I sat on the train this morning, at St Pancras International, waiting to start my journey to the most international destination of all (Bedford).
I had my suit-carrier, my overnight suitcase, a fresh container of Body Shop shower gel (Satsuma scented), my phone and, in my pocket, my iPod.
Wait.
In my pocket?
I retrieved it, uncoiled the earphones, plugged them in and switched it on.
Shuffle.
The first track was Radio Monde by DJ Zebra
This is a deliciously-building underground mashup of French mod-jazz artiste ‘Telephone’ and Radiohead’s ‘Jigsaw Falling Into Place’.
Jesus.
I turned the volume up to 11, pushed back in to my seat, closed my eyes and enjoyed the subtle Franco-British blend of genres.
Radio Monde finished and I felt lost.
Bewildered, that my mind-and-soul-and-body-hugging comfort blanket had been torn from me.
I fumbled the controls from Shuffle over to the entire Radiohead collection and pressed play.
‘No Surprises’.
In my dark world of near-sensory deprivation I almost cried at Thom’s deliciously simple introductory E-G/B-G string-picking.
The track reached its conclusion and segued in to ‘Nude’.
I sat, not moving, as the music washed over me.
It seemed that I dared not breathe.
‘Creep’.
The two-track musical event of emotionally-charged lyrics and pile-driving guitar pickup held me spellbound.
‘True Love Waits’.
*time passes*
I actually wept.
The track ended and I hit replay.
And fought back the tears.
The story is about being in a perfect relationship at the wrong moment.
But for me the lyrics have a deeper, more personal meaning. A direct link to a terrible event from my past.
An event that just three people know about.
But away from this intensely personal link to a world-shattering, life-changing event, the track has enough power to stun most people.
It’s not just that this track was recorded in a live session.
It’s not that Thom’s guitarwork is so delicate, yet supportively, consistently brilliant.
It’s not that the simple vocal is almost haunting.
It’s not that the lyric is a direct line to the heart and soul of the writer.
It’s the hopeful/hopelessness of a man who knows his perfect relationship is doomed.
Just don’t leave
Don’t leave
Just don’t leave
Don’t leave
Fuck you Radiohead, messing up my commute to work.
Fuck you.
Fuck you for being excellent.
But fuck you.