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elly

karma police

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Blog Entries posted by elly

  1. JANUARY - IN CASE YOU MISSED IT

    News · elly · 02/03/2026 12:16 PM

    Dead Air Space returns from the void
    Originally launched in 2005, Dead Air Space has long been a rare, band-controlled channel of communication with fans. After a long absence, it has returned with short photo roundups from each tour stop. Visit radiohead.com/deadairspace for Alex Lake’s photography, including behind-the-scenes moments and some extremely endearing pre-show band hugs. It is genuinely lovely to see the band broadcasting again.

    Industry article by TPI Magazine
    On January 13th, the band linked to an extensive technical write-up of the tour, including a full acknowledgement of the crew. After spending much of 2025 hunting for even the smallest scraps of information, we were suddenly given everything, down to the catering. Radiohead rarely open the curtain this far, and seeing every detail laid out is striking. The article also explains the decision to tour in the round, with a clear aim of fostering connection in large arenas. Tour Manager Ade Bullock summed it up simply: “I’ve never seen them happier. The shows are amazing. There are no bad seats. They walk to and from the stage and it adds to the build-up of the show. There is something about this band that makes everyone go the extra mile, as they treat us all well and we’re all fans.”

    Youtube: Inside Radiohead’s Arena Production: Sound, Light & Kinetics 
    Mothergrid, a German publication has released an in-depth video speaking with those responsible for the tour’s sound, in-the-round stage, moving screens, and rigging. It is a deeply technical look at the entire production and well worth watching if you want to understand how it all comes together - it’s a lot! Production Manager John F Lafferty notes that planning began in late 2024 and early 2025, which would have been shortly after Thom’s solo tour wrapped.

    A Travelling Fanbook
    Travelling with fans throughout the tour was a Radiohead Moleskine and a set of In Rainbows coloured pens. Fans at shows added their name and where they were from, with at least 900 people signing it across Europe. This included one very confused British musician who, upon being handed the book on the third night in Madrid, responded with a distinctly on-brand, “Oh Jesus.” The mysterious country of “Um” remains unexplained. Perhaps it is Yorke’s home planet. His tolerance of this strange fan project was appreciated. Later in the tour, people were not told he had signed it until after they added their own names. Their expressions were priceless. It lives on as a memento of the amazing time we all had together at these shows. 


    Flea & Thom Hit ‘Traffic Lights’
    Released 14 January 2026, Flea’s second single from Honora features Thom guesting vocals over Flea’s bass and trumpet to a loose, percussive groove. It’s accompanied by a stop-motion sketch animation of the pair jazzing their way through a chaotic daily commute. Flea said of the track, “Something about it reminded me of Atoms for Peace, so I sent it to Thom. Just knowing him, I thought it would be a rhythm and a sensibility that he would relate to. And I was right, he did. With a gorgeous melody and the words, you know, about living in the ‘upside down’ and how do you make sense of things when we’re getting all this fake shit and real shit? Everyone has their ways of dealing with the world. But he’s just the warmest, free-flowing, jamming motherfucker.”

    A Bad Seed Grows a Greenwood
    Nick Cave brought his tour back home to Australia, with Colin once again filling in on bass and retaining the enthusiasm he showed on stage for Radiohead. Last year, when Nick was asked through his website, “How do you feel about loaning Colin Greenwood to Radiohead for their gigs?”, he replied, “Proud.”
    Jonny’s Awards Season Continues
    Jonny’s film score for One Battle After Another was recognised across the industry with nominations at the Golden Globes, BAFTAs, and Oscars. This marks his third Oscar nomination.
    EOB Becomes Ed O’Brien
    Ed appears to have quietly rearranged his presence on streaming platforms, with the ‘EOB’ moniker apparently retired. His 2020 album Earth can now be found under his full name. We eagerly await whatever this activity signifies.


  2. It's the morning after my first show. I wake up and consider that I've just seen one of the best performances of my life.
    I decide this needs some serious, overwrought reflection, and head out into a windy Auckland in an almost-warm-enough Radiohead hoodie. As I pass through the streets, I spot plenty of Thom Yorke shirts out in the wild. This feels good. Right now, in this liminal tour-space, I'm surrounded by people on the same page as me; the ones who want to get lost in these songs, to take every bit of emotional honesty Thom puts out on stage and drink it in.
    There is a lot to process, and for this I will need coffee. I make way into Auckland's interesting bit, and park myself at a trendy cafe.
    I think back to last night.
    We are seated to jazz, an intimate, friendly hall of Yorke aficionados. I have a Zine on my lap, and flip through it like I'm at the theatre. The vibe in the room is unlike other shows I've been to. It's not Radiohead, or anything else really. There's a hushed closeness to the way people shuffle into their rows of chairs, to how they filter in and see the array of equipment on stage, an obtuse laboratory of sound.
    The show begins with a slow build of synths. Thom walks out without ceremony, as if this is everyday. Maybe it is for him. The crowd cheers as he sits at the piano; he starts to play.
    Please excuse me but I've got to ask, are his first words that night, and the audience is endlessly accommodating, sitting in rapt awe. Someone loses their shit, and there's a brief woo of uncontained excitement, quickly muffled. It seems everyone here knows the value of what they are witnessing.
    Thom moves through the set, and I quickly realise it's completely different to what was played the other night in Christchurch. The thrill that anything could happen sets in.
    A few notes on the guitar and oh, I know this song. He's playing Let Down. Is that right? Is he really playing a solo acoustic version of Let Down? By the time I've processed that yes he is, he's messed up the lyrics and 'ah that's the wrong fucking verse', to a round of fond laughter.
    We forgive him his mistakes, as they're endearing and very humanising. The space in the hall feels smaller and closer than before.
    His voice is gorgeous, vulnerable and penetrating. It seems so effortless for him to do this. He flows from song to song, while moving between his machines like a diligent lab technician.
    There are moments during the guitar songs that are haunted by Jonny and the others. Perhaps as I've seen the band live, it's there in my mind. I can hear them playing their parts -- and yet Thom feels whole in his presence on stage. This isn't Radiohead, it's something else. The energy tonight is all Thom, and apparently there's an abundance of it.
    You know where you are, rises up through the room, and the crowd murmurs in response, feeling it.
    He's only on the second song and I already feel like this is one of the best shows I've seen.
    The visuals are an art installation in themselves, and I could easily spend the whole show gazing at those dancing lights. For Last I Heard the wall behind Thom is awash with blue shapes, coalescing and cascading, almost forming into something but not quite. It's easy to get lost in the sound and the music, until Thom shifts gears at one of his machines and pulls us all into a new direction, and once again I'm startled to look back down at the stage and see his small silhouetted figure bending over sequencers, pushing buttons and twiddling knobs. He's right there making this with us. Right there. I try to keep an eye on him, but he's deft, and has launched into Packt before I'm ready for it.
    The drum machine hammers out that iconic beat, and the speakers rumble low. Thom grabs the mic and takes us all back to 2001. After years of waiting... well, after years of waiting, Thom Yorke came to our part of the world. There's no understating how much it means to everyone in this room to sit and watch these iconic songs. Most of us either never have the chance, or go to stupid lengths (me) to see whatever we can. This is an honour, and the crowd is fully aware.
    Thinking about home, when I had left there'd apparently been a visit by the King to the Sydney Opera House, and the masses had gathered for a glimpse. It'll have nothing on Thom Yorke next weekend, I think.
    And then out comes an acoustic guitar. Fake Plastic Trees is met with some intense joy. The cries from the audience are fond, like ‘you're amazing Thom’ and funnier, affectionate calls of, ‘get it Thom.’ There's a note of pride in these, of knowing what he's capable of and being in on it. Apart from that though, the entire hall is dead quiet, holding their breath. When the song finishes, the applause breaks out like a wave.
    He goes straight into Truth Ray, and oh, this is a big one for me. Another false start here, and he's got to wrangle his synths into obedience. Yet again of course, he gets a round of applause for it. He can take us wherever he wants.
    I watch the way he moves as he sings, strangely taut. There's so much emotion in this performance, in how his hands raise up to frame the words. Oh my God, oh my God, he sings, and we can see he's somewhere far away, translating this for us. Echoes on his vocals reverberate through the hall. I smile at myself, he's produced a tear with this one. Damn.
    Make it stop, make it stop, he starts to sing at the end, and I'm swept up in feeling more than I bargained for.
    He whispers to himself between songs, darting between machines, checking on his samples. I have no idea what he's doing or how he's doing it, but it's fascinating.
    He's at the piano now, tinkling. Little cascades. Rippling over each other. Is it Bloom? No, not quite. And then he plays the opening chords of Unmade, and I make one of those embarrassing gasps of recognition. This is a favourite of mine, among favourites.
    He sings, and the slow drawn out syllables of the word Unmade slip below my guard into somewhere I'd forgotten. He murmurs, come under my wings, and I feel tucked inside of this song, perfectly safe. I want to live here.
    Between songs when my brain frees up enough of its allocation of attendant awe, I'm fervently glad I'm going to more of these. I couldn't stand this to be the last.
    "Alright?" He says, incongruously casual, and moves into The Present Tense. This is also a big deal for me. I've seen him live many times with Radiohead and Atoms For Peace, and over the years I've always missed this song. One time I was pressed up at a wall in Munich hearing it during soundcheck, but I've never heard him play it live like this.
    A soft clicking track gives it movement, as he plucks lightly through the guitar part. This reminds me more of that iconic Latitude version, further developed. It's pointless to describe how beautiful this is. You know. I will say there's such an intimacy in this room, full of all of us hearing how simple this arrangement is, just the beat, an electric guitar, and his voice tying it all together; yet there's an entire landscape of feeling here. I can't help but let it pull me along, caught in it.
    And now, enough of that, it's time for a big electronic banger to wake us the fuck up. Not the News has me jerking my head around like those people on the train in the ANIMA video. This is somehow sharp and pointed, but softened by his voice. For this one, we really should have been standing.
    Not done with that sort of thing, he queues up the heavy opening rumble of Hearing Damage, to quite a few screams of unbridled delight. Oh, they like this one. You can do no wrong in my eyes, which seems to be exactly what the crowd is thinking as the end of it melts away into electronic symphony.
    The screens go blue, and the lights dance and Kid A starts. A few bars in, Thom adjusts a knob, and cuts back on the resonance, or whatever the right term is, the notes bouncing along cheekily for a bit, before he returns to business as usual. Some more of that deep rumble slides into the end of the song, and I'm having that moment, realising I'm experiencing Kid A, solo live. He hasn't done this before has he? Come on kids! Oh how badly I want to get up and dance to this.
    Next up, the screens bleed red and Volk is happening. This track is a lot. Making great use of the huge speakers, Thom takes us through this one, into uncharted territory. The crowd is weirdly on board with it, and they should be - the immense, jagged synths cut through everything, the end in particular building up into a heavy electronic swell, ominous, huge and dangerous. Holy shit.
    And then Videotape. The piano has a soft, warm tone, and Thom sings it close to the album, with a muted thump punctuating the beat. The crowd recognises Reckoner, and it's yet another pristine display of falsetto, with just an electric guitar behind it. That's all there is to the song, and yet it has immense presence.
    We're then thrust into the full on wall of sound that signals the new Mark Pritchard collab, but Thom has to restart after a few seconds.
    "You didn't notice that right? Ladies and gentlemen there is no computer on the stage."
    And then, "Some of these bitches don't cooperate."
    That's met with laughter, and we carry on.
    This new song is my favourite bit of the set. It's a banger for sure, and when this releases I'll be playing the hell out of it. Back in the Game is stomping, dark, full of dangerous intensity. Thom is back in Skip Divided mode, and I'm all for it, though -- it's not really like anything he's done before. Of course.
    The Clock is blistering, fast, chaotic. Thom uses an electric guitar here, to a clicking drum track. This takes me back to the Atoms For Peace shows, and I miss those with a sudden, sharp pang. Solo Thom is great, but so is the onstage interplay between world class musicians.
    I'm not expecting the arrangement of All I Need that we hear next. All of the elements of the song are there, but reconstructed in their parts. I'm also fascinated by the massive white cube floating mysteriously behind Thom. When the piano comes in at the end, the crowd adores it, and just as on the album the whole thing builds up into a beautiful release. Thom exits the stage.
    Everyone gets to their feet for a standing ovation, and after a moment, Thom reappears, and seems happy to see how receptive the crowd is. He tells us, as if doing an acceptance speech, that he wants to thank everyone he works with, but there's too many to list.
    "I honestly fucking hate working alone," he says. And announces Cymbal Rush. This moves through stages of electronics, into Thom on piano again, and then a finale of layered electronic samples. Thom hunches over a machine and takes us right into the depths of bleep bloop territory, weaving it all together. I'm not sure what is required to produce this music, but I'm glad of everything that went into it, and of the people behind the scenes that have pulled together a seriously polished production, musically diverse, and like nothing I've heard before.
    Everything in its Right Place is a total crowd pleaser. It strikes me as being quite close to the album. People do get up and dance in their seats here, and the room moves around to this Radiohead classic.
    He tells us his name is Thom Yorke and it's been a pleasure. Well, obviously.
    As he closes out the encore set with Lucky, the crowd sings along with him -- and sounds surprisingly good -- a gentle background harmony underneath his voice.
    It's a memorable finale. As Thom reaches out to us with the climactic line, It's gonna be a glorious day, the crowd sighs happily in response. He throws in some Aaaahhs at the end of this, and it catches me off guard, though I really shouldn't be. They're high, delicate and clear, just one last taste of it.
    His voice is fucking unreal and I refuse to get over this.
    Post show, I'm left muttering to the people I'm with about how great that was. About all of the setlist surprises, how great Thom sounded, all of it. It's time to return to reality, though I suspect it will take a moment. Luckily I'm staying a few blocks away.
    And now here I am, making sure I document every word, every gesture. I've seen several Radiohead shows since 2008, and one thing I've sincerely wished is that I had a full account of how I experienced the night. Video is good, yes, but I think writing it down like this will stand the test of time. Or it may be amusingly embarrassing. That's okay, it's honest.
    Back home, a trusted agent (my mum) has acquired the Electric Lady Studios live record, and a few other things. I'm sent a brief video of the pop-up store, and of course it's decked out in blue Thom art, Reckoner is playing, and the whole space looks like a Radiohead pocket reality.
    In another city, I've secured The Smile newspaper.
    There really is a lot happening this week. Yesterday, I had a job interview in my hotel which maybe went okay, though I've now firmly deleted all that from my brain the same way I've removed Teams from my phone.
    It's worth mentioning how much I love connecting with everyone over this music, gushing over how much these songs mean to us all. It's revitalising, and I'll go on from these shows with new energy.
    It's also very clear just how much Thom enjoys performing, and he certainly took note of the entire room jumping to their feet after the main set, jubilant. It seems a good indicator of further shows around the world, and I can only hope for the rest of you out there that you have a chance to see this.
    In a few hours I will do it all again.


  3. October 24th 2024 - Songs To Take Off To

    Thom Yorke Solo Tour · elly · 01/10/2026 07:29 AM

    My plane taxis down the runway as How to Disappear Completely plays, and I think; this is a song to take off to. As we pull away from the ground, Thom's voice soars.
    This is the beginning of six unexpected shows I'm attending across Auckland, Melbourne, and my own home turf in Sydney. Wryly, I think this is the easiest travel I've ever done to see this musician. Another part of me is in awe that it's real, and I'm deeply suspicious I may be one of those coma patients asleep and inventing an ideal reality. Is he really here, in my remote part of the world? I just have to go with it.
    Somewhere in the early afternoon, between continental plates, I'm flying over the ocean listening to a recording by a top bloke called Keith of last night's Christchurch show. Thanks Keith. I can only hope my amateur taping skills get a result like this one.
    I've curated a few live reddit threads in my time, but the scramble last night to try to pull together an accurate setlist, with almost zero information from inside the event, was hilariously maddening. It's quite a list, and there was no predicting where it would take us. It feels new, and bizarre, and brave, and that is everything I admire about Thom.
    I order some red, and stare at the blank shore of white on blue out of my little window as Suspirium plays. In the background a baby cries. Thom sounds pristine, and I am hovering in this state of disbelief -- this is really happening.
    It's been years since I caught some of the festival shows in Europe, and further back to all of the others. To those shows with Flea, to all of the good memories queuing, and travelling to brand new countries where I see familiar faces from the last tour and feeling welcomed into this weird and sacred church of ours. It is good to be doing this again, as if each unexpected setlist revelation is undoing the damage of the lockdown years, where I drifted away from all of it. And myself.
    I have a job interview for my own job tomorrow morning, and I'm sincerely glad I booked a nice hotel to do it from. Having received this news while at the airport, I am left with no time to prepare and can only trust I know my shit. Going through a restructure while on road for Thom Yorke is really the ultimate backdrop of corporate dystopia. My future is uncertain.
    It feels as if each of the turning points of my life have been marked by this music, for the past two decades. I may be going into this one with an uncertain future, but also with an ultimate reassurance that these songs will be there on the other side.
    We are approaching the north island, and I realise a year ago I flew home from here in the wake of a natural disaster. Storms hit Auckland, flooding the airport. We made an emergency landing in Wellington, I slept on a bench in the airport cafe with a few hundred lost souls, and found another way home.
    I'm thinking about this as the recording of How to Disappear Completely from last night plays, thinking about how I need to keep moving. I need to keep moving.
    Close to landing, the new Mark Pritchard song rips through my earbuds. It's fucking loud and it's fucking amazing. This makes me sit up straight in my unreclined economy seat. I saw our homegrown Presets a few weeks ago -- a show I'd been waiting for since a COVID cancellation in 2020 -- and this is easy to imagine tucked into that set. Maybe they'll do me a solid and remix it.
    None of us really know what these next few shows will be like. What else will he play? I am happy enough to trust in Thom, and enjoy the ride. Already I'm bursting with the need to make music, to write, to take photos of the sky. Hello, here's what went missing these past years, and I'm glad of it's return.
    Thom is soaring over the clouds on the word 'away' and the notes stretch out in my mind. I suppose I am a rabbit in the headlights -- a good reminder to not stand in oncoming traffic, but hop away and keep going, forward. Wherever it leads.
    One of these clouds looks like a feather. 
    I'm waxing lyrical here, and I'm sure it's amusing for whoever might see it -- but this is me. Thom doesn't give a flying fuck, and neither will I -- I'm glad to have put myself together again. Whatever happens next, I'm ready.
    And then we are landing.


    Thom Yorke - 2024-10-23 - Wolfbrook Arena, Christchurch, New Zealand (Audio Only)

  4. October 30th 2024 - 'Not the News' from Melbourne

    Thom Yorke Solo Tour · elly · 01/10/2026 09:46 AM

    I am going home, but I'm not done yet.
    Reactions to last night are pouring in. I'm writing this the morning after the second Melbourne show, and there's a lot to process: an electric set, a dramatic heckle and possibly the best (and most biting) version of Karma Police I've heard. It's easily one of the best shows I've seen, and that's significant -- I've seen Radiohead quite a few times.
    We also met Thom after the show, so there's that.
    I am riding on a high, looking out my little window. I am up in the clouds, I am up in the clouds, and I can't, and I can’t come down. With only two hours sleep, I'm just grateful that I made it onto the correct plane.
    Funny guy on my Jetstar flight. The attendant asks who went to the amazing show last night and I give a cheer from my seat. He probably means Coldplay, but I'm not letting that faze me. He finishes by saying, "maybe you've got a cute neighbour; get their number and have a nice flight."
    Cheers, mate.
    Since my last update, we've had two more thrilling shows, with yet more surprises. The arena in Auckland was particularly well suited to the reverent ambience Thom invites with these intimate, heartfelt performances. That crowd was barely breathing as Thom ripped through Radiohead classics, gazing up at the stage for the piano songs as if a rare butterfly had landed.
    But the Melbourne crowd? So much bigger. It feels like an enormous Thom Yorke festival.
    I turn up to the gates around 6pm, and see the line for the lawn stretching back as far as I can see. Thom is soundchecking just behind the fence, and we can all hear it clearly. For a moment, I have a deep sense of how surreal it is that the bleep bloops of Cymbal Rush are echoing through the spring afternoon, across the trees and the green parkland, and the darkening blue sky. Just for once, the world around me is in tune with the world within.
    I manage to get in line at the second merch booth nobody knows about and snag a copy of 'that vinyl' for a friend. People don't seem to know what it is. I cannot wait to hear mine when I get home.
    For the first night in Melbourne, I spend the show tucked up against the balcony railing, gazing through the gaps in the bars. My view of the stage is perfect -- I could see buttons being pressed, Thom moving from station to station in that musical lab, a one-man-band that seems hellbent on showing us that he can do literally anything and everything up there.
    Including some fairly hilarious diva moments. "Alright, Thomas," he says to himself after a particularly bleepy sequencer interlude. A woman in the crowd screams out she loves him, and without missing a beat, he quips, "I love you too dear, but I'm a bit busy right now." The crowd laughs, and he launches into Hearing Damage.
    There's something tense about this first show, and the vibe is remarkably different to the Auckland shows I've just seen. Thom is certainly a little more tetchy than usual, and as he spots someone up front leaving to get a beer during Truth Ray he turns frosty, and walks back to stop the song. "Where the fuck do you think you're going?" he demands of the silence. I giggle on the balcony, half expecting Thom to laser the guy with his eyes. Hopefully the man survived.
    From my vantage point, I see Thom restart Truth Ray -- a big favourite of mine -- and glance at a piece of paper on his piano stool. A cheat sheet maybe? It's oddly comforting to be reminded that he does occasionally forget the lyrics to his own songs -- I feel a little better about my amateur bedroom guitar covers.
    I’m not ready for where this song lands, though. The end of it now features Thom repeating make it stop, and every time he says it, my heart breaks a little. I almost want him to actually make it stop, but no, I really don’t. He’s dialed up the emotional intensity on that to well above safe consumption levels, and I freaking love it.
    When he sings Fake Plastic Trees, I'm so drawn in by the song that I forget there's thousands watching it with me. There is utter silence, across the music bowl, apart from Thom's voice.
    There is no artifice to this performance -- despite the low lighting, Thom is strikingly exposed on stage, with at least thirteen thousand people hanging off every note. It's fascinating watching him move back and forth between stations while tying it all together with his vocals, triggering beats and loops. This really is a unique show.
    When the night one crowd raises their voices for Lucky in the encore, it sounds strangely great. Thousands of Radiohead fans singing together, who knew that could be a thing. I'm perched on that concrete balcony floor, my butt completely numb, thinking this is one of the best things I've ever witnessed.
    We mill about after the show like ants that have lost the nest, trailing off home. I go for a walk alone to clear my head, along one of the winding pathways around this huge park. A guy walking the other way stops me, and asks, "Are you Elly?"
    That happened a few times that night, and I can say it's lovely (and surreal) to have connected with so many fans in that way. You get me.
    I decide after that to head out back and wait for Thom, but alas, he does not show that night. I was not really expecting him to; my presence at that staff entrance with that little group of fans was more about meeting people to gush about the show. I really enjoyed that time. Thom's already done his part bringing us together.
    The next day, I head out in the early evening to a Melbourne wine bar, in a proper laneway, and drink some excellent red with some good people. This Sydneysider does not know Melbourne well, so there's an added thrill in experiencing this city. The cheese board sends me to heaven, and we set off for the show in an ideal state of readiness.
    Once I've entered, I climb up the hill onto the lawn, looking down at the stage. It's a beautiful, warm day, and as the sun sets over the city and people fill all of this space up, I'm already realising this second night is going to be even more special. There is something in the air.
    Thom has been incredibly kind to what is usually a forgotten corner of the world. I've shared videos, feeling validated in buying this brand new S24 Ultra. It's killing it. I know I'm capturing footage I'll spend the rest of my life watching back, just to remember this. There are Radiohead shows I've been to, particularly Iceland, where the band played an incredible set and there is no quality record of it. I am not letting that happen again.
    For night two, I'm seated in row F, on the right hand side. I am slightly elevated, and with a thrill I realise I can see the buttons on the machines. I'm intensely curious about how all of that works.
    During Weird Fishes/Arpeggi, the crowd does not sing the Eeeeeeeeeed part backing vocals -- it's perhaps too intimate a show for that, despite the enormous crowd. Thom has to put some work in to gently coax us out.
    Sail to the Moon is ethereal. This song does what it says on the tin.
    Thom picks up an electric guitar, and with a thrill, I recognise Hunting Bears. Amnesiac is really getting some love, and I could not be happier. It melts into I Might Be Wrong, and apparently I can be happier.
    At some point during Packt, I have an intense desire to go home and make electronic music. Mid-song, there's an electric moment where the crowd feeds off Thom's energy and amplifies it, firing Thom up even more, and he waves his arms at the audience, as if fanning flames. The roar as this ignites the audience increases, and he keeps going.
    Holy shit, I think again. And again. He's on fire. And loving it.
    For the end of Rabbit in Your Headlights, I watch carefully and, yes. He whispers I'm sorry into the mic three times, as in Auckland. I did not imagine that. I don't know what this signifies but it's heavy as hell.
    I'm ready for Back in the Game when it happens, and by this point I know all the lyrics. I also, unfortunately, relate hard to the lyrics. Back to 2020 again, and that was not a good time. When the light comes on at the end of this song, I think, that's where I am now -- I am back where I should be. I have been deep in Radiohead fandom since 2003, yet for the COVID years I somehow fell out of it. I lost my way.
    With the release of Cutouts, and this miracle tour in my home country, I'm back in the game. I'm on tour seeing Thom again, and I'm reconnecting with people I haven't heard from in years.
    Notably, I'm writing again.
    The show is at its mid-point, and it's time for us to be Volked. Thom's glee as he bathes all these people in red swarming synths is apparent. I'm watching how it works, starting to understand what knob makes what sound, and I think it must be enormous fun to press a particular button and have these great crashing sounds echo out into the night. Thom Yorke has earned the right to Volk us as he pleases.
    How to Disappear Completely is of course devastating and beautiful. There may be some sort of mass hypnosis effect at play, as there is no space left in my brain for anything but this song, and the way Thom gently sways as he strums his way through it. His voice soars for those final trademark thom-wails, and then he lifts his hand off the guitar slowly, done.
    Now given permission, the applause from the crowd is sudden and thunderous. They liked it as much as me.
    There's a quirky little moment after Not the News -- one of Thom's synths is producing some unwanted resonance, and he pokes at it, then runs his hand down the keys abruptly. The noise stops.
    "I fixed it!" He calls out into the mic, and I'm not sure who he's reporting to, as this is his show, but it's adorable. It's strange to see him go from minimal-techno-master-scientist, to indie-guitar-hero, to excited-kid-figures-out-a-new-trick, but it's compelling as hell.
    As we reach the end of the main set, Thom suggests we stand up. He mentions trying this last night, and mumbles a bit. It seems like he really wants everyone to get up and get into the music, but doesn't really know how to ask for it. For some reason he doesn't seem to realise he could ask these 13,000 people to stand on one leg for thirty minutes and they'd do it without question.
    The crowd stands up, and happily dances to Default. Not a single person remains seated that I can see. When it’s done, I look around and behind me as Thom queues up the next song. It's as if we're all standing for church, patiently reverent. This crowd is not like Auckland though; the Melbournites want to party. The ocker bloke next to me is several beers in with his mates, and though his drunken singing is a bit over the top, he's enjoying himself so much I can only smile at it.
    We do not sit back down again. The energy of the entire room hits another level. Everyone here knows this is one of those shows we will all talk about for years.
    Thom strums through Airbag, and it's clear how much he's enjoying this. At the end it, he's a little hesitant suggesting we all sing. "Aaaah aaaaaaaaah," and then says, "you should be able to manage that, right?" His confidence in our singing ability is underwhelming, but fair.
    He sings, and the crowd sings with him as directed. He calls for absolutely everybody, and damn, everybody he gets. Thom says, a little excitedly, "keep it going," and we do. He sings over the top of our aaaah's, and I don't think he's ever done this before. Everyone is on their feet, belting it out, and it sounds fucking great.
    He sweeps into a bow and exits on a high. We keep up the applause, wanting more. And the lights do not come up.
    As he returns, with a guitar, he does the same award-acceptance style speech I've heard at the other shows, but this time we're told it's been a privilege. He brings up, "the band, and the other band" and says, "I think about them any time I touch any of this stuff." That's about the closest he's come to talking about Radiohead at all recently.
    I'm left feeling glad that he's just had such a great show, and that he hasn't forgotten about 'that band', when there's a commotion in the audience. It's on the other side to me, and I only hear Thom's angry response, daring this heckler to come on stage and say what he wants to say. We all collectively hold our breath - this is insane. He then says that he's off, and deeply shocks the crowd by taking off his guitar and abruptly leaves.
    He's gone.
    A deep wave of shock ripples through the crowd, as we all process that he's just walked off the stage. Nobody understands what just happened, but we are bereft.
    A confused minute passes, full of cheers for Thom to come back and boos for whatever is going down on the other side of the Music Bowl. After a bit, a cry from the lawn is taken up, "we want Thom, we want Thom" and then this spreads to the entire crowd and thousands are chanting, "Thom, Thom, Thom."
    I'm sure he's heard plenty of chants for Radiohead to get back on stage, but this has to be the first time he's had ten thousand people screaming his name.
    There's a light on stage, and he's walking back on. The crowd roars, so happy to have him back. He begins to play Karma Police, and is accompanied by us all. The lyrics are particularly potent after what has just happened, and there is a little pause from him after, "this is what you get when you mess with us."
    There's a bite to his delivery, but the energy is still there. It may be one of the best performances of this song I've heard. We celebrate, and he exits.
    I'm in a daze after the show, and find my people. We're going to wait by the staff entrance again, though we're pretty sure he ain't coming out after what has just gone down.
    The little group of hopeful fans here are so happy. Someone has a little carboard sign, "Thom Yorke please sign for us," and we're all still vibrating with the echo of what we've just been part of.
    It's very late, and his car goes out. It drives past us, and we're all disappointed, but we get it.
    Then it stops, and the car door opens.
    Someone near me says, "This is happening right now."
    I've met Thom once before after Atoms For Peace in London, over a decade ago. The fans there were frothing, intense, and I had admired how patient he was with everyone.
    This little group in Melbourne is so respectful. He walks out into the middle of us, by himself, and I briefly lose sight of him due to his stature. That's probably handy for him in a crowd.
    He seems to be in a good mood -- and he should be after that performance. He's quiet, chilled out, and calm. This is nothing like London, and I'm a little proud of how sweet and wholesome this is.
    Someone passes him a Cutouts CD to sign, and apparently this is the first one he's seen so far.
    I give him my copy of the Amnesiac library book, which is an artifact I will not usually let anyone touch, and he leaves his mark on it, complete with an astonished face drawn for the 'o' in his name. I tell him Amnesiac was my favourite and receive a pretty odd look.
    I'd considered plenty of things I could have said in that moment -- that the new song was my favourite, that he was great blah blah blah. He's heard it all before. He's had people in the crowd scream it between songs. He knows. I think the best thing I can do in this moment is be respectful, grateful and just soak it in.
    I'm not really the kind of person to get things signed; it's the experience that means the most to me, and also why I'm writing this account, but that little book means so much to me, and even more now that it will remind me of this incredible show.
    The little group of us locate a bar that is open, and of course, it's called Clocks. We must go. Coldplay also had a show tonight, and we joke about Chris Martin calling in sick to see Thom's show.
    Later when I find out Coldplay's bass player actually did call in sick, I'm not sure what to make of it.
    While I'm sitting here, on the plane the next day writing this, I notice a notification and check my Twitter messages. It's a journalist from the BBC asking to use my footage. I'm later interviewed while making my way through Sydney airport. Holy shit.
    Could this week get any more insane? In the back of my mind, the bleep bloops from Not the News queue themselves up. Who are these people?
    All of this has happened, and Australia still has the Forecourt shows to experience in Sydney. That is my favourite venue of all time; the artist stands on stage with the black harbour to their left framed by the glittering lights of the Harbour Bridge. Before them, the crowd spills up the grand Opera House steps, and the white sails stand out against the night sky.
    For once, the view from the stage rivals what we are watching. There's always an energy to these shows, an ambience that builds through the night. Everyone that has played on that stage talks about how incredible it is to stand up there and look out, and I can't wait to watch Thom walk out and see it.
    At the time of writing this, that second night in Melbourne had to be the best I'd seen.
    But I had not yet seen him in my home town of Sydney.
    Thom Yorke live in Melbourne 2024 full show

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