We’ve Got A File On You presents conversations where artists reveal the detours that color their careers: acting roles, guest appearances, and the assorted internet oddities that sometimes become part of their stories.
Blue Morpho marks the first time Ed O’Brien releases a solo album under his own name, though it isn’t his first solo project. After finally taking a substantial break from Radiohead to complete his debut solo LP — 2020’s Earth, issued as EOB — he immediately regretted letting the songs languish for so long. In his view, the original spark of inspiration that produced the music seemed to fade during the seven-year gestation of the record.
Things worsened from there. Earth landed as the early chapters of the COVID-19 outbreak began. Cancelling tour dates stung, naturally, but the UK enjoyed good weather and life felt largely fine. It wasn’t until a new wave of lockdowns in the autumn and winter that O’Brien found himself alone with his thoughts, sinking into the deepest depression he’s ever known. He spent most of a year confronting that darkness, a period that catalyzed personal change and fueled the creation of Blue Morpho.
Released today, the album pairs O’Brien with producer Paul Epworth and a tight circle of collaborators, including Dave Okumu, Dan See, Yves Fernandez, and more. Estonian composer Tõnu Kõrvits provides lush string arrangements on two tracks, Shabaka Hutchings plays a specially tuned flute on another, and O’Brien’s Radiohead bandmate Philip Selway handles the drums on two occasions. Collectively, they give life to O’Brien’s concepts on songs that swing between expansive groove-driven explorations and contemplative instrumental pieces that lean toward quietness.
Discussing the album with O’Brien via video chat from his Welsh home — where he spends much of his time immersed in nature — was a pleasure. Later, we revisited memorable Radiohead moments and explored the nooks and crannies of O’Brien’s career beyond the band. Below, you can stream the new record and read our edited conversation.
Blue Morpho (2026)
You created this record while emerging from a profound depressive period. Was it simply pandemic malaise, or was there something deeper at play?
ED O’BRIEN: It ran deeper. It wasn’t solely the COVID situation that pushed me into darkness. The lockdowns themselves halted everyone, and the first one felt almost manageable because the sun was shining and we were adapting. It was during the second lockdown that I truly sank. The primary factor wasn’t being busy, but the opposite: I found myself unable to do anything, and that stoppage wrenched me from my pace. For the first time in my life I realized I wasn’t keeping myself occupied on purpose to dodge certain things—specifically memories from my childhood and that period. Essentially my body began signaling the need to heal. I had to identify what needed mending because the truth isn’t obvious at first. We bury these things deep inside us. It was a nine- to ten-month process, and gradually I recognized what was there. It became crystal clear that it all traced back to childhood experiences and the aftermath that followed. Humans are extraordinary creatures who build protective shells and reflexes to survive things that happen. When you’re young, those defenses become part of who you are. But by my early fifties, they’d become unsustainable, and my body was telling me to address them, to reveal what lies at the heart of who Ed O’Brien really is.
It seems that reconnecting with nature played a major role in that realization.
O’BRIEN: Enormous. I knew I had to face the darkness head-on. Yet nature offered a kind of grace. Morning birdsong and long walks in the countryside gave me a sense of grace—a feeling you might call sacred or divine. For me, that abundance of grace was found in the natural world. I’d spot a bird, connect with it, and feel a joyful sense of belonging and a deep sense of interconnectedness with everything.
So I framed it as a modern-day version of a dark night of the soul, akin to Dante’s Inferno. Midway through life, I’d strayed from my path. People speak of midlife crises, breakdowns, or depression in our modern world, but I felt I was participating in a universal human journey. The job was to sit with the struggle, to learn from the discomfort and the pain, and to trust that I’d be okay. And I came out the other side entirely, grateful for what that ordeal gave me—the chance to forge a stronger bond with nature and with a sense of spiritual grace that anchors my life now.
Was there a single moment that proved pivotal, or was it a gradual evolution?
O’BRIEN: It unfolded gradually. I didn’t have a single eureka moment. It felt like being drawn into water—specifically the cold river that flows near my home in Wales, the River Severn not far away. The experience resembled a baptism: a cleansing of the spirit as you immerse yourself in something pure and powerful. It was a slow process that carried its own sort of beauty. There were days when I wondered if I would emerge from it all, since nine months is a long stretch when you’re in a dark place. But eventually the burden lifted. Now, in the mornings, I seek out birdsong; it’s everywhere—no longer something I chase, simply part of life. I even rely on a Merlin bird app to identify what I hear around the house. A wren singing in a London tree, its tiny, intricate melody, felt like a miracle in that moment.
Another companion was a growing sense of gratitude. The journey, arduous as it was, stands among the greatest I’ve taken in life, alongside fatherhood and other milestones.
Your bio mentions that you and Paul Epworth, who produced the new record, connected on a deeper level. Was that bond related to these personal realizations, or did it come about differently?
O’BRIEN: With Paul, you know those moments when you meet someone and feel as if you’ve known them forever? We spoke on the phone before we ever met in person. We were both dads with kids at the same school—though his children are younger—and a mutual friend connected us. I’d long admired Paul; he’s one of the most celebrated producers alive. Our conversation stretched for an hour and a half and flowed naturally. We clicked in a way that felt almost inevitable. He’s not only an extraordinary producer but also a writer, which I’d never encountered in a producer before. He sits at the vanguard of a new breed of producer-songwriter—much different from the Floods and Nigel Godriches I’d worked with, who come from a prior era.
So the collaboration with Paul felt incredibly fruitful; it added depth to the songs and provided a platform for us to exchange ideas. I must also mention Riley MacIntyre, who co-produced and engineered the record. He began as Paul’s assistant and has since carved out his own path, collaborating with Ezra Collective and other projects. With Paul and Riley, I was surrounded by brilliant, kind people who are exceptionally talented—the kind of people you want on a project.
It seems you assembled a full band for these sessions, a unit you hoped to keep together. Were these new connections or people you’d long wanted to work with?
O’BRIEN: The core of the band came together through David Okumu. David put the ensemble together; many refer to him as Dave, but I call him David. He played on my first record and felt like a brother. We decided to move some of these tracks from my studio to a band setting—to bring some of the songs to life with a live group.
David had recently performed with his project 7 Generations at the Roundhouse in Camden, London. I reached out the following day; we assembled a band, essentially forming David’s 7 Generations lineup for this project. That provided an intrinsic chemistry right from the start. David contributed additional arrangements. We enjoyed three almost utopian days of recording—everyone arrived fully prepared and capable. We even accomplished a pivotal moment, the ending of a piece called “Obrigado,” on the very first take, with a second take following just as strongly. It was an extraordinary example of musicianship aligning with timing and intent.
We tracked at Paul’s studio, a space he calls the Church—a former church that now houses a modern recording setup. It was a profoundly moving and powerful experience.
The ending of “Incantations”—was that planned in advance, or did it emerge as a jam?
O’BRIEN: I’d drafted a rough arrangement for that piece with acoustic elements and voices. I handed that to David, who then brought in Dan See on drums and helped craft a bass line that followed my guitar. The band learned that arrangement and we treated it as a form that allowed the bass to move and settle into a groove that feels almost mantra-like. That approach became the default for the band—an ending that feels both composed and spontaneous, like a jam you’re guiding rather than forcing into a preordained shape.
There’s a strong sense of spontaneity in songs like “Teachers” with its driving drums and bass, and yet “Solfeggio” feels almost rhythm-free, like you’re moving from a forest to an ocean. Was there a conscious intention to mirror nature’s varied landscapes in the album’s sonic palette?
O’BRIEN: That’s a sharp observation. In truth, there wasn’t a deliberate plan to map landscapes to particular tracks. Over the years I’ve learned that imposing a rigid idea on a piece of music tends to yield something unsatisfying. The joy lies in surrendering to what the song asks for and letting the unknown guide you. The process is deeply intuitive; the song itself points the way, and that’s the mindset I carried into this record. It’s thrilling to work without a fixed destination, embracing uncertainty as a creative fuel rather than a barrier. It’s different from collaborating in a band where you’re contributing to a larger collective—this is very much my own vision and feeling, and I’m reveling in that newfound freedom.
I’d like to discuss the orchestral dimension. The opening of “Blue Morpho” makes a bold statement. You connected with the Estonian composer Tõnu Kõrvits in Estonia. How did that collaboration begin?
O’BRIEN: Estonia hosts a remarkable music festival in Tallinn every May, and I was invited to speak there, participate in a Q&A, and other events. I fell for Tallinn and its atmosphere. After the event, promoter Helen Sildna arranged a private dinner where I met Tõnu Kõrvits, whom Helen described as her favorite Estonian composer. Tõnu and I discovered we shared several cultural touchstones, not just classical music but also pop and post-punk favorites from our youth—Human League, Echo & the Bunnymen, and so on. The next day I streamed some of his work on Spotify and found a deep resonance. He offered to help with orchestral arrangements if I ever needed them, and I was struck by the possibility.
Fast forward four months. With “Blue Morpho” and “Sweet Spot” needing orchestral textures, I realized these tracks could benefit from strings. Rather than turning to traditional UK string arrangers, I thought of Tõnu. It felt like another fortunate coincidence—the kind of moment when someone enters your life at just the right time. So I reached out, and he was enthusiastic about the idea.
Normally, when Radiohead uses strings, Jonny would craft a sophisticated mock-up, which would then be recorded with an orchestra for an elevated finish. Tõnu proposed a more direct approach, eschewing the traditional process and recording in Tallinn. We let go and trusted the outcome. The result was utterly beautiful and mesmerizing, and the way it interacted with the birdsong on the track was magical. When I sent him the final version, he admitted he’d been surprised by how loudly the strings sat, but I insisted they needed to dominate. It was another delightful moment of serendipity, and I’m sure we’ll collaborate again soon.
You’ve also got Shabaka Hutchings contributing flute on “Thin Places,” and you intentionally had him play at a 432 Hz pitch rather than the standard 440 Hz. There’s a belief that 432 Hz has particular scientific or physiological effects. Could you elaborate on that?
O’BRIEN: I’ve been exploring 432 Hz for some time, starting around 2014. It began after a conversation at Glastonbury with a fellow musician who introduced me to the Solfège scale—a medieval framework that isn’t just pleasant to the ear but is said to carry healing and uplifting properties that resonate on a cellular level. During a later phase I found that much of pre-20th-century music was tuned around 432 Hz, whereas the modern standard shifts the reference pitch up to 440 Hz (and sometimes 442 Hz for concert pitch). The idea is that 432 Hz feels more natural or “whole.” There’s a branch of science called cymatics that demonstrates how sound frequencies shape physical media like sand on a plate; at 432 Hz the patterns appear more defined and harmonious than at 440 Hz, which adds to the sense that the frequency has a healing quality. I’ve begun integrating this approach more fully: on this record I retuned the piano and even commissioned a Vintage Vibe electric piano to be tuned to 432 Hz—the first time they’d done this for a client. It’s not just an experiment; it’s a commitment, and I feel it has a palpable impact on the music. The response in interviews—from James Blake and Ziggy Marley, for example—has echoed this sentiment. When we perform live, we intend to maintain the 432 Hz tuning because the experience feels so meaningful to us.
7 Worlds Collide (2001, 2008-2009)
This was the large collective led by Neil Finn in Auckland. How did you become a part of it?
O’BRIEN: It began toward the end of 2000 when my wife, Suzi, and I were on vacation in New Zealand and met Neil Finn. He mentioned a project he was assembling after having finished an album associated with it. He then assembled an extraordinary cast—Wendy and Lisa, Sebastian Steinberg, and eventually Johnny Marr. I was invited to join, and I said yes. Very soon after, Neil added Eddie Vedder and a drummer, and I suggested Philip Selway to fill the drum chair. We traveled from the UK to New Zealand for a steep, transformative experience that was as emotionally intense as it was musically powerful. It was an unforgettable time, shaped by collaboration with artists who felt almost like family.
During the second wave of 7 Worlds Collide in 2008, you wrote a song with Johnny Marr and the Finns that, in a way, foreshadows the Blue Morpho material. It seems to reveal your voice as a songwriter even if you’re not the one singing on the track.
O’BRIEN: People sometimes think I’m a one-trick songwriter, but there’s more to it. When I wrote that piece, I was in a quite dark moment again. I’ve always believed that songwriting is deeply mathematical—an arrangement of intervals that encodes the emotion the musician feels. The melody carries that emotion in a way that feels almost like a form of magic. I don’t pretend to know what I’m doing; I stumble into it in a near-meditative state. It’s thrilling to see how a particular melodic pattern can hold an emotion I’m living through. “Learn To Crawl” is another example of that phenomenon, emerging from a difficult place but articulating itself through the music.
Radiohead’s Saturday Night Live Debut (2000)
This moment holds personal significance for me because I immersed myself in Radiohead around that period. I recall coming home from a high school dance and watching your SNL performance. What stands out for you from that night?
O’BRIEN: We flew in for the appearance at the end of our first U.S. tour. Our manager, Brian, had his infant daughter Molly with him and announced on arrival that Kid A had hit number one in America—our first chart-topper there. I did an interview with Billboard beforehand, and the journalist described the moment as perhaps the strangest number-one album in America ever, which stuck with me. We performed two pieces, the horn section from our record adding to the sound: Stan Harrison on sax and Andy Bush leading the trumpet. We did “The National Anthem” and “Idioteque.” I remember a conversation about “Pyramid Song,” about how you count that tune. I explained I don’t count; I simply feel it. The backstage moments were a blur of activity and memory—Joaquin Phoenix in a green room, Dave Eggers there, and a general sense of whirlwind. I spent a lot of that era high on the influence and energy of the moment, which has faded into the fog of memory in some ways, though the core thrill remains vivid. The “National Anthem” performance still circulates online and remains one of those electrifying live moments I rarely revisit, but it undeniably captured something extraordinary about what we were capable of at the time.
Do you still feel that Radiohead live energy when you perform with the band now?
O’BRIEN: Absolutely. The last run we did in the fall hit a sweet tempo—neither too fast nor too slow—and as the set built, the horns returned and Thom replaced the chords with a richer vocabulary. The dynamic was thrilling, weaving through the groove with a sense of daring. It’s a joy to revisit those songs with the current lineup; they’ve never felt more alive than in performance.
Appearing In The Web Video Series Starby (2022) And South Park (2001)
In this Starby clip, you suck helium and then sing about squeaky sneakers. Did you actually inhale helium for this?
O’BRIEN: No—they simply sped up my voice for comedic effect. It’s the same approach as the South Park episode, where Matt Stone puts you in a studio and you’re given a handful of lines to recite with varying pace and tone. You tell them what you can do, they tell you what they want, and you go with it.
Do you recall who was involved in the Starby project or how you ended up taking part?
O’BRIEN: The details have faded for me. I do remember the Jeff Tweedy episode because that seemed wonderfully odd and entertaining. I found the whole thing charmingly quirky and was happy to participate.
Guesting On Asian Dub Foundation’s “1000 Mirrors” With Sinéad O’Connor (2003)
You contributed to several tracks on Asian Dub Foundation’s Enemy Of The Enemy, including one featuring Sinéad O’Connor. Did you work directly with Sinéad on that session?
O’BRIEN: Not directly. I was a big admirer of Asian Dub Foundation and even joined them on tour when they supported us on the European leg of Hail To The Thief. They were recording that album with Adrian Sherwood, a pioneer of dub, and they asked me to lay down a sustaining guitar line for one track, which became “Enemy Of The Enemy.” The session happened quickly in a Wood Green studio, and Sinéad then contributed her part later on—what she did was extraordinary. I didn’t get to meet Sinéad in person, but I did my bit and she added her voice in the final mix, which was remarkable to hear.
Why did you feel so drawn to Asian Dub Foundation?
O’BRIEN: They possessed a 🔹unique energy—politically engaged in a way that reminded me of the Clash. Their music fused a dub bass lineage with drum-and-bass patterns and ragas. Dr. Das’s bass lines, cyclical and hypnotic, pulled from Indian classical music, and the interplay with the group’s rapper Deeder Zaman and guitarist Steve Chandra Savale created something entirely distinctive. Their live performances—especially a Barbican show where the seated audience surged to their feet—were transformative. The group was a true collective in every sense, a powerful, collaborative force that stood apart from anything else I’d heard.
Radiohead At The MTV Beach House (1993)
Every so often, a clip surfaces online showing Thom taking a dive into the pool during Radiohead’s MTV Beach House appearance. What was the group’s experience at the Beach House—did you have a good time?
O’BRIEN: It happened at the tail end of our first U.S. tour, when “Creep” was surging in popularity. The Beach House setup felt alien to us—we’re a landlocked bunch from Oxford and suddenly find ourselves in California playing a scenario aimed at a beach culture. It was also part of a broader promotional push, the payola era somehow behind it. There was a DJ named Kennedy who seemed fine enough, though Thom wasn’t entirely comfortable with the whole arrangement. We left exhausted, having done a lot of schmoozing, and then to be placed in that MTV Beach House environment felt almost absurdly awkward. Eventually Thom concluded it was a bright idea for the label but not something he enjoyed. Still, the moment produced surprisingly positive results and remains a vivid slice of the era.
Remixing Paul McCartney’s “Slidin’” (2020)
You’ve spoken about remixing Paul McCartney’s “Slidin’.” It’s fascinating how you intensified it, giving it a garage-rock edge reminiscent of Helter Skelter.
O’BRIEN: That was the intention exactly—to roughen the song up, to lean into a raw, throwaway energy, a gritier vibe. I did the track with Paul Epworth and Riley, and Paul McCartney himself phoned to say thanks and to share how much he appreciated it. We had a great chat as a result. It was a wonderful experience to reimagine a classic in a way that felt true to the moment while honoring its legacy.
Attending Radiohead’s Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame Induction (2019)
You and Phil were present for Radiohead’s Rock & Roll Hall Of Fame induction. What led to your decision to attend? Was there a group chat saying, “I’ll go,” or “I’ll skip this?”
O’BRIEN: The year 2019 was a rough spell for the band. We’d just wrapped touring in 2018 and weren’t really communicating well with one another. The invitation to the Hall of Fame arrived at a moment when I felt compelled to go because America has been pivotal for our music—one of the earliest places that embraced Radiohead and a curiously hospitable audience. The experience felt culturally significant, and not showing up would have felt ungrateful. I’m grateful for the ability to tour America and for the openness of audiences there, who have helped us push our sound in new directions. I grew up wanting to tour America, and this felt like a meaningful contribution to the long story. Even the setup—no teleprompter, a test of nerve—made us feel out of place among the polished energy and eloquence of our American peers. Yet we carried on and were thankful for the honor, sharing a stage with remarkable artists like The Cure, Stevie Nicks, Janet Jackson, and Roxy Music.
You and Phil seem to have a strong working relationship. You mentioned you brought him along for 7 Worlds Collide, and he played on a couple of Blue Morpho tracks as well. Was it a deliberate decision to assign certain tracks to Phil, or did it just happen to be the ones you were working on when he was around?
O’BRIEN: It was a conscious choice. When the material landed, I told Riley and Paul, “These tracks need Phil.” He’s an extraordinary drummer with a unique sense of rhythm, weight, and soul that’s rare. I’ll share a little anecdote: a few years back, there was a birthday celebration for Ringo Starr on SiriusXM. Ringo himself requested a current drummer to interview him—he chose Philip Selway. Ringo flew Philip to New York, and Philip even played onstage with him that night. That anecdote speaks to Philip’s singularity. In the Radiohead lexicon, there are two signature elements: Thom’s voice and Philip’s drumming. Not every track features him, but his feel—following Thom’s rhythm rather than leading it—anchors the band’s sound in a way that’s both subtle and fundamental.
That’s an interesting point. I can hear how his drumming contributes to the band’s unique gravity. Songs like “Airbag” and “Pyramid Song” have a certain anti-gravity to them, don’t they?
O’BRIEN: When we play those pieces live—especially “Pyramid Song”—the drum part is extraordinary. I don’t start the song, so I have the chance to watch and learn from Phil as he moves. He keeps his back to me in our current stage setup, and you can feel the intensity of his motion without seeing it. His playing is all about heart and soul, and that gift makes it possible for us to perform with a depth that’s truly special.
Blue Morpho is out now on Transgressive.
