I’m your typical Radiohead fan, which means I regard their songs as religious experiences, proclaim their superiority to anyone who will listen (and anyone who won’t), and have no trouble dropping £30 on new album packages before listening to a single note. In other words, I’m a pretentious twat of a music snob who judges you based on your iTunes library.
After 15 spins of the new album “The King of Limbs”, I’ve yet to see the face of Almighty and don’t know how to handle it. The band’s eighth album is good, don’t get me wrong, but I want it to be great, and I’m struggling to face the reality that it simply isn’t.** With the exception of “Pablo Honey”, Radiohead has delivered albums that may not have been what I expected or wanted but always turned out to be exactly what I needed. The fact that this album isn’t falling into that category (yet) makes me a little sad and confused. But let me show you the one thing Thom Yorke is (unintentionally) doing to turn my frown upside down –
** Pretentious addendum: Even at simply good and not great, “The King of Limbs” is still better than 98% of the bullshit foisted upon the public by the music industry.