“Thom Yorke is a funny bunny, living in the utterly beautiful delivery of his tones. Songs where he’s not playing an instrument dangle him like a puppet, causing spastic hops and gesticulations. Yorke is somehow old and young simultaneously. A marble bust/fetus, existing outside age, but inside the amniotic sack of the sound, connected to the mother by his umbilical in ear monitor chords. “Morning Mr. Magpie” as a highlight tore out of Selway and Deamer’s conjoined four-armed ligament like they were sending a message on a telegraph machine. Starting the second encore was another highlight, “Give Up the Ghost,” with Yorke and Greenwood alone onstage tranquilizing the horde.”