radiohead

Ah, perfect. The capacious, corporate-kicking marquee and a two hour bout of cerebralcathartic old rock with new, improved noodles.
Tent alone warrants a paragraph; warm, roomy and teched-up to the hips with three screen sets at regular intervals for remotely positioned midgets. Hence, a Radiohead movie with in-house band. Unless you jumped up and down.

Which, of course, is unavoidable when streams of sonic terrorism are blowing your brain to stratospheric pleasure stuffed pieces. New pal 'Kid A' squibbles and struts asymmetrically; the band effecting an immediate introduction by thundering on with 'The National Anthem'.

There're melodies in overlayered aural onslaughts y'know (see: My Bloody Valentine), listen harder and longer. Fry, braincells, fry.
And the delicacies; 'Everything in its Right Place', showcasing Thom Yorkes angel-robbed tonsils, yet again. But the celestially-corded ones got the Devil inside. 'Knives Out', the virtually rapping, screaming unreleased hardcore and in-your-face newy that sat next to 'Just' and rendered it Jurassic.

Communal 'OK...' singalongs and a duo of encores including the taut and teasing 'Talk Show Host' satisfied nostalgics, like a comfort blanket.
But the unveiled unheards buzzed long after closedown. Befriend 'Kid A' today.