Nick Hornby’s “Beyond the Pale”

From The New Yorker's archive: an essay published in 2000 about the evolution of the alternative-rock band Radiohead.  ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌ ‌   View in browser | Update your preferences     Pop Music Beyond the Pale Radiohead gets farther out. By Nick Hornby In an interview in 2015, the novelist Nick Hornby likened the process of crafting innovative literature to standing on a ball: "You can do it for a couple of minutes. Then you have to fall off and get back on again in a completely different position." Since 1996, Hornby has contributed nearly a dozen pieces to The New Yorker. He has written on a variety of topics, including his obsession with European football, the popularity and cultural significance of musical Top Ten lists, the dark melodies of Aimee Mann, and the transformative recordings of Nick Cave. He has also published twenty books, including "About a Boy" and "High Fidelity," both of which were adapted into hit films. One of my favorite pieces by Hornby is "Beyond the Pale," an essay published in 2000 about the evolution of the alternative-rock band Radiohead. Hornby traces the group's journey from cult favorite to mainstream success. As he describes the band's albums, he highlights the charms of one of its songs about disaffection and estrangement. " 'Pablo Honey' may have been patchy, but it contained one song, 'Creep,' that gave voice to everyone who has ever felt disconnected, alienated, or geeky—just about anyone who has ever used rock music to get through the day. 'I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo,' the singer Thom Yorke piped with unnerving sincerity. 'What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here.' The genius of the song was its mournful anguish," he writes. Hornby insightfully pinpoints the allure—and the deficiencies—of the group's musical stylings. No other contemporary band, he observes, has been able to conjure such a "cocktail of rage, sarcasm, self-pity, exquisite tunefulness, and braininess." As the piece progresses, the novelist writes with fluidity and precision about the changing nature of modern pop music. In doing so, he illuminates the substrata of our shifting cultural predilections—and reminds us of the songs that have served as the soundtracks to our own personal journeys. —Erin Overbey, archive editor More from the Archive     Shouts & Murmurs What to Watch During the Lockdown: Month 38 From 2020: You've seen "Downton Abbey" three times. For your next posh Brit fix, try this nativity play from an exclusive London primary school, filmed by a proud front-row parent. By Nick Hornby     A Reporter at Large The Takedown of Tupac From 1997: Tupac Shakur was one of gangsta rap's biggest stars. But he got caught in a collision of cultures when inner-city gangs met up with the multibillion-dollar record industry. By Connie Bruck This e-mail was sent to you by The New Yorker. To insure delivery, we recommend adding newyorker@newsletters.newyorker.com to your contacts, while noting that it is a no-reply address. Please send all newsletter feedback to tnyinbox@newyorker.com.    For more from The New Yorker, sign up for our newsletters, shop the store, and sign in to newyorker.com, where subscribers always have unlimited access. Contact us with questions.   View our Privacy Policy. Unsubscribe.   Copyright © Condé Nast 2020. One World Trade Center, New York, NY 10007. All rights reserved.