The King of Limbs review

This is a blog that purports to be about, among other things, music. According to the unspoken contract I apparently signed upon becoming a contributor to the internet, I am obliged to write something about any new album that Radiohead brings out, especially if they bring it out in some revolutionary, web 2.0 kind of way.

So here are some thoughts, which I will try to keep as succinct as possible, as I'm not sure how much thinking time this planet has left to dedicate to Radiohead. I don't want to be the thought-straw that broke the camel's meta-back, after all.

I should preface this with the fact that I never signed up to the Radiohead Guild of Obsessives. I like the band; their music yields some jaw-dropping moments (the breakdown in 'Sit Down. Stand Up' on Hail To The Thief and 'Pyramid Song' on Amnesiac immediately spring to mind). I stand firmly against the naysayers who claim that everything the band released after OK Computer is navel-gazing nonsense, but neither do I subscribe to the notion that Radiohead get critical immunity on the grounds that they are automatically "interesting". In other words, Radiohead is a band I follow, but not unquestioningly (never that).

The King of Limbs is certainly a bold statement in minimalism. The first five tracks feel like variations on a theme - long, looping melodies composed of guitar, samples and Thom Yorke's sinuous voice, accompanied by fast, soft beats to nail down the mood (Phil Selway's percussion is subtle and nuanced as always, confirming his place as Radiohead's unsung genius). Opening track 'Bloom' follows its name in structure, starting slowly and adding elements in a gradual unfurling, culminating in the introduction of distant brass. The following four tracks work on this template and softly toy with it; 'Morning Mr. Magpie' has a more aggressive tone, muted guitars quietly insistent as Yorke calls out a parasite ("Now you stole it, all the magic/ And took my memory"), while on 'Little By Little' the drums have an almost Madchester, 'Fools Gold' quality that marries well with the song's atonal guitar lines and dusty vibe.

After 'Lotus Flower', the album opens up and allows itself some room to manoeuvre around those all-eclipsing beats. 'Codex' is a gorgeous, bittersweet piece in the vein of 'Pyramid Song', lilting piano playing off what sounds like distant whale calls. It's an escape song, revelling in the isolated beauty of a safe underwater space, illuminated by dragonflies. A horn section slowly begins to puncture the song as it approaches its climax, with a repeated line that speaks as much to past pain as contentment in the here and now ("The water's clear/ And innocent"). 'Give Up The Ghost' is the only song that hints at something new for the band, mixing a little organic strumming and guitar thumping in with the trademark distorted backing vocals, while 'Separator' brings back those clockwork drums for another lonesome trip, complete with psychedelic imagery and surprisingly idyllic guitar twiddling and synths as the dream progresses.

The King of Limbs won't be winning Radiohead many new devotees, and is likely dividing opinions even in their own dedicated fanbase. It's a little too comfortable, too safe, to fully win over those who want the band to be eating boundaries for breakfast, and the old-school brigade will be sighing once more at the lack of assertive guitars and acerbic choruses. But while no single track (with the exception of 'Codex') stands out on its own, this album sees Radiohead committing to a single, alluring world. It lacks the vibrancy and punch of In Rainbows and will probably end up seen as a minor entry into the band's discography. But that's okay, because The King of Limbs isn't an album to enjoy with friends. It's a record to to embrace in dark corners with headphones and high volumes, an untrustworthy dance partner that might waltz the night away with you then suddenly insist on a suicide pact.