Poem: All Bearing Down On Me

A poem about Radiohead.

I was the right age. You never know that
until it’s no longer the case. I listened to
Radiohead on loops, in my head, on the
car stereo, and via the earnest but average
cover versions in the band that I majored in
at university. I saw them on the tour behind
Ok Computer; and they were okay — but it’s
been so long now that I tell everyone they
were great. I’m almost ready to believe myself.

And then I broke up with Radiohead for a while,
decided their fans were insufferable. And even
if I was right, it would only have been by fluke —
I really just needed a reason for a breather. And
calling out fandom is a convenient loophole; it’s
always easy to say someone else took it too
seriously. It covers your own burnout. It makes
you look like you think you’re smart, and somehow
principled — but it’s neither. No chance. Not close.

I checked in on the new albums — even loved
In Rainbows right away, and before that Kid A.
And I never didn’t like a single thing they did (even
when the damned fans were acting up). But I just
had to have my time away. And time away is good.
From anything. From anyone. I started listening to
Radiohead again just recently. Some of it feels more
perfect now than it ever did. It’s all just bearing down
on me. Almost elegantly. It fades in…again…