joe died in 1986; Mary died in 1991. I came to them through their life story, not their personalities. And let me tell you, their lives bordered on the epic.

charcoal sketch by Mary Back for a now destroyed mural depicting Wind River Mountain history

Joe grew up in Missouri but ran away from home after 8th Grade when a mischievous drawing of his teacher earned him expulsion from school and additional wrath from his stepfather. He found work as a chore boy on a ranch outside of Douglas, Wyoming. Meanwhile, Mary was growing up in Vermont under better circumstances. She attended Berea College in Kentucky, then earned a slot at the Art Institute of Chicago. Back in Wyoming, Joe was working on a dude ranch near Togwotee Pass, and sketching in idle moments. A visitor with connections got him into the Art Institute of Chicago, and he bumped into Mary while she was sketching a grizzly bear in the Field Museum of Natural History. That was it for them. She named her pet crow after him, they got engaged, and sooner rather than later, they made their way out to Wyoming.

The Backs ran the Lava Creek Ranch before World War II pulled them to the West Coast for a bit of war-effort work in factories. Once back in Wyoming after VJ Day, they continued with the ranch until age and declining health suggested a calmer lifestyle. They sold the ranch and bought some land east of Dubois right on Highway 26, and built a roadside gallery and a house and studio a little ways off he road. That’s when Mary ramped up her efforts in art … and perhaps more importantly, art education.

typical view of the Wind River near the Lava Creek Ranch

Mary traveled across the better part of Wyoming teaching art on the Wind River Reservation and in other locales. Her efforts earned her awards and honors from the governor and a host of other admirers. In Dubois, the Backs were much loved, and a visit to the Back home meant long, lively conversations and an inevitable sketch or two. Mary was the Johnny Appleseed of painting and drawing in the Winds, and Joe was the real deal: A bona fide cowboy artist, with tales to tell.

How could I resist writing a book on them?

Actually, I will mostly be editing their writings and retelling their story, which is covered quite well by Mary’s niece, Ruth Mary Lamb, in her book, Mary’s Way. My book will be a companion piece, with unpublished short stories by Mary and Joe, interviews with friends and family, quotes from old letters, and other tidbits I have uncovered. It will be my second book with a focus on Wyoming, but it feels more like a second book focusing on the indomitable art spirit.

I spent 11 days in Wyoming in April gathering material for the as-yet-untitled book, and now I am truly on fire to start. While there, I didn’t get much painting done, but that was almost to be expected. It snows in April in Wyoming, and the wind is ever blowing. I’m no plein air hero.

But I am a big fan of Mary and Joe Back. And I feel like I might be able to do them justice with a book. So off I go… Ω

Paintings From April ’19 Trip to Wyoming

It was a dark and stormy night.

Actually, it was trip filled with stormy nights, plenty of wind, rain, snow, and plenty of wind. Plus, it was windy.

Although I spent 11 days in Wyoming, I only came home with three paintings. I was there to do research, so the challenging weather was actually sort of a good thing in terms of keeping me on task.

Anyway, here they be. As usual, I focused on painting on unstretched canvas that I taped to a board.

Homage to Philip (Again), 2019, acrylic, 8×10

Torrey Creek in April, 2019, acrylic, 8×10

Lek-like, 2019, acrylic, 6×15

I painted this painting below when I got home based on a photo and experience I had one morning while eating breakfast. I’m not done yet–I’m not satisfied with one of the tree trunks, I want more yellow/orange/brown in parts of the grass, and there needs to be some very light grey texture in the background to signify the bare branches of the cottonwoods. I may lighten the doe as well.

Walk Me Out in the Morning, Doe, 2019, acrylic, 12×12 (in progress)

I have more photos from the trip that will inspire additional paintings. Ω