When Radiohead started touring, it was hugely exciting, but we got signed when we had been going for five or six years and had only really played in Oxford. Suddenly you’re entering a new world: the first flush of fame, being compared to everyone else, the furnace-like experience when a band takes off and a whole new routine of late nights, bad food and everything else that goes on around live music. Everything is heightened and it can be very isolating.
In 1992 we were playing small venues in a van and then suddenly in 1993 we were spending the second half of the year in the US. On our second long tour that year, everything caught up with me. I kind of withdrew into myself.
Something about being in the US made me feel “impostor syndrome”. I really did feel a very long way from home. All that anxiety has to come out somewhere – for some it’s drink and drugs – but for me it came out in my playing.
There was one particular show where we were opening for Tears for Fears and another band who had [Blondie’s] Clem Burke on drums. Clem was my absolute drummer hero but I just hit peak overwhelm, and my drumming went off a cliff. Every limb seemed to be going at its own speed.
The kick drum became like trying to open a heavy door. By the end of the tour it was very noticeable. I was lucky in that I could speak to my wife – this was pre-Zoom or FaceTime, so meant very expensive phone calls! – but after that tour one of our managers asked me to go and have a chat and broached it with me very nicely.
Having that space to begin talking about it was absolutely invaluable. Similarly, when we opened for James and then REM, they became kind of mentors: seeing how other people navigate it all was fascinating. On Radiohead’s tour last autumn, with the help of the Music Industry Therapist Collective, we were able to put an initiative in place to support the health and well-being of all tour personnel.
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