AFTER eight weeks in the US Radiohead's first date of a UK tour was coloured by an equipment glitch.

The group's baffling array of pedals, switches and effects went missing on the last leg of their support slot with REM, and their sound was accordingly cruder. It wasn't a problem, Radiohead's most stunning effect, Thom Yorke's voice, being impressively present throughout.

In a climate of perky Britpop singalongs Radiohead's fondness for dramatic extremes can seem a tad retro, conjuring up slightly cruel comparisons with the pomp of Queen and U2. No matter: in The Bends Radiohead made the album of the year, a relentlessly unsettling collection of edgily world-weary songs. Live, their moodiness is occasionally muddied by a tendency to thrash away thunderously, but Yorke's keening wails of alienation regularly soar above the mix.

The breakthrough hit Creep predictably receives the most feverish response, but put next to newer material it sounds like grunge by numbers, bludgeoning aggression compared to the delicate seductiveness of their finest moment Fake Plastic Trees.

Apart from Yorke, they're an anonymous enough bunch, indistinguishable from other indie types, but when they hit their stride on Anyone Can Play Guitar or High And Dry they leave the competition standing.