Eraserhead

A self-fulfilling prophecy of endless possibility roll in reams across the street/In algebra, in algebra

There are enough of these clunky moments that I kept asking myself: Is he joking?

Maybe Yorke's never really had that much to say, and the legions, and they are legion, who pray at the altar of Radiohead and believe Yorke is some kind of digital-era sage have merely been bedazzled by the assumed grandeur of Radiohead's music (though, for my money, they've been pumping the same well for a long, long time).

The Eraserfeels like Radiohead, without the radio — all we're getting is the head: the Thom Yorke head. And it just isn't great head to spend time with. That's not just because of his vaunted "darkness," but more because the darkness isn't a very interesting darkness. Things are fucked up, people are disappointing, time is running out, dark sides are being gone to, etc. It's the basic yuppie-grade depression, navel-gazing whine of someone who has enough time on his hands to mull over whatever slings and arrows have been tossed his way this week. Pretty yawnful.

To be fair, though, this is a highly intimate and personal project, and airing out some petty indulgences/grievances is well within Yorke's rights. And the record has its moments — mostly the pretty, melodic ones, like "The Clock" and "Black Swan," that sound the most like Radiohead's more subdued efforts. I'm sure true believers will find something to love here, and there's no denying Yorke's falsetto can be a beautiful instrument — so long as you tune out what it's saying. In general, though, The Eraser has the unprecedented effect of making me long for some new Radiohead.

THOM YORKE | The Eraser | XL Recordings