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Appeared, copy-edited, in The Declaration on or about 1 September 2001.

Let’s take a moment to conjure up the magical land of the New Jersey Turnpike. New Yorkers and New Englanders don’t have a problem with this, but since most of the people reading this are from Virginia and probably have not had a great deal of experience with the great jewel of the Garden State, so here’s a little description for you: Imagine a post-apocalyptic world of the near future. Bush has fucked up big time. Saddam Hussein finally got the nuclear weapon for Christmas that he’s been hoping to get for the past twenty years or so. He unloaded it on the American Embassy in Jerusalem, and then everything went nuts. ICBMs were launched across the world, from the United States, from Russia, from China–hell, even France got in on the fun. Every place on earth becomes part of the new global wasteland. Water is scarce. The only buildings left are rotting shells, scattered across the dusty land every twenty or thirty miles.

In this hopeless, desolate world, the New Jersey Turnpike would remain unchanged.

The Jersey Turnpike is 130 miles of asphalt, with service stations scattered about every twenty-five miles or so. Many of these rest stops are under renovation, so you’ve got Burger King and Roy Rogers running out of modified RVs, and convenience stores that are little more than shacks selling stale Combos and warm soda. Add to this mix the Mafia (the opening sequence of The Sopranos is James Gandolfini driving past various “landmarks” on the Turnpike), easily angered New Yorkers, and overzealous cops, and you’ve got one horrible stretch of highway. And we won’t even get started about the smell.

Basically, what I’m getting at is that the Jersey Turnpike is not the most scenic stretch of highway in the Northeast, and also that I’m bitter because I spent far too much time driving it over the course of the summer. Of course, there’s a silver lining in every clich

Appeared, copy-edited, in The Declaration on 25 October 2000.

The great white north. The phrases “oot and aboot” and “eh?” Hockey. The Kids in the Hall. Unguarded borders. Perhaps Alanis Morrisette. Perhaps not.

Mounties.

These are some of things you think of when you think of Canada, the rather large expanse of land to our north. You probably don’t think of one first-year’s crazed attempt to go see his favorite band in Toronto. Toronto is, for those of you keeping score at home, a good 750 miles away from Charlottesville by car.

Thus, before I go any further, let me point out three things about myself.

1. I really, really like Radiohead. A lot. I own all three albums, a few EPs and can name all five band members off the top of my head.

2. I missed them when they played New York during the massive OK Computer tour and thus was itching for a chance to see them live. In order to ensure that I got the tickets, I woke up an hour before the tickets went on sale and took over an ITC lab, hitting ticketmaster.ca with no less than ten computers (please see point one).

3. Radiohead only played three shows in North America this fall. They performed in New York, Toronto and Los Angeles. However, the New York show was announced only after I already had purchased my tickets to the Canadian venue, and there were no refunds.

My parents were kind enough to drive home after parent’s weekend in a rental car, leaving the family car for me to take on Monday evening. After my last class, I (after an upperclassman drove me out of Albemarle county, of course) drove up to Syracuse University, where I picked up my friend, Rachel, and the next morning drove into Toronto.

Let me say that it was all worth it.

The opening act was the Handsome Boy Modeling School, consisting of Prince Paul (yes, that Prince Paul), Dan the Automator and Kid Koala. The first two didn’t do a spectacular job of getting the crowd excited–they were only there to “spin some records for you,” said Paul–though Paul’s expert blending of De La Soul’s “Me, Myself and I” into House of Pain’s “Jump Around” was excellent. One wonders about the decision to pick two rap producers to open for a group like Radiohead, but the final member of HBMS explained why they were chosen. Kid Koala, playing eerie, depressing music somewhat reminiscent of DJ Spooky, knew the best way to get the attendees riled up: put a Radiohead track into the mix. Upon hearing the computer-generated voice from “Fitter, Happier,” the crowd went wild.

At nine, there was a pre-recorded symphony of strings that heralded the coming of Thom Yorke and Co. They came out and started immediately with a revved up version of “The National Anthem.” The energy arising from Ed O’Brian and Colin Greenwood’s drum and bass work was palpable; the audience quickly got into the show. There was no brass band supporting them on this song as in recent performances, but Johnny Greenwood made up for it by playing lead guitar. In fact, one of the most notable things about the concert was the band’s reliance on guitars. Despite the quiet electronica of the Kid A songs on CD, they were transformed into much more straightforward rock songs here.

Over the course of a nearly two hour set–with two encores and twenty-four songs–they covered nearly all of their material. Pablo Honey was, due to their hatred of “Creep”, completely ignored. Still, they played good versions of Bends- and OK Computer-era songs. “My Iron Lung” and “Paranoid Android” almost brought those lucky enough to be on the floor back to moshing, while “Lucky” and “Exit Music”–the former being my favorite Radiohead song–brought out the lighters. They played everything off of Kid A except for “Treefingers,” but also played a few B-sides and songs from the upcoming fifth LP.

“Talk Show Host,” the song they contributed to the Romeo & Juliet soundtrack, was a big hit with everyone. As the night went on, however, they played songs that fewer people knew, but were also some of the most beautiful moments of the night. While Thom sat alone with a piano or acoustic guitar to play “You and Whose Army” or “Follow Me Around,” his plaintive voice quietly reaching out to fill the entire stadium, the crowd was stunned into silence.

When Thom was playing with the whole band, he got a little, well crazy. Thom wasn’t acting as out of control as he did during the SNL performance and other shows, but he definitely seemed to be in a good, almost happy mood. “That last one was brought you by, um, Sony,” he said after “National Anthem,” reacting in bemusement to the advertisements plastered around the hockey stadium. “This next one is dedicated to Labatt’s.” Most of the songs ended up with fictitious corporate sponsorship: “Airbag” was brought to you thanks to Ford, Microsoft delivered “Idioteque” and Disney, naturally, paid for “Motion Picture Soundtrack.” During “Idioteque,” Thom started running around the stage and posing in various positions, to the cheers of the audience.

The only truly poor part of the night was when they came out for their second encore and began to play “Motion Picture Soundtrack.” I cannot express in words how much I dislike the new version of this song, but, in concert, the harp, bass and electronic organ seemed almost as earnest as the original acoustic version. Still, I prayed that they wouldn’t end with that song and, thankfully, after the song Johnny went over to the piano and Thom picked up a guitar. They then played the best version of “Karma Police” I have ever heard. Johnny played a jazzed-up version of the piano riff, while the crowd shouted out every word along with Thom. Thematically, it was the perfect way to close the evening: the audience that cheerfully exclaimed, “for a minute there, I lost myself,” as the stage lights slowly became blinding soon found itself outside, back in the Toronto night.

After having lost themselves in Radiohead’s music for two hours, they got into their cars and drove off to their homes in the suburbs, to get up for work or a fourteen hour drive back to Charlottesville in the morning. And it was definitely worth it.