Radiohead - OK Computer

By Conor Finlay

I had just finished dinner when my parents told me they we’re going for an evening walk with their friends. At the rebellious age of 14, I proudly declined and chose to spend the night on my beloved computer downloading music. Moments after they left, I remembered there was a tray of artisanal brownies in the fridge gifted to us by a friend named Randy. I inhaled them under the glowing comfort of my monitor and began listening to my favourite tunes, happily exploring the vast uncharted confines of the World Wide Web. Over the course of the evening, I realized something was noticeably different as I suddenly felt compelled to stare at myself for fifteen minutes in the bathroom mirror. Unbeknownst at the time, our family friend Randy had forgot to disclose the “artisanal” brownies were in fact hashish. I ate roughly half the tray. Equating my heightened emotions and spatial awareness to puberty, I gleefully immersed myself in my Napster collection like never before. Sitting somewhere in my collection, unheard and a mere curiosity was Ok Computer by Radiohead. Perhaps it was the album art, perhaps it was the exotic sounding name, but for whatever reason I scrolled past my usual favourite band, Papa Roach, and chose to give Ok Computer a proper listen. I’ll forever remember this night. 

Halfway through the album, I was lying on the kitchen table, submerged in the imagery of Thom Yorkes lyrics and my first taste of electronic sounds and production. After the chaotic end of Paranoid Android, I was feeling things no other music had made me feel. Every track floored me, I was completely astounded and even briefly cried during the ending of Karma Police. I listened to that song over and over at least ten times before moving on. My parents returned in an absolute flurry of panic to me air drumming to Electioneering, as their small nibbles of the brownie had completely intoxicated them and they could only imagine what half a tray could do to their only child. I was still sprawled on the table, continuing to think I was merely experiencing good music and this is everyone’s reaction to fine art. I assured them I was okay but I needed to finish the album to the end. They put me to bed with headphones on and I woke up the next day feeling like an alien, not quite ready for public school. I felt like a blissful outsider, as no one I knew had heard it and it became my daily soundtrack, especially during long walks and moments in transit. Humour aside, I felt like hearing that album catalyzed a hunger for a whole new world of art and music that was pivotal in my life during those transitional years to adulthood. It was, and still is, a masterpiece to my ears, from start to finish, a perfect bridge of conventional and exploratory, abstract and anthemic. I still listen to it front to back at least once or twice a year, lying on the floor, as a tribute to my first time.