We can all agree that Radiohead’s new album The Prince of Legs or whatever is the most important album ever made by the greatest musical artists since Orpheus, and that it will change everything you thought you knew about music, or even other sounds that might get all laid up in your earholes. I haven’t actually heard it yet, but I’ll eventually get around to downloading it, just like you will, and we’ll all end up talking about how it blew our minds.
But the more pressing issue at the moment is Thom Yorke’s dance moves.
Since it came out last Friday, pretty much everyone with an internet connection and some editing software made mashups of Radiohead’s video for the new single–in which Yorke performs a lively bit of interpretive dance–and some seemingly incongruous audio tracks. Among the most inspired replacements for the actual Radiohead song (Lotus Flower) are Beyonce’s All the Single Ladies and Hall’s & Oates’s You Make my Dreams Come True. You can spend the rest of the day checking out others at the Tumblr collection called Dancing Thom.
Although plenty of internet smartasses have made light of Mr. Yorke’s dancing (“spastic” and “crazy” are the most common adjectives I’ve run across to describe it), there has been a total lack of scholarship regarding who his influences in the world of dance are, and where the greatest musical visionary that ever lived fits into the pantheon of celebrated hoofers.
Tell me you like my hat
Upon first viewing of the routine, Yorke’s technique may seem to have sprung organically from the immaculate ember of genius that is this brooding Briton’s soul. But a bit of research reveals that many of his light-tripping progenitors had already provided the building blocks that comprise this balletic tour de force.
Let’s start by taking a look at the original video:
Yorke’s dynamic performance clearly derives from many sources, interweaving elements into a language that, perhaps even more than Radiohead’s music, speaks to our collective yearning, alienation, and–yes–even elation. We might best begin parsing the roots of this language by examining discrete aspects of its “grammar.”
For instance, Yorke’s “hands in pockets” sequence, beginning at 1:00, is so similar as to almost qualify as an homage to Christopher Walken’s unforgettable moves in Fatboy Slim’s Weapon of Choice. Start watching Weapon of Choice carefully at 2:02.
At 1:20, Yorke clearly reveals the influence of actor/singer/dancer Martin Short, who not only pioneered the type of spastic mania that ebbs and flows through Yorke’s dance, but for whom Yorke is physically a dead ringer.
But Yorke’s palette isn’t restricted to shades of spasmodic flailing. By the time we reach the 1:32 mark, he has transitioned into a smooth lateral undulation that instantly recalls *everybody’s* serpentine: Axl Rose.
Around 1:55, we see a more cocksure, freewheeling Yorke, reminiscent of androgynous sex gargoyle Mick Jagger, especially as he re-invented himself for the early eighties.
Finally, one of the most pervasive influences on Yorke’s dancing in this video comes into sharp relief somewhere around 3:00. It had been present throughout, of course; but the three minute mark is where we slap our collective head and say, “THAT’s where I’ve seen this before.” Of course I’m talking about Talking Heads singer David Byrne.
After viewing aspects of these dance idioms side by side, we can see that Yorke’s performance is more than just a series of borrowed moves cobbled together haphazardly. On the contrary, a study of the mechanical details of the dance gives us lens through which we can view the gestalt of the performance.
I know what you’re going to say next. “So what’s the deal with the hat?” The hat really has nothing to do with the rest of the dance, but is simply a tribute to Liza Minelli. (And maybe an allusion to the notion of human existence as performance art.)
cabaret mein herr
Uploaded by keliah_c. – News videos from around the world.
About Beta Dad
