Album review: Radiohead’s “A Moon Shaped Pool” will break your frozen heart

Album Review: Radiohead’s “A Moon Shaped Pool”

Back in the heyday of the Beatles, a new record from the band was cause not just for celebration but contemplation by fans who pored over every note, lovingly analyzing every word of the lyrics, every note in the grooves, for insight into, well, the Beatles and all their mystery.

Beatles fans in those days didn’t have to wait long for new music: six months or maybe a year between albums, tops. Fans of the enigmatic Radiohead must endure considerably longer waits — it has been five years since their last album — but they are no less obsessive in their attention. And like the work of the Fab Four, the music produced by Radiohead rewards attention, because the band, like the Beatles, seems to learn new tricks with every venture into the studio, making each of their records a unique milepost in their development. One listens to find out what they’ve learned in the last few years as much as for their accomplished history.

“A Moon Shaped Pool,” released in May, is an adventurous multi-layered album, one that demonstrates the band’s ability to adopt new sounds and styles but remain sonically distinctive. It is unlike almost anything being produced by other bands today, and it is one of the best albums of 2016 so far.

The album grabs the listener’s attention immediately with the insistent, staccato notes of a string section that begins “Burn the Witch” by evoking a determined sense of urgency. “Stay in the shadows / Clear the gallows / This is a round-up,” Thom Yorke sings, shortly before breaking into his trademark soaring vocals in the song’s chorus. It’s a bold beginning to the record, one that builds to a shrieking, frenetic conclusion.

“Burn the Witch” turns out to be the most energetic cut on the album. Afterwards, the music becomes less forceful, and the lyrics begin to display more contemplative themes. “Daydreaming,” the next cut, begins with gentle, tinkling chimes, offering a stark contrast to the energy of “Burn the Witch.” But, before long, the tone of the song changes. “Dreamers never learn,” Yorke sings sadly. “We are just happy to serve.” Strange sounds, heaves and groans, and distorted backward lyrics add eerie distortion. As the song continues, it gradually becomes clear that all the sounds are creating a kind of sonic metaphor for the end of a relationship, a theme that pervades the rest of the album.

Clever people on the internet have figured out that the slowed backward phrase that ends the song can be interpreted as “half of my life,” suggesting that Yorke is singing here about the end of his 23-year relationship with partner Rachel Owen. It’s a markedly naked moment from a singer who is not known for being particularly forthcoming about his personal life, either in interviews or in his songwriting. It’s also an indication, for some, that this is a true Radiohead album, mopey and depressing. (I’m reminded of a writer who got a bunch of fifth-graders to draw pictures while they were listening to Radiohead’s 2003 album, “Hail to the Thief.”) It’s certainly not a record you’ll want to throw on at a party.

But for the listener who doesn’t mind venturing into darker waters, the album is consistently rewarding and intriguing. It’s probably best to listen to it on headphones, with limited distractions, and let it suck you in (or down, as the case may be). On the other hand, the album’s sustained mood is cathartic, and anyone who has undergone a recent loss or heartbreak will find the songs here serve as a powerful release. (This might be referred to by some as one function of art.)

Instrumentally, Radiohead continues to explore new sounds. Guitarist Jonny Greenwood plays acoustically on “Desert Island Disk” and “Present Tense,” and both songs employ washes of electronic sound, wordless vocals, and pulsing rhythm in hypnotic, beautiful ways. “Ful Stop” incorporates what might be (but probably aren’t) melodic dolphin noises in an extended instrumental groove. Just when you think you’ve got the song figured out, the rhythm opens into sonic explorations that transform before your ears. It’s a high point of the album. Another is “The Numbers,” in which every player is doing something interesting. It sounds like a late night improv session that settles, magically, almost accidentally, into music. But there’s nothing accidental about the precision and skill of the band. In this regard, Radiohead plays like an intimate jazz combo without sounding anything like one.

The final song on the album, “True Love Waits” is one of the most gorgeously depressing songs I think I’ve ever heard. “I’m not living/I’m just killing time,” Yorke sings, to the accompaniment of lush John Paul Jones-style orchestration. The final words of the song, “Don’t leave,” will break your frozen heart. One could characterize this album as a break-up record for the sadly beautiful. For those willing to take the journey, it’s a brilliant, masterful achievement, one of Radiohead’s best.

A final note on the format: The album is divided into two LPs, which allows for amazingly clear sound. It’s worth the higher price to hear this album on vinyl.

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