OK Computer is the third album from Radiohead and one of their most critically acclaimed. While I do not think it is Radiohead’s absolute best album, it is nonetheless an extremely solid body of work, and contains a healthy smattering of brilliant moments. In this ranking list, I give my opinion on the strengths and occasional shortcomings of its songs.
12. Fitter Happier (Track 7)
This thing is hard to listen to, but then again, it’s not really a song.
11. Subterranean Homesick Alien (Track 3)
It is hard to pinpoint Subterranean Homesick Alien’s sound. On one hand, its high-pitched ringing interjections lean the song towards spacey, psychedelic territory. On the other, its chorus, with its cheers of “uptight!” and playful guitar lines, amount to almost a 90s alt-rock, road-trip type feel. No matter the theme, however, Homesick Alien doesn’t quite hold up to expectations. Its melody is uninspiring, its structure loose and hard to follow. Yorke’s writing–usually cryptic but mostly still charming–is just a bit too vague here, and it fails to fully captivate the listener. And when dealing with a theme as fantastical as aliens, this lyrical fault feels like a fumble on the cusp of potential.
Subterranean Homesick Alien is the only “mediocre” song on the album, aside from Fitter Happier, which is hardly a song at all. It doesn’t contain any disastrous flaws, but it also doesn’t boast any particular strengths. It’s simply not very memorable. If there’s one song on the album to skip, it’s this one.
10. The Tourist (Track 12)
The Tourist is not your everyday listen. It’s long, slow, and repetitive; its extended musings sometimes lack in energy. While these mellow qualities make it an effective closer to an emotional marathon of an album, the song can be rather uninteresting– even boring– when listened to on it’s own.
In the right mood, however, The Tourist is still a stellar listen. It radiates an In Rainbows-like aura of blanketing serenity, especially with its drawn-out repeats of “sloooow down” in the chorus. A worthy addition to any relaxation playlist.
9. Electioneering (Track 8)
Electioneering slaps. It’s one of only two headbangers on an otherwise depressingly bitter album, no short in thanks to it’s swingy rhythm and screeching guitars. The chorus, while somewhat off-putting at first, becomes quite enjoyable once it clicks. I’d also like to praise the incredibly catchy, Everlong-esque guitar pattern which recurs throughout, first appearing at 0:38.
After the pain of Fitter Happier, Electioneering comes as a welcome return to brilliance. It’s unfortunate, then, that it often gets overlooked. It’s one of the least known songs on the album, and it receives little credit, even in many Radiohead stan circles. I used to gloss over it myself, and only when I decided to write this up did I give it the careful listen it fully deserves. It’s a very solid song, and if you’ve disregarded it, I highly recommend that you reevaluate it.
I should say that the ranking at 9th is not a rebuttal of this particular song but rather a testament to the unbelievably consistent strength of the album. There are many other bands for which Electioneering would be a crowning achievement. Realistically, I would rate every song on the ranking from here on out as at least an 8/10.
8. No Surprises (Track 10)
At first listen, No Surprises is an instant hit. Simple and sweet, it’s moody enough to resonate with loners and upbeat enough to appeal to a wider audience. What’s that? It’s gone viral? I’m hardly surprised.
I’m not going to argue that No Surprises is too shallow or that it’s undeserving of its fame. While it may not be the most special song the band’s ever produced, it is nonetheless impactful. Lyrics such as “I’ll take a quiet life, a handshake of carbon monoxide”, although geeky, are undeniably beautiful. Sandwiched in between Lucky and Climbing Up the Walls, they come as a repose, a temporary lapse from Yorke’s war on society. The exotic glockenspiel is also a genius feature; reverberant and sparkly, it’s a large part of why the song’s motif is as recognizable as it is.
But the song runs that single motif for almost its entire runtime. While it may be a great motif, it’s not quite strong enough to singlehandedly carry the work. After a few playthroughs, No Surprises blends into one homogeneous sound and its original luster fades. Of course, this happens with nearly every song eventually, but No Surprises doesn’t do much to stand up for itself. And I find that the more I listen to it, the further it slides down the ranking.
There is, however, one section which stands somewhat apart from the rest of the song: the whimsical instrumental interlude which begins at 2:37. A few nice guitar lines and whacks from Phil create a temporary distraction from depression. It’s a breath of fresh air to an otherwise repetitive track— a breath which, I should note, Thom Yorke is desperately holding on to in the song’s infamous music video.
7. Lucky (Track 11)
As a band which has always been shy of the spotlight and skeptical of success, it is perhaps not surprising that Radiohead is extremely adept in crafting songs from themes of disillusioned optimism. A prime example is Lucky— a hopefully hopeless elegy to the not-so-fortunate.
In spite of its downbeat mood, Lucky manages to be one of the more easy-listening songs on the album. The quiet but dense, shoegaze-like instrumental plays a large role in the song’s success; the crunchy tonic resolutions in the bass are satisfying, and the distorted ringing sounds provide a comfortable numbing effect. On further inspection, even more details reveal themselves— see if you can pick out what sounds like a blend of keyboard, synth, and voice. Meanwhile, Yorke’s sickly drawls are strangely soothing, and his extended descending drag on “It’s going to be… a glorrrrious daaaay!” is awe-inspiring. Even with only its core elements, Lucky is surprisingly attractive, even catchy– a characteristic fitting for its ironic optimism.
But what shifts Lucky into another gear is that one recurring, howling guitar. It is immediately noticeable when it appears in the chorus and it is automatically hypnotizing. See 3:40-3:50, when it pierces through the murky, claustrophobic clouds of sound like a shard of glass. And is it mourning?… or is it triumphant? I’ll never know. The emotional ambiguity only reinforces Lucky’s most potent weapon.
6. Airbag (Track 1)
Airbag is a contender for the cheeriest song on the album, and for that I always find myself coming back to it. Its instrumental feels carefree and innocent, almost childishly so. It paints pictures in my mind of stargazing on a summer night, of shorter days and better times. Even Thom’s announcements of “I am back to save the uniiiiveerrssee” seem to bear a knowing naivety which borders on nostalgia.
From the start, Airbag delivers definitive signs of the experimental and soon-to-be revolutionary Radiohead sound: complex direction, electronic elements, and yearning, agile vocal lines. At the same time, some of the guitar still feels relatively adolescent and traditionally alt-rocky, as if Thom felt the need to slowly usher listeners in from The Bends.
I don’t really have much to say about this one. Like Electioneering, it’s just a fun time. In some ways, however, it may be a questionable choice as OKC‘s opener, since its positivity is not at all representative of the harrowing soundscape which follows. It’s my opinion that the subsequent song would have introduced the album much more effectively 🙂
5. Paranoid Android (Track 2)
Undoubtedly one of my best takes. Make no mistake, Paranoid Android is a great song, an excellent one even. From bleak lyrics and complex progressions to rambling guitars and sublime synth layering, the song manages to collage together nearly all of OK Computer‘s trademark styles and sounds into 6.5 minutes of rhapsodic glory. It’s hard to deny that Android is one of Radiohead’s most sprawling creations to date, in terms of both duration and scope, and that it embodies almost everything which makes the band so unique. So why have I given this surefire masterpiece, this so-called “magnum opus,” a criminally middle-of-the-road ranking?
Android sustains an impressively high standard of quality for its entire runtime— but it never climbs to particularly transcendent heights. It lacks the out-of-body experiences, the glimpses of divine intervention, which Radiohead manages to generate on certain other songs on the album. And in an album of OK Computer’s stature, this fact causes Paranoid Android to fall short in comparison to several of its brothers, which, although not necessarily as consistent, peak much higher.
Android can be divided into three acts (and a guitar coda). The first, with its recognizable guitar motif and ominous lyrical threats, does a superb job setting the mood for the rest of the work. It perpetually feels, however, as if it’s waiting in anticipation for something more. The second act then arrives— a wild amalgamation of screeching guitar work and frenzied vocals. I’ve never quite caught onto this part: although it’s explosively intense, it’s also obtrusively dissonant. I’m always relieved by the subduing of sound when the music effortlessly transitions to the next phase.
Of the three main acts, the third is by far the most compelling. The gradual stacking of synths, voices, and melodic embellishments amount to a swirling, magnificent buildup, so precise in its pace as to feel mathematically measured (perhaps it was). The harmonic intertwining of the choral figures is so well done, it’s almost Bachian– listen closely to the secondary falsetto at 4:37, the way it blends with the synths, the way it descends at 4:47. I admit that this segment is amazing. Had Android been contained in an album of even slightly lesser quality, the third act would have safely secured the song a trophy-winning position. But it lacks a certain X-factor present in the next 4 songs, and against OK Computer’s competition, this section alone is not enough to push the song past 5th.
When considered as a whole, Paranoid Android is an incredibly strong and cohesive effort. Indeed, for many listeners, myself included, it was a gateway into Radiohead’s deeper catalog. I still remember returning to its music video on YouTube over and over again, unable to pull myself away from it’s weirdly charming bizarreness and eventually deciding to check out more Radiohead. For that, it’ll always have a special place in my heart. But while the song showcases every trick in the band’s bag, none of them are especially mind blowing. It may be OK Computer‘s defining song, but it’s certainly not its best.
I will say though– if this ranking was based on music videos, this song clears all the others by a long shot. Props to the animator for this absolute banger.
4. Exit Music (For A Film) (Track 4)
The “wake” which opens Exit Music‘s vocals marks a transition in OK Computer. Rupturing through the softest, meekest guitar strumming, Thom’s sudden rasp could hardly be more jarring– not only physically but thematically. For it’s at this point in the album, 3 songs and 23 seconds in, listeners realize the album is venturing into uncharted waters of style and meaning, and that it’s unafraid to do so. When that menacing “wake” hits their ears, they’re promised a sinister and profound journey ahead, one of darker depths and higher heights than they’ve previously been shown.
From then on, Exit Music puts on a masterclass in buildup. Radiohead is well aware that the greatest crescendos must start weakly. For a whole minute the track is maintained only by a lonely acoustic guitar and Thom’s despairing voice. Lyrics such as “today, we escape” and “before all hell breaks loose” further contribute to the sense of tension and overwhelming gravity. Eventually, grave choral voices and anxious, distorted ambience join the parade. Radiohead ratchets up the volume and tension inches at a time, keeping the pace tantalizingly slow, ensuring that the listener is on edge and desperately awaiting something more.
At 2:47, the song suddenly and exponentially escalates. Led by a imposing percussive fill, a scorching, searing electric guitar and brutally hazy bass storm onto the scene, amping up the volume several notches and ever more intensely foreshadowing an inevitable climax. The bass in particular is earth-shatteringly dense and powerful; it’s epic entrance is quite literally a bass drop. And Exit Music continues still: it crescendos further and further still, twisting and turning, climbing higher and higher until finally…
…everything explodes at 3:21. Thom’s eruption of “now” resolves a glorious cadence, perfect in every sense of the word, onto a beautiful minor chord; a chord which later converts to major on an almost-equally satisfying cry of “ever“. Meanwhile, the entire band is going insane: Jonny’s bass playing is at peak intensity on a wild mini solo; Phil’s ascending on drums, cymbals here and fills there. The timing, the harmonies and the clear mixing, the sheer magnitude and its contrast to the song’s previous restraint– the payoff of this climax is tremendous. This is one of the greatest moments on the album and its significance at first listen cannot be overstated.
3. Climbing Up The Walls (Track 9)
Within the depths of OK Computer lies this irresistibly toxic gem. The first of 4 brooding songs which cap off the album, Climbing Up The Walls is one of Radiohead’s darkest and heaviest tracks. It sees Radiohead forgo contemplative musing and opt for raw power. And indeed, this song’s capacity for headbanging puts Electioneering to shame.
Climbing Up The Walls perpetually radiates an aura of danger and threat. From its slippery electronic buzzing effects to its pointed snare strikes, from its squealing guitar motif to its seedy, poisonous lyrics– every aspect of this song feels obtrusive. Even the opening ambience seems to be trembling in anticipation of some unseen terror.
Yet there is something so inexplicably alluring to it’s constant sense of dread. As the pounding drum rattles it’s way through the headphone cups, the listener can’t help but rock along to it’s doomsday rhythm. As the guitars maliciously descend, reverberating into the ears, the listener is urged to hum their wicked scale. And as Yorke fires one venomous, distorted syllable after another into the listener’s synapses, he almost invites the listener to clench his teeth and rap alongside him. The vocal pattern change at “so lock the kids up safe tonight” is particularly spellbinding.
Towards its end, Climbing Up The Walls reaches unprecedented levels of chaos, with flailing, maniacal guitars and a backing track which must contain at least 10 instruments. This culminates at 3:42, where, against the screeching of the unraveling strings, Yorke shouts the song’s title twice; the second time, he is joined by a wailing repetition of “walls” and, ultimately, a frantic scream into space. It’s a startling display of Yorke’s vocal power and without a doubt the most brutal moment on the album.
Climbing up the Walls is the closest that Radiohead gets to metal. It’s a song which has no limit to how loud it can be turned up. And it manages to encapsulate pure angst in such a way that is both emphatic and enchanting. For that, it is a stroke of genius and an indispensable asset on OK Computer.
2. Karma Police (Track 6)
Karma Police, OK Computer‘s poster boy, is famously divided into two sections.
The first part is supremely underrated. Its piano chord progression, despite its simplicity, is drippingly rich; it drives the piece forward relentlessly like a hydraulic press. The bass and wispy background voice supplement in such a way that the atmosphere is sonorous but discernably layered. Yorke’s writing is also first-class: paranoid as ever, the “Hitler hairdo” line is a OKC classic. This first part is nearly, if not just as good as the second: a prime example of a standard melody tuned to perfection.
The second part, of course, is the heavenly chant of “For a minute there, I lost myself“. While Yorke’s lyrics typically get the spotlight, what truly elevates this section are the beautifully angelic vocalizations which enter on the second refrain. Melancholic and inhumanly human, their echoes are soul-scratching. This section may not be as immediately appealing as the first, but after a couple listens it completely clicks, and afterwards, it never seems to falter with time.
When compared to Paranoid Android or Climbing Up The Walls, Karma Police is certainly not the most complex or avant-garde track on OK Computer. It is, however, one of the most likeable. It’s airtight, clean, and lends itself well to endless rewinds. The two parts, though vastly different in style, fuse together seamlessly– the first sells the song, and the second sends it into the stratosphere. If I were forced to choose one song off the album to listen to at a moment’s notice, I would find Karma Police to be the easiest and safest pick. Call me mainstream– but there’s a reason it’s a crowd-pleaser, and a reason Radiohead often chooses to finish their live shows with it. It’s extraordinary.
Plus, it has a great music video.
1. Let Down (Track 5)
While previous rankings were determined with deliberation, there is no doubt in my mind that Let Down is OK Computer’s greatest achievement. It is the only song on the album to contain a certain spark of fire, a certain spirit, which pushes it almost beyond music and into a sort of realm of pure feeling. In that pantheon of immortality, Let Down is joined only by a handful of select songs the band has produced throughout their career, including Nude and a couple others.
From the first seconds on the first listen, Let Down sounds different, feels different. The song is at once so uniquely, automatically soothing; so drenched in a simultaneous hope, defeat, longing, nostalgia, acceptance– that it’s almost hard to believe. The slow, contemplative tempo is shy yet mobile. The computerized chimes are soft and empathetic. The thick soundscape generates an all-encompassing fog of warmth and comfort. It’s as if the music adapts to the listener; rain or sunshine, it’s always around, always safe. There is a magic to Let Down‘s instrumental which is hard to put into words.
The lyrics are heartbroken but uplifiting– every single line. From the picturesque murmurs of “the emptiest of feelings” and “clinging onto bottles“, to the dejected warnings of “don’t get sentimental” and the indescribably melancholy “one day, I am going to grow wings…“, there is not a word that comes out of Thom’s mouth that isn’t moving. What do they mean? Whatever the listener needs them to mean. One day Let Down is a glimmer of hope, the next it might be a mourning soliloquy.
Let Down‘s pièce de résistance arrives in it’s final minute. After a whimsical chime solo, the right headphone cup suddenly crawls to life: a quiet plea against the instrumental. “You know where you are with,” Thom repeats, determined but hanging on by a thread. Then the other headphone cup swells, and a second voice joins the stage. The harmonies are calibrated to infinitesimal precision, the lyrics clawing as ever. The interplay between the two vocal lines and the synchronization of sustained vibrato and oscillating melodies is unbelievable; by this point, the finale is already the best fugal section Radiohead has ever created. And then, finally, panned straight down the center, erupts the main theme, pinched between the other two voices and backed by the guitars, synths, and chimes all firing on full cylinders. It’s a final symphonic fanfare, blazing desperately before dwindling away in a sunset of chimes. It’s an otherworldly resolution, a contrapuntal wonder, and an experience not far from floating. Descriptions can’t do it justice. It has to be listened to.
In terms of emotion, no song on the album comes close to Let Down. It is easily the strongest track on the album, one of Radiohead’s best, and one of the greatest songs I have ever heard.