Imagine a night so electrifying, so profoundly transformative, that it doesn't just pass by—it lingers in your soul like a dream you can't shake. That's the essence of Radiohead's triumphant comeback in Madrid, a spectacle that redefined what a live concert could be and left fans questioning if music could ever feel ordinary again. But here's where it gets controversial—some might argue this wasn't just a reunion, but an overblown spectacle that overshadowed the band's raw emotion. Stick around, because this review dives deep into why this show felt like destiny itself.
There are evenings that transcend the mundane; they seem destined to be etched into the fabric of time, as if the cosmos pauses to honor their brilliance. Radiohead's performance at Madrid's Movistar Arena on Friday, November 7th, epitomized such an event. Following a seven-year hiatus after their album A Moon Shaped Pool, an audience of fifteen thousand souls experienced a collective awakening—a sense of restoration, perhaps for the world at large, but certainly for the band and their devoted followers.
Kicking off with 'Planet Telex,' a track that hadn't opened a set since 2008, the atmosphere erupted into a frenzy. The stage vibrated underfoot, lights twisted in mesmerizing spirals, and the energy in the air crackled with anticipation. This wasn't merely a comeback gig; it evolved into a full-circle, all-encompassing journey through sound, visuals, and something almost spiritual in nature. For beginners unfamiliar with Radiohead's style, think of it as an immersive art installation where music isn't just heard—it's lived, blending electronic beats with poetic lyrics to create a world apart.
Then, frontman Thom Yorke took the stage, his movements evoking a visionary prophet caught between heralding impending doom and reveling in ecstatic joy. He operated on his own rhythm, seemingly unbound by the usual pulls of gravity—whether from the crowd, his bandmates, or reality itself. Observing him was akin to witnessing Heath Ledger's enigmatic Joker from The Dark Knight orchestrating an orchestral masterpiece: a blend of sheer brilliance and underlying peril, with a wry grin masking turbulent disorder. It painted the picture of a man who might raze a metropolis just to admire the flames' dance on shattered windows.
The set surged forward with 'There There,' unleashing the evening's initial tempest. It was flawlessly executed, building layer by layer until it engulfed every corner of the arena. The fans hung on the edge, sensing the impending crescendo, and just as the storm peaked, 'No Surprises' swept in like a serene rainbow emerging after apocalypse's end. The illumination shifted to pure white and then radiant gold, with the stage appearing to unveil a portal of tranquility. Yorke's vocals soared effortlessly, prompting fifteen thousand attendees to yield completely to the splendor—no wild leaps or cheers, only pure, unresisted capitulation. This moment sparked the night's inaugural roar of applause: a unified release of breath. Madrid itself seemed to exhale in relief, as if the city had been holding its breath for far too long.
This marked the third installment of four straight evenings in Spain's capital, kicking off a global tour that didn't resemble a mere return—it felt like profound absolution. The setlist leaned heavily on OK Computer, featuring a robust six tracks including 'Lucky,' 'Let Down,' 'No Surprises,' 'Paranoid Android,' 'Subterranean Homesick Alien,' and 'Karma Police.' Hail to the Thief contributed five more, weaving a delicate balance between bleak futuristic visions and moments of exquisite poise. Collectively, these songs formed the emotional backbone of the performance, underscoring that the 21st century's soundscape is still synonymous with Radiohead's innovative edge. 'Idioteque,' with its piercing electronic wail and managed frenzy, served as a clarion call for a world tuned out to its own alarms—a concept that might intrigue newcomers by showing how bands can use music to mirror societal chaos without losing artistic control.
And then, 'Just' made its return, absent from stages since 2009. Its arrival ignited the crowd like a reboot of shared humanity, not merely evoking fond memories but resurrecting something deeper within. This is the part most people miss: how Radiohead transforms nostalgia into a living, breathing force, reminding us that great music isn't about the past—it's about renewal.
Visually, the production oscillated between grand cathedral-like solemnity and chaotic digital dystopias—rotating displays, morphing visuals, and figures dissolving into luminous abstractions. At points, it blurred the line between witnessing Radiohead perform and confronting your own inner psyche striving for liberation. Yorke himself embodied this: dancing, twirling, fracturing and reconstructing his persona like a live wire attuned to an exclusive wavelength.
Notably, 'Creep' was conspicuously absent—and intentionally so. For those new to the band's lore, 'Creep' is their breakout hit from 1993, often seen as their signature tune, yet here it was deemed unnecessary. But here's where it gets controversial: was this omission a bold artistic statement, proving Radiohead has evolved beyond their early hits, or a risky gambit that alienated fans craving the familiar? Some argue it elevated the show to conceptual art, where songs aren't just played—they embody ideas, shaping futures rather than echoing yesterdays.
The evening culminated with 'Karma Police,' as fifteen thousand voices harmonized on 'For a minute there, I lost myself.' Yorke beamed with a mix of warmth and subtle threat, and in that instant, we all surrendered to the void—beautifully. That fleeting loss justified every quiet year, every patient expectation, every dormant season.
This wasn't just a concert; it was a cosmic convergence, a reminder of how it feels when all pieces align perfectly. Because, undeniably, everything—every note, every light, every soul—was precisely where it belonged.
Jorge Fernández serves as a music journalist and editor-in-chief of Corrientes Circulares (https://corrientescirculares.es/), a Spanish publication dedicated to exploring alternative and indie music from both local and global perspectives.
Radiohead, November 7th at Movistar Arena in Madrid – Setlist:
Planet Telex (first time as set opener since 2008)
2 + 2 = 5
Sit Down. Stand Up.
Bloom
Lucky
Ful Stop
The Gloaming
There There
No Surprises
Videotape
Weird Fishes/Arpeggi
Everything in Its Right Place
15 Step
The National Anthem
Daydreaming
Subterranean Homesick Alien
Bodysnatchers
Idioteque
Encore:
Fake Plastic Trees
Let Down
Paranoid Android
You and Whose Army?
A Wolf at the Door
Just (first time since 2009)
Karma Police
What do you think—did this show truly capture a 'planetary alignment,' or was it just another rock concert amplified to mythic proportions? And was skipping 'Creep' a stroke of genius or a missed opportunity to please longtime fans? Share your thoughts in the comments; I'd love to hear your take!
