A change in producer hasn’t resulted in the abandonment of The Smile’s rage and funk.
For Radiohead fans, the announcements of side-projects/solo albums are a mixed blessing.
On the one hand, new music from whichever member of the band is exciting, but tempered by the knowledge that the next Radiohead album gets that little bit further away (eight years and counting).
But out of all those projects, The Smile comes closest, not least because of the presence of two members. The first album from the trio (Thom Yorke, Jonny Greenwood and Sons Of Kemet’s Tom Skinner) was a welcome treat two years ago, with A Light For Attracting Attention topping many End Of Year lists, and the rapid release of its successor Wall Of Eyes comes with high expectations.
A change in producer (long-time collaborator Nigel Godrich has stepped aside, replaced by Sam Petts-Davis, Yorke’s Suspiria co-producer) hasn’t resulted in the abandonment of the rage and the funk, but added more textures to the sonics. The title-track is bossa nova fused with Yorke’s trademark isolationism and despair (‘Let’s raise our glasses to what we don’t deserve’), all pleading strings and tumbling percussion which collide hypnotically. Teleharmonic follows suit while adding fluttering flutes and unearthly synths, the type of restlessly dark beauty which Yorke specialises in yet never utilises carelessly.
His lyrics are as generally oblique as ever, hiding an obvious line amidst puzzling ones. ‘This goes where it wants to be’, he spikily proffers on the salty Read The Moon, aptly for a song on which Skinner interrupts his laid-back beat with a series of staggeringly complex fills, pushing the rhythm to its natural limits. The drummer’s playing is so loose it borders on casual, yet he’s perennially in control while Greenwood’s fractured arpeggios complement his old friend’s brattish tones.
Rivalling it for best song on the album is the gnarly Under Our Pillows, a piece of three sonic parts with a spectral, otherworldly vibe akin to Bowie’s Lazarus. From afrobeat to motorik charge to ambient static, the track slithers and slides across its six minutes, growing in stature with every listen.
In contrast, recent single Friend Of A Friend is the simplest song on the album; a piano-driven, Beatles-esque piece which takes corruption to task (possibly referencing the COVID PPE scandals) as Yorke rails, ‘All that money, where did it go?’. It veers on relaxed compared to the other seven tracks, even with the discordant, cinematic strings.
The iciness returns on I Quit, which marries guitars, percussion and piano with strings to summon up a feeling of despondency as Yorke is wont to do this century (regardless of outlet), before the epic Bending Heretic.
The first salvo from the album back in the summer, it dreamily staggers into life, building into a crescendo of strangled guitars and clattering drums over eight minutes. For those who miss the days of The Bends (and who doesn’t?), it’s a hark back to less depressing times, although without compromising the malevolent pulse which carries the album.
Lastly, You Know Me is a drawing of breath after the maelstrom of what went before, Yorke back to delivering an elegant falsetto in a hushed moment of intimacy.
Although slighter that its predecessor, The Smile’s foundations remain an undercurrent of unease and paranoia (hence the album title) which makes the wait for Album Ten bearable.