A musical stream of consciousness

I originally jumped on the Radiohead sharabang, as many did, with “The Bends”. Then, subsequently, I was willing to go with them as they took us all on a journey towards guitar/electronica cross over in “OK, Computer” (a decision aided by having been blown away during their turn at Glastonbury in the mud of 1996).

As the subsequent albums have extended the transition from guitar to computers, I'll be the first to admit I've struggled to keep up at times but, as a true stalwart, I've recently, rather belatedly, got around to hearing Thom Yorke's solo album, “The Eraser”.

It's simultaneously exactly what I was expecting and also a complete surprise. The surprise is that, despite being awash with bleeping and PC-centric noodling, it's also just supremely melodic. You could always rely on being impressed (eventually) by the musical complexity and the lyrical astuteness – this has shone through even in the most intransigent Radiohead journeys but “The Eraser” is also, ironically, as approachable as anything that's come from Thom Yorke in years. Says me, anyway.

Then, just to prove to myself that I wasn't having a mid-life crisis with all this modern music, I buried myself in some nostalgia by revisiting lots and lots of Zappa.

He was quite simply a phenomenon, creating an awful lot of albums but my personal preferences lie around the early/mid Seventies through to the early Eighties and, particularly, the live albums where you get a real appreciation of the musical virtuosity he demanded from his bands.

Moreover, this awe-inspiring demonstration of skill helps to ameliorate the increasing despair at his puerility. Even though one can't help to laugh at times, it's the relentlessness of his silly lyrics that wear you down eventually. One to revisit sparingly, I realised.

It was this mature overview of Frank that made me realise that a mid-life crisis was the least of my worries. Quite the contrary. I'm turning into a boring old giffer.

So, I unfurled the new Arctic Monkeys album (“Favourite Worst Nightmare”) and settled down to a fine blend of articulate banter and undiluted pop thrashing. I may even have indulged in a spot of pogo'ing. Fortunately, no-one was watching so the images of my middle-aged shame are mine alone.

It'd been a funny old couple of hours so it seemed entirely appropriate to finish it off by listening to Joanna Newsom caterwauling over her individual interpretation of harp playing (absolutely stunning but I'm still no wiser as to how it all manages to work so well) on her last album, "Ys". Before I did so, however, I gave myself the opportunity to holler along to "Let It Bleed" as a final acknowledgment of the fact that I am, quite simply, not a young man anymore.

But, then, neither is Thom Yorke.