Radiohead, Bourdain and Plath

I fear it becomes almost part of growing up— the moment you discover the stomach-churning tunes of Radiohead’s “Let Down”.

It’s a pivotal moment in your 20s that will coincide with your emotional discovery of Anthony Bourdain and his appetite for life and what is out there.

There is something so magnetic about the lyrics of “Let Down”, so cathartic, so emotional. “One day I am going to grow wings,” sings Thom Yorke, in a way that you feel. You can feel the wings wanting to burst through the layers of your skin, the dull ache similar to that of your wisdom teeth growing in. Perhaps one’s wings are the curiosity that teeth are to wisdom.

“You know, you know where you are —“ 

You do, though. The repetition, the sombre, the sluggish. You know the moment you first heard those words, the hysterical connection that resulted in the deep delve of Radiohead’s discography. It is the moment your parents tell you they are getting a divorce; it is the slow march down to your seat at a funeral. It is the moment that the dust had settled, and the view wasn’t what you had hoped for.

“Weird Fishes/Arpeggi” is the moment that things start coming together, like “Let Down” is the reckoning that signifies something needs to change. The drums and the bass line that seemingly increase in tempo, despite staying the same. It’s the moment that things change. The start has begun. The race is on.

This moment– Radiohead, Anthony Bourdain– it’s the same moment as Sylvia Plath and the first time you picked up The Bell Jar or read one of her poems. The words that stuck with you as you trudged through the winter, remembering Plath’s March platitudes. No, Sylvia, in March, I never feel rested or human. No, Sylvia, March is simply a march to summer.

It’s the moment as you flip through the pages of The Bell Jar that you see yourself in Esther Greenwood and, moreover, in Sylvia Plath. It’s a shocking discovery, a revelation. Didn’t Sylvia Plath commit suicide? You sit with it, wondering what it means. But you turn to Bourdain, his zest, his wings, his teeth. But didn’t he, too, commit suicide? What does it mean for idols to be suicidal? What does that mean for their fans? Perhaps it is a way for us to remember that despite all the good, there is still so much bad?