I'm Ready said:
it doesn't sound that angry on record though
my favorites from the album are The Eraser, Black Swan and Cymbal Rush
actually I think it does..especially when he says
"well I'm coming home"
as of now I rate the songs this way
1)atoms for peace
the eraser
skip divided
thom's humming
harrowdown hill
analyze
cymbal rush
and it rained all night
the clock
9)black swan
Here is an excellent review...I highly recommend it
Thom Yorke
The Eraser
XL, 2006
In the end, it all comes down to the voice. Forget the snapping trickery of electronica, the processed guitars, those shimmering curtains of sound, the music-box laptop aesthetic: The Eraser is the sound of Thom Yorke's voice at its most intimate, its most tender, and simply put, its most beautiful.
Written by Yorke and recorded in collaboration with Radiohead’s long time producer Nigel Godrich during a hiatus in Radiohead’s recording schedule in 2005 (their seventh album is expected next year,) the announcement of The Eraser’s release, a few days into the band’s recent European/UK tour, came as a surprise toboth fans and music industry alike. The reasons for initially keeping the project under wraps, however, are easy to understand. Yorke must now, in 2006, necessarily struggle against the weight of Radiohead’s double baggage: the expectations of those who want Radiohead to maintain some kind of infinite artistic escape velocity, and their own brilliant back catalogue. Judging The Eraser apart from Radiohead’s work, particularly after Yorke himself has refused to call it a solo album, is a bit of a hair-splitting exercise. Additionally, discerning Radiohead’s fingerprints on The Eraser’s nine tracks is inevitable; it’s easy to find the dirge-like keyboard bass of "Myxomatosis" reworked in "Skip Divided", for example, and the guitar coda of "Harrowdown Hill" — which enters like an angry, strangulated cry and just as quickly bangs to a halt — echoes the equally dramatic guitar break from "Morning Bell", particularly in its live incarnation.
But this album is clearly Yorke’s, and not Radiohead’s. With Godrich, Yorke sidesteps the symphonic density of Radiohead’s best work by building shimmering washes of electronic sound and texture: angular, flickering static and punctuation created by whirring percussive effects are interwoven with filigrees of guitar, and glittering piano lines are contrasted with deceptively simple chordal structures. The matrix of beats and bubbling loops share more points of reference with the rhythmic constructions of hip hop, or the airy spaces of dub, than with rock; and Yorke’s debt to Warp records, et al, is made explicit with "Cymbal Rush's" titular nod to Aphex Twin. (One other obvious point of reference, which has been explicitly name checked by Yorke, is Bjork’s Homogenic, though Vespertine, with its delicacy and quietude must surely be another; and the emphasis on the voice further suggests a debt to her recent vocals-only album Medulla.)
This all sounds distancing, even alienating, in effect, but it is not. Like the wintry landscapes of Radiohead’s landmark 2000 album Kid A, which on listening reveal their inward fire, there is feeling, even passion here, and it is found within vocals recorded with unprecedented — for Radiohead — clarity, shorn of reverb and close to the listener as a whisper in the ear. In the background, the webs of electronic sound support but never distract from the vocal lines (the one exception is the album closer "Cymbal Rush," where a five note old-style synth figure repeats throughout the song; but when the piano and vocal come to their wordless, ravishingly gorgeous climax, it’s as if the sun has come out from behind clouds). This foregrounding of Yorke’s voice is particularly striking in view of the purposely occluded vocals of Kid A, and, to a lesser extent, its follow-up, Amnesiac. In this sense, The Eraser stands not just as the recovery of Yorke’s voice, as in 2003’s Hail to the Thief, but an assertion of it as his principle instrument;both the color and warmth of this album are found within its fluid changes in register and timbre.
Thematically, The Eraser is the portrait in sound of a world fragmenting in front of Yorke’s eyes. City streets flood under apocalyptic waves, clocks unwind and time runs out, candles flicker in a city blackout, water moves up hillsides while blood flows down, the moon falls from the sky. The poisonous folly of Iraq, as well as looming environmental crisis (Yorke is a spokesperson for Britain’s Friends of the Earth), hang heavily over this record, and the metaphors of catastrophic flood and willed amnesia in the face of overwhelming fear — erasure asboth escape and threat — are implicit in every track (and are further articulated through the excellent cover art by Radiohead artist in residence Stanley Donwood). For Yorke, it is beauty which is the saving grace of this distressed and drowning world, and which represents a possibility for hope amidst earthly chaos. The lines try to save your house, try to sing your songs, try to run but it follows you up the hill from "Cymbal Rush" are delivered with a melody of such delicacy that what might seem on its face to be hopelessness resolves to a serene tendresse. In "And It Rained All Night" the deluge is described as relentless, invisible, indefatigable, indisputable, undeniable before Yorke adds the kicker: so how come it looks so beautiful? The Eraserboth asks and answers this question: this beauty is valuable and life affirming in and of itself, even if what it represents might be terrifying.
In form, the songs are full of finesse and sophistication: the graceful lope of "Black Swan," the off-centre pulse of guitars which drive "The Clock" like an engine running hard below decks, the tripping electronic lattice in "Atoms for Peace" which rises like a handful of balloons sent aloft. "Atoms for Peace" is straightforward and tender, with Yorke’s voice floating weightlessly, and includes the most disarmingly erotic line that he has ever written, invoking a lover’s labial petals: Peel all your layers off/I want to eat your artichoke heart. He continues: So many allies, so many allies/So feel the love come off of them, and take me in your arms, conjuring a circle of support that is the exact antithesis of the lonely watcher of "And It Rained All Night", a song I find myself warming to less, with its nursery rhyme evocations of rained out urban machinery. But The Eraser's varied emotional palette is seen here at its most dramatic, and when the music, mimicking the sound of a train at night, stutters to a halt and Yorke sings with heartbroken yearning I can see you, but I can never reach you, the effect is powerfully moving, nearly cathartic. "Black Swan" moves at a perfect languid speed, like a hand trailing through water, while a distant guitar plays a riff which, if higher in the mix, would have made the song more rock, but less remarkable. This is fucked up, croons Yorke, sounding for all the world as if he is singing a lullaby to a restless child. "Analyse" has an elegant sway and a mournful, but oddly uplifting melody, and lyrics which hint at hope amidst the darkness. But the real set piece of this record, and the song which feels the most completely realized, is "Harrowdown Hill," perhaps because it is grounded in specific event (the suicide under highly questionable circumstances of British weapons inspector Dr. David Kelly). Singing as Kelly’s ghost, Yorke warns Don’t walk the plank like I did/you will be dispensed with… Did I fall or was I pushed? Don’t ask me, ask the ministry. It’s dark, angry, and barbed, an indictmentboth of Blair’s government and the faceless powers which crush individual lives, and is likely the most overtly political piece Yorke has yet recorded.
Despite the reach of its subject matter, The Eraser is intimate, restrained, and, odd as it might sound, even domestic, clear evidence of the work of one person in a room. This impression has been encouraged by Yorke himself, who has said that the album is meant to be listened to “in an isolated space—on headphones, or stuck in traffic,” and its spatial limits, its constraint, are audible. In a current musical climate of excess,both for good (Sufjan Stevens with his sprawling Illinois, Dan Bejar’s riot of invention on Destroyer’s Rubies) and ill (the comic-book parodies of gangster rap), The Eraser’s jewel-like focus seems almost anomalous. But take The Eraser on its own terms, and you will find that there is a human heart powerfully beating at the centre of this spare, lovely album. Allow yourself to enter into this world, and you will not soon forget it.
Juliet O'Keefe
July 12, 2006