There’s a channel piped into my face as part of the digital cable package we share here at my place that appears to be only concerts. Showtime C. I’ve been watching an ’03 concert of Radiohead’s for the past hour or so, and old seizure-eyes has been crooning back into my lizard brain with his icky toilet water love velvet slither voice. The colors are very saturated, they must have been using film. Thank you, right now, Thom Yorke for reminding us we are afraid of television and the awful pictures of ourselves we hit each other with over it.
Speaking of Radiohead, the band’s American counterpart, WILCO, has a live album reviewed on Pitchfork today. WILCO: Kicking Television. I must get it.