The lyrics depicting loners and depressives trapped in vast, impersonal systems of intimidation and control mirrored The X-Files and Thomas Pynchon, two of my other favorites at the time. Combine that with the fact that I was a bookish kid in a small town and you have a recipe for obsession. When OK Computer came out, I was fifteen, an ideal age for falling under the sway of the album’s moody, paranoid grandeur. Now that I’m an adult and know a little something about pain and disappointment, I can appreciate what the album is saying. This is what I feel when listening to OK Computer today. Who hasn’t winced upon hearing the anthem of their youthful rebelliousness in an SUV commercial? Sometimes, however, you’ll listen to the music that defined your adolescence with wistfulness, as if your teenage enthusiasm prevented you from hearing what it was really about.
But watching the groundbreaking cultural touchstones of one’s youth become historical artifacts is one of the universal experiences of our media-saturated culture. But do I feel old? Depends on the day, honestly. I’ve since experienced a sharp existential pang regarding my own mortality. This summer marks the twentieth anniversary of the release of OK Computer, Radiohead’s epochal album about technology and alienation a reissue of the album, OKNOTOK 1997 2017, was released this past June.
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