Flying in from Los Angeles for a show is always a gamble, but the right band can justify the jet lag without asking for it. Music is an incredibly valid reason to fly halfway across the world. Radiohead playing their first London concert in eight years made The O2 Arena feel like it had its own pulse before the lights even shifted. The crowd was predominantly men, polite in that British way that looks like reservation but reads like reverence. No theatrics, no peacocking, no pre show hysteria. People stood the way people stand when they know something important is about to begin and they do not want to embarrass themselves by reacting too soon. For someone as excitable as me, that felt a bit awkward. I did my best to regulate.
The lighting operator deserves credit for the way the night opened. The flicker was slow, patient, deliberate. Not dramatic, not a countdown, more like the room was clearing its throat. A few flickers, a drop in brightness, a hum moving through the air. Not tension, not suspense, just a collective shift in concentration. The arena narrowed its focus to a single point, which turned out to be the five silhouettes walking onstage with the quiet confidence of men who have nothing left to prove. They are there because they want to be.
They opened with “Planet Telex,” a reminder that Radiohead can still begin a show by bending the room instead of announcing themselves. They followed with “2 + 2 = 5,” which remains one of their sharpest openers, a thesis disguised as agitation. Thom sounded exactly how he should sound at this stage in his life, a voice with less elasticity but more intention. “Sit Down, Stand Up” came next with its familiar twitch, its controlled chaos. They do that well, don’t they? “Lucky” landed like a flash of memory without leaning on nostalgia. “Bloom” and “15 Step” kept the beginning of the night clean and controlled, a run of songs arranged by people who still take their craft seriously. Even if you don’t like Radiohead, you can’t deny that they are masterful.
There was a real spark of heat that came with “There There.” Those drums pulled everyone forward by instinct. To me that song requires full body engagement, dare I say it’s a sexy little thing regardless of the lyrical content. Sensual in that way Radiohead can be without ever trying to be. Elegant wildness if you need a phrase. The feeling an engine gives off before it redlines.
There was one particular moment I wasn’t expecting: “The National Anthem.” The arena changed shape. The bassline has always been physical, but inside a room that size it becomes unavoidable. The song does not request participation, we very willingly participate. The crowd snapped out of their polite observation and allowed themselves to react. If there was a moment when the show loosened its jaw, this was it. Messy in the right way, the kind of mess that proves a band can still hit a nerve without theatrics. I also noticed that the copious amounts of beers people were casually sipping started to show.
The emotional center of the night for me, was “Fake Plastic Trees,” which arrived in the encore and took the air with it. The room shifted as soon as the chords landed. People let themselves sing, not loudly, not drunkenly, but honestly. A single breath pulled from twenty thousand people at once when something touches an old nerve in a clean way. It was warm. It melted any ice that might have been in the room that night. Tender sentimentality is not really a term assigned to a Radiohead song and yet, it was happening all around me.
By the middle of the set the crowd had opened up. Not chaos, not euphoria, something quieter and more interesting. Communion. People singing with abandon and gratitude. People listening harder. People reacting but not overly. “No Surprises” felt almost gentle. “The Gloaming” darkened the palette again. “Kid A” and “Videotape” arrived like meditations, songs that hover instead of hit. “Weird Fishes” shimmered as if the room absorbed it rather than heard it. “Idioteque” made the arena feel alive without surrendering its composure. “Everything In Its Right Place” brought some nostalgic clarity.
“Daydreaming” and “Bodysnatchers” held opposite ends of the spectrum, one drifting, one clawing. Both effective. “Jigsaw Falling Into Place” kept the middle set sharp. The main set closed with precision, not volume.
Although Thom Yorke’s dancing was not included on the set list, it’s very much become a part of the show and a language all its own. For someone who is historically very private and reserved, his dancing is not that. It’s delightful.
The encore was its own pocket of energy. “Let Down” felt weightless in a way only that song ever manages. “Paranoid Android” hit with its usual fractured accuracy. “You And Whose Army” carried its small, satisfying bite. “A Wolf At The Door” snarled with purpose. “Just” reminded everyone that the band can still swing a blade when they want to. And “Karma Police” closed the night as calmly as a full stop at the end of a sentence that did not waste a word. It also turned the room into a massive sing-a-long unlike any I’ve ever heard at a Radiohead show.
Here is what stood out by the end. Radiohead sounds older in the honest way, not the diminished way. The sharpness is still there, but the delivery is cleaner. It’s more comfortable in its skin. This is not a band performing for approval or mythmaking. This is a band performing because they still have something to say and they have refined how to say it without wasting a movement.
The crowd responded accordingly. What began as polite observation turned into participation. Not frenzy, not nostalgia worship, but awareness. People listening. People singing when it mattered. People giving the music the attention it deserved without demanding it become louder or bigger than it is.
A return this measured, this controlled, this confident does not need to shout to matter. Some bands want to be adored. This bands doesn’t. They just are. That difference is still the reason they are relevant, and still the reason nights like this land exactly the way they do.
I still firmly believe that Radiohead is not of this Earth.
