Thom Yorke is not here to comfort you. His voice isn’t made for that. It is all about intense pain and raw beauty, a sound weary and a little crazed from alienation, aggravation, boredom, fear. The usual modern problems.
Radiohead has chosen this path, delivering on this bleak and somehow uplifting worldview with sparks of swirling guitars and electronics and a muted kind of intensity that can’t be easy to pull off, real or fake.
The endless comparisons to Pink Floyd and Coldplay are understandable and superficial. It’s true enough that Radiohead has seen its blueprint adapted and twisted to the needs of others: Muse, adding a prog twist; Doves, all atmosphere, the occasional song; Coldplay, ballads only.
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