Attempting to pick Radiohead’s 15 best songs

Someone’s gotta do it

Radiohead is a great band, full stop.

There’s a reason that sounds defensive: It’s easy (and trendy) to pick on the British fivesome. They’ve perfected glum, despondent music by making gobs of it, and a thirty-year output of dour doomer rock can easily cross into unintentional satire. That’s especially true on the internet, where taking yourself too seriously puts a big, fat target on your back, no matter how accomplished you are.

Plus, Thom Yorke dancing will never not be a quality meme:

That said, Yorke and Co. are exceptional songwriters and performers. They’ve been doing it with such consistency, in fact, that they’re sort of critic-proof. Which isn’t to say they don’t have duds or misfires. But overall, when the band puts new content out into the world, there’s bound to be some fresh-cut gems in the pile.

The steady display of artistry has left the listening public with decades of great tracks. And while picking the 15 best is a fool’s errand, I’ve done it now and again for some of my other favorite artists, so…why not? We’ll just have to establish some ground rules (really, as a favor to yours truly):

1. No ranking. That would be truly Sisyphean, if not impossible. (See The Ringer’s list for an overstuffed attempt.)
2. No excluding songs just because they’re obvious. This is no time to go full-on contrarian.
3. No excluding songs just because they’re obscure. OK, a little contrarianism is fine.

So, without further belaboring it, here’s my level best, in no particular order:

“True Love Waits”

The band kicked different versions of this track around for years, but A Moon Shaped Pool finally gave us the bonafide, a haunted house of trickling piano, pulsing undercurrents, and a line so existential it scratches at the skin of the human soul: “I’m not living. I’m just killing time.”

“Everything in its Right Place”

Radiohead strode bravely into a new, formless era of digital hellscapes with this track, the first on Kid A. Cut-up tape samples and a phasing organ accompany Yorke’s rando phraseology as the song rides the darkness, conjuring an evil-at-hand apocalypse more effectively than any other Radiohead track.

“My Iron Lung”

It feels like only Yorke and the boys could write an all-time classic that bemoans their other all-time classic (that would be “Creep,” of course.) The Bends was the first album where Radiohead showed the DNA of the band they would one day become. “My Iron Lung,” with its plaintive guitar riffs, was a collective therapy session over a too-popular-for-its-own-good grunge anthem and the misery that follows unmitigated success.

“No Surprises”

Often, it’s difficult to infer where the satire ends and the sincerity begins in Yorke’s lyrics. In “No Surprises,” that delineation is wholly unimportant: this is one of the most beautiful songs the band has ever written, with a guitar melody that literally sounds like a lullaby and a yearning, mournful Yorke singing like a man on his knees, praying, pleading, begging for meaning and happiness, no matter how shallow or scant.

“Nude”

There are so many great tracks on In Rainbows, it’s difficult to choose just one to carry the album’s dark, ponderous spirit. “Nude” comes close. Nocturnal and dirge-like, the song has the immediacy of a late-night studio session, near liquid-smooth in its bass and guitar parts, and punctuated with Yorke’s haunting croon of “Now that you feel it, you don’t.”

“High and Dry”

As far as alternative sing-alongs go, you can hardly do better than “High and Dry.” Wide-eyed and aspirational, this is peak ‘90s Radiohead, who somehow found a way to pair their catchiest guitar hooks with honest-to-God Evel Knievel references. It works, somehow, even if it is a minute too long.

“Kid A”

“What is this, nightmare circus music?” Those were the shocked, disgusted words uttered by my music theory professor in 2001, when one of my classmates played “Kid A” for him aloud in class. He was thoroughly insulted by the band’s raspy, digitized hymn, full of naked dread and white noise. Even more astounding: its closing moments, when the track ditches the algorithmic xylophone for waves of electric strings and a quiet dignity.

“There There”

It’s impossible to separate this track from its video. In the former, bleary guitars and clicking percussion hover over the listener like a shadow in a storybook, just as Yorke does in the latter. It’s a simple song, by Radiohead standards, but perhaps one of the finest examples of the band capturing the indelible suspicion that something bad is looming at home’s edge, just beyond the wood, and closing in fast.

“Creep”

It’s still a great song, no matter what the band thinks. We’ve also got the Lynchian 2021 rendition to enjoy, which probably tracks closer with how Radiohead hears the track nowadays, a lumbering Frankenstein monster they lost control of a long, long time ago.

“Let Down”

The melody on “Let Down” isn’t one of Radiohead’s strongest, nor does it boast any make-you-sit-up-and-listen sonic experimentation. Despite that, I would submit that “Let Down” is easily the band’s best track, precisely because it marries all the beloved—and often conflicting— Radiohead touchstones so perfectly: paranoia with hopefulness, analog instruments with sanguine computer chip harmonies, cold, clean atmosphere with Yorke’s messy, emotive voice…the list goes on. “One day, I am gonna grow wings,” he gushes, before adding the caveat: “A chemical reaction.”

“Fake Plastic Trees”

There’s a lot of allegory in Radiohead’s work, but not necessarily a lot of storytelling. “Fake Plastic Trees” is the exception to the rule. With an arsenal of instruments that would be considered arch-traditional by the band’s standards — guitars both acoustic and fuzzed-out, organ, strings — the track presents an immaculate close-up of tired, desperate people doing tired, desperate things in an effort to feel…well, anything at all.

“Paranoid Android”

It would be easy to dub this as “A Day in the Life” for Gen Xers, with its expansive, triptych approach to songwriting. But that would be too easy. Really, “Paranoid Android” is far more Pink Floyd than Beatles. Slow until it’s not, methodical until the guitars bust in and take it way off the rails, this is Radiohead’s testament to disillusionment. And what a testament it is.

“Idioteque”

Radiohead’s favorite currency is, more often than not, complete and utter doom, with all the panic, euphoria, and soul-searching that follow. By that measure, “Idioteque” is their purest work. If we ever get to the point where the human race is living in bunkers, this is exactly what music is going to sound like.

“Airbag”

The OK Computer era kicks off with a bang. Gnarled drums, choral synths, and a kick-ass EBow riff work together to transport us to a postmodern world of neon signs and fast German cars, where technology might just make you feel worthless — but also keep you alive.

“Videotape”

Listen to the above song, learn about its distinct rhythm, listen to it again, and then realize how closely it tracks to a world whose culture is driven by things like TikTok, social media, and other instruments of unwitting self-surveillance.