What exactly are we trying to do here? Here—this planet—with music, with film, with all of this noise we make. Plant yourself in space and look down for a minute. Or better yet—put your ear up to us. Like an empty glass on a wall, listening in on neighbors. Loud, eh? What’s it for? God knows.

Here we have this film Bodysong—a documentary of life. Yes, all of it. Uninterrupted vintage stock footage of things like births, deaths, protests, rocket launches, people working, people fighting, people loving, people being people. All of life condensed down to celluloid, flickering down a beam of dusty light, hitting a screen, bouncing back into the retinas of people—the very subjects of the film. Why? Pure and total, galactic narcissism—self-expression of ourselves, for ourselves, by one of us for the rest of us.

Here we have Jonny Greenwood, the guitarist of Radiohead—one of those bands that change lives. But how do you compose a soundtrack for life? Not a life, but life and living—beyond the thumps of heartbeats and the pitter-patter of feet. This is the huge, moaning orchestra of an entire globe we’re talking about. Easy. You pull from it all and leave no musical stone unturned, stare deeply beneath the rocks you’ve moved and put a microphone right up to the scurrying things the light has disrupted. Classical and jazz and electro and rock, experimental noise collage, violas and violins drizzled over muted trumpets and the mess of metal things dropping from great heights. After all, this is Jonny Greenwood, your favorite member of Radiohead, the one whose gangly arms and thin frame cranes over glockenspiels and effects pedals and spends most of his time during performances crawling on the floor.

It’s all so glorious and vast, it’s easy to want to gear up and take a small flight through the big questions with one of the biggest musicians about some of his biggest music made for a film about the absolute biggest thing we can think of without our heads imploding, exploding and/or making a general mess. Easy to gear up for, hard to actually do. So, let’s call this little conversation about big things: The Englishman Who Went Up a Hill and Came Down with a Writer in a Headlock.

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This idea of trying to capture the entirety of human experience in a movie, did it get you to thinking about doing the same thing with music?
I suppose subconsciously I was thinking in terms of having the scale of it matching the scale of the images. Hence the sort of string quartet, jazz band and electronic stuff. It’s weird. I was just very conscious that I could either bore people by having the music be similar for too long, or I could just wear them out and bore them in a different way by having it changing too much every minute or two minutes. So, there was that kind of balance to get right.

Combining genres that already exist, that have certain unspoken rules on their own—is this the most effective way to create a new kind of music? It seems you try to do similar things with your band.
I hope it’s never too deliberate. It’s like that scene from The Player when they talk about merging Star Wars and Kramer vs. Kramer, or whatever. You could do that with music and it would just be awful. But I suppose with the music you’re passionate about, if it comes from opposite ends, then sometimes elements of it work together. I think it would be awful if I started thinking, “Let’s mix this with this, ‘cause I like them both.” But then, you know, we tend to kind of record something—with Radiohead, anyway, maybe with this as well—and one of us will say, “Oh, it would be great if this had the texture of an Alice Coltrane record,” or whatever. And so we’ll try and do that.

What’s more interesting to experiment with: melody or rhythm?
Oh, that’s a good question. I think rhythms can be more satisfying in the short term—like, more immediately. It can be kind of obsessively and compulsively rewarding. But over a period of time it’s the melodic things that are in my head all day. I wouldn’t give up either.

Music and images are so intertwined and always have been. Is it a strong connection for you, or do you close your eyes when you listen?
I close my eyes. I’m quite into listening to music and not doing anything else. I remember when I was in my late teens just getting rid of lots of records, realizing I only ever listened to them when I was reading, or watching TV, or doing something else. I didn’t really like them. It’s the same feeling you get when you’re doing compilation tapes for somebody and you’re actually doing it in real time and you’re listening to it and two minutes into something you think, “I don’t really like this. I don’t think this is that good.” You reappraise it in a way. So, that’s kind of how I listen to music, I suppose. It’s what the Pixies always said about music—they were writing songs and just trying not to be boring. That was their main motivation and it worked for them. I remember reading that and thinking that was the way to do it.

Has a film ever ruined a piece of music for you? Or made the music better?
I can remember soundtracks that you just can’t separate from the film—it’s just so intertwined, so important. Like the Hitchcock ones where they kind of inform each other and become this larger thing as a result. That’s magical when it happens. There’s the soundtrack to The French Connection II—I think it’s my favorite soundtrack. It hasn’t been released. I actually had to go and get the film and just make a recording of it to get the music.

I’ve always just assumed the second one wasn’t as good as the first, so I skipped it.
Oh, it’s great! It’s really good. It’s set in Marseilles and they get Gene Hackman hooked on heroin. It’s really good and dark. You’ll love it.

What are some of your other favorite films?
Mostly Woody Allen. I think he’s sort of still underrated, actually. He’s just such a great storyteller. People kind of complain about the repetition of character and forget what’s great about his films. They’re like modern fairy tales. I just saw Crimes & Misdemeanors again the other night and it just struck me that it’s just dealing with such big ideas, but done with such a lightness of touch. He’s amazing. What can I tell you? He’s a treasure, really. So, probably those and maybe the Coen Brothers films.

The subject matter of the film Bodysong got me to thinking if things like art, sex, or maybe even just getting drunk are about the closest we tiny humans can come to big galactic things. Or, maybe good music and art is just good and I’m trying too hard to make it something else.
[Long pause] I think when [music’s] good and it’s really affecting, then it’s stupid to be embarrassed about it—about how good it is. You know, there’s a certain Tom Waits song that whenever I hear it I, you know, it just…it makes me talk in this inarticulate way that I’m using now, it’s so good. It seems to me quite disingenuous to be embarrassed about it. I think it should be ambitious and good music does deal with life and art and all these wonderful things. I used to be ashamed talking about it, but now I just think it’s fraudulent to pretend otherwise. I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. You just sound like you’re being passionate about it and I agree with you. I don’t know how else to put it into words. You’re the journalist, you should know. I’ll leave it to you. If you could hash that out by tomorrow, that’d be great.

Are you giving me homework?
Yeah, keep it short—200 words. By tomorrow, please.

Is music evolving at a slower or faster rate than it was, say, 50 years ago…100 years ago?
I think it’s a bit of a disappointment that a lot of people’s Golden Age of music is still the ‘60s. I suppose, counting back, if the Beatles had been influenced by music in the same length of time ago—you’d have to put that into better English for me, thank you—they would have been like a banjo orchestra. They would have been doing show tunes. So it seems strange that it’s still about two guitars, preferably made in the ‘60s to sound right, with the right kind of vintage amplifiers. Like you said, I think that’s a sign of something not evolving. But then, I don’t know. I change my mind all the time. At the same time, I look at the string quartets on Bodysong and think that that’s still great technology, you know? It’s obviously much older, but there’s something just inherently right about it. It just sounds beautiful. So, maybe you can argue the same is true for two guitars, bass and drums. I don’t know. I haven’t decided myself.

How often do you make music for yourself, or outside of the context of Radiohead?
I really don’t. Everything I do feels like it’s going to end up being in Radiohead. So, this is kind of weird for me.

So, it’s kind of like when you come up with something exciting you can’t wait to share it with your friends and your friends just happen to be in Radiohead...
[Laughs] Yeah, it’s a little like that.

When you make music, does it feel more like you’re letting something out, or more like trying to capture something outside of yourself?
I don’t know. I’m English, so I don’t tend to think about myself in that sort of revealing way. English people can’t talk about themselves. I should probably let you know that while we stumble through this interview [laughs]. It’s all a bit awkward, it’s like... Have you seen Trigger Happy TV?

Oh yeah, a bunch of times. I’m a fan.
I’ve seen some of the American [episodes] and it sort of didn’t work as well [over there], because the Americans seem to be just reacting to these strange things with slightly more confidence and less embarrassment than the English, whereas the English just kind of tortuously go through it. You know the one when the sad penguin is delivered to various shops?

[Laughs] Yeah...
When that was done in England, everyone in the shop would be too polite to tell the penguin, “Could you go please?” They’re just kind of standing there awkwardly. Whereas the Americans are like, “Excuse me. This is a shop.” They’re being polite about it, but they’re taking charge of the situation. And the English are just a bit more wretched, really. I’m not sure if that’s endearing or if it’s just a bit irritating, but that’s how it is. So, yeah, I suppose, I hope it’s about other things—the music, to get back to that. The music’s probably about everything outside [of myself].

Well, if the English don’t like talking about themselves in such a grand way, then try this one on for size: Do you spend an ordinary time or an extraordinary time thinking about the meaning of your own existence and have you arrived at any conclusions that you can live with?
[Gasps] Oh my God! You’re a philosophy major—you have to be. [Long pause] I think it’s a peculiar question.

I thought I’d just throw it out there and give it a shot...
[Long pause, grumbles, sighs] I suppose all of us—we have the old Protestant work ethic of feeling guilty when you’re not working, and getting a buzz from feeling like you’re really busy. That’s the reason to sort of carry on. It’s kind of not about the quality of the art, as much as this is what I love doing and I’d have a worse time doing anything else. That’s kind of as far as I think in terms of philosophy [sighs, grumbles, laughs].

I will be drawn and quartered by our readers if I don’t ask you about the next Radiohead record.
Ironically, I’m meeting everybody in two hours to plan what we’re going to do in the summer and what we do next. You’re kind of on the wrong side of the meeting for me to really tell you much. But I was in the Radiohead studio today and Phil was there drumming and Thom was there playing. We feel like we’ve only just stopped and already people are wanting us to carry on.

Everything faster. Fast, fast, fast... next, next, next.
Exactly. Well, you know, it’s not like things are going slowly. We’re going to get into gear.

Do you still get excited about going to a band meeting like that?
Oh yeah. Brilliant. ‘Cause it means decisions and change and something’s going to happen, so it’s cool. I just want to make music.