Something Awful - Radiohead sucks. A hilarious read about how Radiohead sucks. Here's just the lede:
Radiohead is the sort of dopily dissonant, synth-mashing, warbling, British crap that passes for cutting edge these days. Their Internet fans are legion, their pretentious and egotistically dull albums continue to sell, and the people who malign the good name of critics by calling themselves as much incessantly drool over Radiohead like they've got platinum bars shooting out of their jocks.
He starts with an overview:
What it boils down to is this: with Radiohead, it's all about proving something. Apparently Thom Yorke has something akin to Small Man Syndrome, except in his case it's more like Small Incredibly Fucking Creepy Disfigured Gnome Syndrome. First of all, he had to prove that an ethereal fetus-fairy with an heroically obtuse haircut could make it onto the pop-charts. He did so, of course, with "Creep," a song so affectingly pathetic that it could make even someone as nerdy as you feel like you had someone to laugh at. It found a substantial audience among teenage girls who needed someone to feel sorry for, teenage boys who wanted to nail said teenage girls (or who were captivated by those exiting two seconds before the chorus where it sounds like Johnny Greenwood drops his guitar), and denim-jacketed indie-loving radio DJs who are always in search of the "Next Bleak Thing." As for the album that spawned this single, “Pablo Honey,” let’s just say that even with the current Radiohead craze in full effect, no revisionist guitar-band historians have dared to step up and claim that it was any good. It’s best to just pretend it didn’t exist.
The later years weren't spared:
Their next move, to their credit, was a shrewd one. They were well aware that even their most glassy-eyed followers were itching for some kind of a return to form. The fans found it hard to articulate what exactly they were missing when they listened to Kid A and Amnesiac; what it was, of course, was the fact that all the tunes had been cleverly removed. Radiohead had made two albums that superficially resembled music but really weren't music at all. So, in order to drum up public interest in their next album, they made the outlandish claim it would contain actual tunes and, if we were lucky, perhaps guitar playing which conformed to some sort of pattern. The carrot at the end of this stick was kept tantalizingly out of reach, of course. "Hail to the Thief" (a title which they bought off of Don Henley for a copy of Stupid White Men and a new cardboard box) was released this year directly into the cable modems of a million greasy social deviants who loved it almost enough to buy it. The album contains, when we're lucky, primitive, one-celled predecessors of tunes that with a few million years of evolution might be able to fill up a 5 second cell phone ringtone. They’ve given you just enough of what you want that you’ll buy their next record, but luckily for them they’ve set the delightful precedent that they can sell just as many records without having to write any actual songs.
Radiohead, the kings nerdy, boring, tuneless rock music, are on top of the world. They’ve proven time and time again that they can piss directly into your open mouths, and you’ll frolic and gargle in the yellow stream like God himself was giving you a nectar-bath. Loathsome pseudo-intellectual college boys used to have ponytails; now they have Radiohead. God help you, you stupid, gullible infants.
All in all, a hilarious read that takes me back to the glory days of Melody Maker's "Mister Abusing".