March 23, 2013 § Leave a comment

I used to think that Amnesiac was the best Radiohead album. Pyramid Song just takes me away. The piano introduction is paced in this way akin to a struggled walk up a sheer cliff face. The moments of securing a foot placement. That act of scraping and carving a place where security can be assured. His voice lends an air of self instituted isolation, the feeling that my struggle is for a greater good only I will experience. When the percussion starts, it starts to affect my breathing, internal power, fearless. Even with a feeling of being up against a wall, clinging to a precarious situation, It makes me feel like I can manoeuvre to a place of safety.

There There from Hail to the Thief. I meditate on the burden of having to think the same thing over and over. It feels like a hand snaking up my neck, fingers sliding over my nape, and wanting that person to take over the movement of my body. But I shake them off. I want to run, dive, crawl and press my body to the earth repeatedly. The song is about possibility. I love how it builds to the guitars, rolling, pushing you, slapping and snapping at your heals. faster, faster – run right into everything you were supposed to do.

It is dark. The sky is blue, a very dark blue. The moon is half full. The incident of light is enough to illuminate the shapes of the hills flanking the car. They are snow carved and the white proceeds in neon glory. It is against the white that you can perceive the black earth and rocks. They exist in relief, absence and are retracted. The sky has just enough colour left that the edge of the hill can be determined, a soft but stark line, rolling out the shape of this piece of earth thrust up. Everything In Its Right Place feels like this mountain, hill, earth. Cold, still able to be determined. Perfect if just for that rolling moment.

Is this love? Exit Music (For A Film) makes me remember an escape. One not remembered by me specifically, but recalled through the memories of others. I was there. Old enough to have memories, as I surely do of this house and time. There was a car. it had a window at the back of the boot that could be wound down. I usually think my memories of that place are real. But have I told them to myself? The expanse of land all around the house. I was a child then. That girl was me not yet grown and she is still standing there, watching the house recede. In someone else’s memory.


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