Radiohead
First Midwest Bank Amphitheatre
Tinley Park, Ill.
June 10

Whether Radiohead gave up the mantle of “World’s Most Important Band” of its own volition or the generation that chose the U.K. quintet as its voice just simply disconnected is an unending debate meant for wine-fueled evenings. Before letting a friendship lapse for one party taking the opposite side, remember that Thom Yorke doesn’t care. The impish frontman never asked to reign over the pre-skinny jean masses and he’s finally let go of the pressure that made him melt into a pile of nervous tics onstage.

Instead of looking like a case study for mental deterioration, Yorke turned his knees into rubber bands and swiveled his hips like Elvis for an old-school, outdoor shed packed to the gills two days removed from a triumphant return to Bonnaroo. The antithesis of intimate or sonically alluring, Tinley Park’s First Midwest Bank Amphitheatre found the band ready to make up for the venue’s shortcomings. (A chipper “good evening peeps” and a chiding “if you think this is over, then you’re wrong” two hours in from the notoriously droll Yorke goes a long way.)

Those regulated to the cheaper lawn seats could barely see Yorke’s gigolo ponytail wag as he shadowboxed his way through the polyrhythmic “Staircase.” But, as he ducked from an invisible left hook, the brutal dance between drummers Phil Selway and Clive Deamer reverberated all the way back to the top of the hill. Despite his status as a hired hand, Deamer serves as this tour’s secret weapon, giving the boys an Old Spice, “the man your man could smell like” swagger missing on their latest release, King of Limbs. And when everyone picked up a stick for a tribal “There There,” it was impossible to mistake the band as one hailing from the land of tea and crumpets.

It should be noted that Radiohead and Chicago have a strange relationship stemming from the band’s monumental Grant Park show in 2001. (Other than the corporate juggernaut that is Lollapalooza, the elected suits haven’t let a single band take over the grounds since.) The Greenwood brothers could back Yorke in the living rooms of every fan within a ten-mile radius of the city for a set totally curated by the head of each individual household and the specter of that sweltering August night would still loom over the proceedings.

That epic experience threatened to taint this night, especially during the initial nine songs when Yorke was keen on singing ugly. Purposefully sounding like a harpy when you possess one of the most gorgeous octave jumpers this side of Jeff Buckley is just smiting your creator. The shift kicked in during the rockabilly boudoir of “The Amazing Sounds of Orgy” and carried through to the second encore. “Reckoner” brought on some pristine falsetto magic while “Myxomatosis” and “Idioteque” were wrapped in dizzying basslines.

The debut of “Full Stop” caused a stir with its droning piano punctuated by Yorke’s repetitive shrieking. Another newbie, the languid “Identikit” drowned in the anguish of a scorned lover. Swathed in reverb, the song could top the list of soundtrack selections for a “Prometheus” sequel. Before the percussion face off in “Everything in its Right Place,” Yorke toyed with a sickly version of R.E.M.’s “The One I Love.” In a set focused on moving bodies rather than moving hearts, the band bid adieu with The Bends tearjerker “Street Spirit (Fade Out).”

Special kudos to the lighting designer who mimicked the sensations of living with synesthesia. A wall of light flashed sequences of colors to correspond with each song (autumnal hues for “Morning Mr. Magpie” and lime green for “The Gloaming.” ) A dozen screens, forever shifting, showed fragmented images of the band members through a filter akin to night vision goggles. Each configuration looked like a life-size scrapbook page gone awry.