Thom Yorke
Anima

The soundtrack for the "Suspiria" remake was okay, "Tomorrow Modern Boxes" was seriously embarrassing, and let's just draw a compassionate veil over "The Eraser". The album with Atoms For Peace was totally insignificant, like anything involving the Red Hot Chili Peppers' trainspotting bassist, so if you liked it, you might want to ask yourself a few questions about your intellectual depth (to be fair, "Ingenue" was a great track, but the rest can go out with the damp rubbish on Fridays). From these premises, it should be clear that when I heard about a new extra-Radiohead album from Thom Yorke, I wasn’t exactly thrilled; in fact, I had one of those slight fainting spells that hit you when an appalling doubt seems about to materialize. But I was still hopeful for a reversal.

But no, nothing doing; the album is really pretentious and stupid rubbish, the usual sonic mess of vocalizations and disjointed electronics, without coherence or harmony. Yorke's voice and this grayish-blue electronic backdrop seem to stay each in their own space, but in total refusal of any form of dialogue. It's like putting two people in a room who, instead of making love, practice solitary autoeroticism without touching or even looking at each other. Each keeps to themselves, closed in their autistic onanism. Just watching them is a psychopathic endeavor, much like listening to these two foolish albums.