Saw a tribute concert to Radiohead last night at The Point, a “club” that’s actually just a small bar with a soundboard housed in half a VW van that reads, “Where were you in ’62?” on the front.
As a result of this half-ecstatic, half-traumatic experience, I will never be able to listen to any Radiohead song involving the phoneme “th” without thinking of Russian youth whipping themselves into a blind frenzy to melodic keyboard tones: “Every-sss-i-i-i-ng … in it’s right place …”
There are a few topics that almost any person will pretend he’s an expert on regardless of his actual experience; the music of Radiohead is the third most popular of these, following sex and Barack Obama’s health care plan.
And so I was a bit surprised to find myself the resident Radiohead expert in the room following the show.
“How was the singing? I mean, the English pronunciation?” an eager dredded Russian would-be tormented-but-rich-and-famous pop artist asked me.
“It was great, Sid, just watch that ‘th’ sound. It’s a doozy.”