
Radiohead toured behind The Bends for a year and a half. After a hit like ‘Creep,’ bands don’t normally survive. “We went from being a novelty band to being the band that everyone quoted in the NME and Melody Maker ‘Musicians wanted’ columns. “I was surprised to see what the music meant to people,” Yorke says. It wasn’t a miracle that rock critics started loving Radiohead-it was a miracle that 14-year-old-girls didn’t stop. So in 1995, they made a much better, much weirder second album ( The Bends) and a bunch of very cool videos that evoked nothing so much as the finest Pink Floyd album covers. They weren’t even sure they liked “Creep,” or the 1992 album it came from, Pablo Honey-especially after the song became a slack-rock anthem, the kind of timely hit that a band can come to regret, like a tattoo of your last girlfriend’s name. The group-Yorke, bassist Colin Greenwood, guitarists Jonny Greenwood and Ed O’Brien, and drummer Phil Selway-began their career with a smash-hit song about being worthless. But even as such, they’ve been pretty lucky bastards. Radiohead may be the most uptight paranoid art-rock band presently operating on the planet. And as he started to feel faint, he thought, “This is my life…”
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He even got inside one with a remote control driver to shoot the video for Radiohead’s latest single, “Karma Police.” And as he sat in the backseat, lip synching, something went wrong, and carbon monoxide fumes began pouring into the car. Of course, because of his job, Yorke has to ride around in cars all the time. “I just think that people get up too early to leave houses where they don’t want to live, to drive to jobs where they don’t want to be, in one of the most dangerous forms of transport on earth. Just yesterday, someone asked him why he has written so many songs about car crashes. We’re on the train because Yorke hates to fly, and he’s positively terrified of cars. Life has been like this for Yorke: His problems have become his strengths, his obsessions have fed his repulsions, and his fears have inspired his music. That may be why he’s so worried that people occasionally mistake him for an arrogant prick.

When he was a kid, they used to tease him about it. His lazy eye flutters and droops, a handicap as well as the punctuation point of his fractured charm. He laughs a sudden, explosive, truncated laugh. “Er, increasingly so, actually.”Ī couple of days on the road have taught me that even when Thom Yorke isn’t suffering from one of his various phobias, he’s still more than a touch intense. When we go under, I ask Yorke if he’s claustrophobic. This is significant for a man who once wrote an album called The Bends. He doesn’t see the sheep and the farms-he is keenly aware that those things out there will disappear very soon, and then we will enter a tunnel and be deep, deep underneath the sea. We’re on the Eurostar train from Paris to London, and Radiohead’s singer is compulsively looking out the window at a pastoral French landscape.
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The pupils of Thom Yorke’s eyes zip from side to side like nervous insects.
