I doubt that I listened to Catatonia's "International Velvet" during 2000 -- unquestionably a consequence of a) getting lost in the shuffle of a ever-ballooning CD collection and b) my general disdain and loss of enthusiasm for much UK rock in general. A short 18 months ago, I was of the opinion that "International Velvet" had the unimpeachable singles, while "Equally Cursed and Blessed" was the more accomplished, well-rounded album (sorry, long-time Catatonia fans, those are the only two albums I have, but it's tough to be pushing the vanguard of music all of the time, sometimes it feels good to jump really, really late onto the bandwagon and open my wallet in plain submission to the hype. Kind of like the way a 12-year old girl buys the O-Town album based on their looks and fame rather than the complete lack of musical talent that they "exhibited" on their TV show, I shelled out for Catatonia). Well, this week I spent some time revisiting these albums, and it's clear that IV has held up MUCH better over the scant couple of years since its release. ECB's lack of a killer single is glaringly evident. Stunningly haunting fragility aside (i.e. Valerion), it sounds lost in the slush of drab, grey, semi-acoustic pseudo-balladry that has been the norm in Brit-rock over the last few years. Heard in the context of said norm, IV is even more fun that it was in 1998. That sparkling array of -- get this -- *happy* pop gems takes me back to those wanton days of yore when a guitar band could sing of sunny days without the emotional baggage associated with waiting solemnly for the eventual rainstorm. Pre-tabloid hell and Cerys' breakdown, IV is the sound of band feeling no pressure because they have nothing to lose and only superstardom to gain. Perhaps that is the true lesson learned from Britpop: each band gets only one such burden-free album ("Parklife", "Different Class") before the beast that is the embracing and subsequent shunning of the public eye renders such pop genius unattainable ever again ("The Great Escape" ... "13", "This is Hardcore"). Thus, "International Velvet" = "The last great Britpop album". As Pulp and Blur have shown, what follows is significantly more restrained, yet need not be any less beautiful.

Even outside the sphere of "let's all sound like Radiohead" British rock, excellence can breed familiarity, which is why I could swear that I've heard Six By Seven before. 6B7 remind me a lot of Marion, except that they're far grittier than Marion could have ever been. And far louder (which is really saying something). Both bands have that "we're all gonna die in 45 minutes" urgency, the same urgency that cloaked the music of the early Manics, not to mention their strongest album, "The Holy Bible". And the Manics themselves can't come up with titles like "Sawn Off Metallica T-Shirt" and "Eat Junk Become Junk" anymore. 6B7 took the reciprocal (i.e. Joy Division) route of Travis et al: they're sad and they're proving it by striving to be the most white-in-horror, most intense band on earth, rather then the mopiest band on earth. 6B7: the most anguished British band since The Smiths?

WWF: The Music Volume 5 debuted at #2 on the Billboard Chart. To that, I say: wow. Wow because the WWF released the themes of their biggest stars on volumes 3 and 4, hence, volume 5 is filled with a bunch of jobber themes. Raven? Too Cool? The One Badd Rockabilly Ass Billy Gunn? Does anyone have a pressing need to have their themes? Kurt Angle is a true superstar, but come on, in what POSSIBLE setting would you want to hear his theme music? Besides, I see an image change in the near future for him. He's being pushed (finally) as a more vicious character, and when they've flushed the rest of the goofiness out of him, his music should transform much in the way that HHH's did (from Beethoven to Rage to Motorhead). But even worse: whose stupid idea was it to let the Rock do a rap song? In theory, a Rock rap about his favourite, ahem, dessert was a good idea, but the song sucks and his "rapping" is straight off a 1988 Fresh Prince record.

Also, considering that Nelly Furtado's competition in the Best New Artist category lily-white folk and country artists, what exactly could she have meant when she said that her Juno represented the diversity of Canadian musicians? Sure, her music is somewhat influenced by her Portuguese background, but overall, it's just standard Lilith Fair stuff. Since her competition for her two big awards (New artist, Best album) were plain ordinary white people and the tried and true MOR staples (The Hip, BNL) her Juno wins were more a representation of a boring year in Canadian music than anything else.

When the Grammy nominations for Album of the Year were announced, I knew right then and there that the award would go to Steely Dan. It was a simple process of elimination problem. Beck: released a year and a half ago (Grammy eligibility protocol has always been supremely screwy, my personal fave is the honoring of Springsteen's "Streets of Philadelphia" in the 1995 Grammys even though it was honored by the Oscars TEN months previous and was released in 1993), and a clear case of trying to make up for lost time by missing the boat by five years with the vastly more acclaimed "Odelay". Radiohead: far too leftfield, the token foreign nominees (along with the infinitely more tame and mainstream -- at least to the Academy -- U2). Eminem: yeah, right. The Grammys might think they're hip by showering Alanis Morrisette with awards for the supposedly raw and controversial "Jagged Little Pill", but, to them, giving a top award to Eminem would be like giving the award for Best Gospel Recording to Satan. Still, just nominating the guy is a step in the right direction, because you just know that there was a significant faction of the Academy that wanted to see another old fart get nominated, my gut feeling is that they wanted the Eric Clapton/B.B. King album in there. Paul Simon: the usual mainstream awards show principles apply here. Paul Simon gets nominated because he's Paul Simon, the same way that Tom Hanks or Al Pacino are nominated for Best Actor every time they do a movie. But he's already won a zillion Grammys so there's no need to give him one here. Of course, the fact that nobody bought or liked the album should eliminate the need to resort to these political truisms, but these are the Grammys, who are probably dismayed that Will Smith didn't release an album last year so they could have nominated it for Best Rap Album and possibly allowed them to circumvent Eminem altogether. Which leaves Steely Dan. Old farts, check. Never won a Grammy = "sentimental favourite", check. Comeback album = "Santana 2001", check. These three measures easily trump more relevant measures, i.e. anybody owning or caring about the album, which nobody does. At least the Best Album award is now presented last, golly, it only took them THIRTY YEARS to figure out that albums are more important than singles nowadays. Until next year, here's hoping that the anti-Eminem protesters took solace in Mr. Mathers' half-assed embrace of Mr. John following their "we hate the guy, and we wish he'd drop dead, and we're here to recognize the best music, but let's exploit his white ass so we can keep our TV ratings high by hyping the degenerate's performance THROUGHOUT THE ENTIRE SHOW, since anyone with an ounce of common sense knows that he's one of the few people here tonight that anybody could give a crap about" performance.

On an otherwise uneventful day, I was listening to the free sampler CD with my January Select magazine and I heard

"Now that you've made me want to die, you told me that you're unboyfriendable"

and I pulled the double-take to end all double takes as I almost choked on my toothbrush while rushing over to the CD player to rewind the track to check if I really had heard those lyrics. The track was "All My Little Words" by the Magnetic Fields, and with it, I was near ready to proclaim Stephan Merritt a genius based one one single solitary track. I've read that the strength of "69 Love Songs" lies in the lyrics, which perfectly encapsulate those moments in love, moments which we replay in our heads at regular intervals in life because those memories are frozen somewhere in our heads in suspended animation. Well, clearly it wasn't good enough for Merritt to stop there, he had to MAKE UP A NEW WORD in the process. The word "unboyfriendable" is so obvious that you have to wonder why it was not invented until now, but the best ideas are simple ones, which is precisely the genius of it all.

There is some music that I absolutely hate. In some cases, I don't so much hate the music as I resent the fact that it is vastly overrated. This resentment can easily come across as hatred. For instance, I don't really hate Oasis, but Blur were the better band in 1994-5. I went to bat for Blur in the Britpop wars and we got smoked, first by the record buying public, and then by the critics, who were duped by the record buying public into believing that "What's the Story Morning Glory" is a excellent album, merely because it sold by the truckload. Similarly, I don't hate Daft Punk or Air, it's just that the true godlike talent in French house is Etienne de Crecy, and yet he receives far less publicity. In 1996, Etienne de Crecy and Phillipe Zdar created a blueprint for the Paris sound which has never been bettered -- the debut Motorbass album. From the muffled hi-hat in the opening strains of "Fabulous", through the smooth and funky "Ezio" and onward, this music was unlike any house music I had yet heard. The beats were too straight-ahead to be hip-hop, it was too slick and breezy to have come out of Chicago, such a combination could only have come out of Europe. 1998's "Prix Choc" (by de Crecy as a solo artist) added an impossibly catchy jazz piano riff to the proceedings, resulting in the most, um, addictive house sound of the year. Now, he's changed the rules again with the album "Tempovision", which is as soulful and funky as any house recording you'll hear this year. The beats have been stripped back, so that few of these tracks are likely to provide the 4/4 thrills that the average house fan is seeking. Phat, dirty basslines are present in abundance, which please even the most cynical R&B cynic who may initially scoff at much of the vocal work featured here. This infectious stew combines the best soul and funk (and on the closing 14 minute stomper "The Other Line", even a bit of minimalist electronic weirdness to go with the endless beat crescendo) to produce something that doesn't come close to taking the form of anything that the average fan (myself included) associates with the term "house".

FEBRUARY 6, 2001. One of the truly wonderful things about music is admitting that you're wrong. And I've been wrong enough times to start my own reality program, "In the Confessional with Father". You see, sometimes I slam a band for making horrible music, only to have my tastes change, the band hit a comet of creativity, or the passage of enough time to let my pangs of prejudice/ignorance/nearsightedness subside, which leads to me reformatting my opinion and declaring said band to be the shiznit after all. Consider this: having spent my adolescence with my ears glued to alternative radio (and my twitchy fingers a record button), certain supposed truisms were instilled in me, one of which was the notion that "good" music was birthed in 1977 and thus, the bloated, arena rock which necessitated punk had to be garbage. I've never been a huge fan of punk, but I believed in that underlying concept: punk cleared out all of the interminable crapola made by aging egomaniacs posing as musicians, which opened up the avenues for me to purchase Depeche Mode cassettes in any nearby mall, so I wasn't complaining. And as every original punk should know, when punk took the UK by storm in the so-called Year Zero, those silly Americans were getting off to Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours", an LA and cocaine drenched hissy fit of an album made by a spoiled former blues band whose life was so terrible that they could live in the finest houses and still afford to annually sniff a middle-class families' income, while whining about how much they hated each other and how abominable it was to live with the spectre of having created the biggest selling album ever (to that point). Clearly, Fleetwood Mac were five Beezelbubs incarnate.

This piece isn't about Fleetwood Mac, it's supposed to be about the Dandy Warhols, so I'd best try and move things along. Incidentally, I was also very wrong about Blur, but for different reasons. In 1991, I dismissed them as 3rd rate Madchester ripoffs (which I still believe was justified by the singles "There's No Other Way" and particularly the lame "Bang", a song so humiliating that Blur themselves won't acknowledge it nowadays). In 1993, I practically laughed my way through an NME article with Damon Albarn expounding on his plans to kill off grunge with Blur's new "we are the new Kinks and we are sardonic" manifesto. Less than one year later, I couldn't help but gleefully admit that Blur had turned things around in spectacular fashion, and "Parklife" was unquestionably the top album of 1994. Unfortunately, it doesn't hold up today nearly as well, but that's another issue. Oh yeah, by 1996 or so, my mind had opened up to the degree that I could more easily accept the vast amount of treasures in rock's rich and varied history, so I decided to face the enemy and I borrowed the "Rumours" CD from my dad (we didn't have a vinyl copy in my house as a kid, partly because it would have resulted in some poor disco record going homeless, but likely in more part due to the songs from "Rumours" being on the radio ALL THE TIME in those days, so who needed to buy it when all you had to do to hear was flip around the FM dial?). I was shocked (and delighted) to discover that "Rumours" was, and is, a sensational album, sure, it bears the mark of drab 70's music production that homogenized so much rock music back then, but the songwriting is flawless, just one great tune after another. "Rumours" is a million times better than any punk album, and if there had been another Fleetwood Mac for every Peter Frampton back in '75, then punk wouldn't have needed to happen.

A few years back, the Dandy Warhols opened for Spiritualized in Toronto. The first song they played was a sprawling, gorgeous mess of guitar noise. The second song was "Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth", if memory serves me correctly (it may not, but for the purposes of this story let's just take it as a given). The rest of their set proceeded to descend into tuneless drivel. To make things worse, I had to open up the music papers and read the UK press' fawning words, as they fell all over the DW's when they toured over there, equally enamoured with their pop psychedelia and the band's reputation as substance abusers/quotation fountains. Look at them, doing and saying such outrageous things, I sneered, just to draw attention to themselves, although I had to admit that their antics were more than a little amusing. Soon afterward, I fell in love with "Junkie", which embarrassed me, because it was like having a crush on the town slut, in either case, I didn't want to admit my feelings about something so trashy. I remained skeptical despite the glowing praise for last year's "Thirteen Tales of Urban Bohemia", despite the infectious snippets I heard in record shops, despite the hilarious nudity-flaunting video for "Bohemian Like You". Finally, on January 20, I snapped, and bought the CD, and even then I copped out on two fronts, first, it was a used copy ($$) and second, I was enticed by a limited edition set with a four track bonus CD, one of those tracks being a live version of that guilty pleasure of yesteryear, "Not If You Were the Last Junkie on Earth". Zero surprise -- it's a great album, in the same way that the Breeders "Last Splash" is a great album: it rocks like nobody's business; it's daring, bonkers and yet still cohesive (a very difficult combination to pull off); and it's a heck of a lot of fun. It's equally at home with psychedelic stomps and sensitive balladry. So there you have it. I admit, I was wrong, The Dandy Warhols: not bad, not bad at all.

The video for "Southside", by Moby featuring Gwen Stefani, is absolutely adorable. I'm no fan of Gwen -- her beauty is often overrated, her voice is average at best (although perfectly suitable for the simple vocal stylings of your typical ska tune), and I find her to be quite the airhead in interviews -- but she's perfect as the flirty vixen playing off Moby's straight man monotone. The video looks like it was a blast to film, as the singers practically crawl all over each other and cavort in glam gear while huge neon signs displaying their names burn brightly in the background, producing the most ABBA-esque visuals in recent music video memory. But every time I see the video, I think about Moby's career, a story that is so varied and unpredictable that it proves once and for all that truth is stranger than fiction (the same argument could be made for the career of Norman Cook AKA Fatboy Slim, who, ten years ago, was enjoying considerable success with Beats International, a multi-genred melting pot of then-contemporary club sounds that sounds oddly similar to Moby's music of the present, although this is surely a coincidence). Because, ten years ago, in an age when a turntable, with a second as an option, was the standard for a live rave performance, Moby would play 4619 instruments simultaneously; or seven years ago, as he headlined the See The Lights tour (one of the "true" Woodstock II's) and tooled around the country like a prima donna in his own tourbus (so as not to inhale the pot smoke from the blunts of tourmates), with his show now mostly done on DAT, a man who fufilled his Jesus and Iggy Pop fantasies by standing in a crucifix pose during "Thousand" on a nightly basis, never would I have thought, while physically embracing his sweaty body after his many crowd jumps during said shows and being quite amazed of how thin and light he was, and debating to myself as to when to let him go and thinking "this guy is the Olympic champion of techno, he is the best in the world at what he does", even though, oddly, once the visceral nature of his performance had wore off not fifteen minutes after he left stage and me and my friends realized that it was in fact Orbital who had truly showed us the way not two hours before; and particularly following the critically and commercially disastrous "Animal Rights" speed-metal period of 1997, in which I'd written Moby off faster than he could say that metal was the only contemporary music that interested him in the slightest, no, not during any of these moments would I have EVER EVER, imagined that I'd be watching him in 2001 in a big budget video wearing a white fur coat, no, never did I think that. However, while watching his performance at the MTV Europe awards, it occurred to me that his music is less recognizable on it's own merits than it is from one of the many adverts in which it is featured. If, after that ten year ride, his many fine melodies are destined to be "those songs from the ____ commercials", then that's a bit sad.

I recently downloaded some tracks from Mogwai's performance at All Tomorrow's Parties 2000. Among these tracks was a "new" song (the reason for the quotes will soon become clear), a 15-minute blast of noise and strings that contained a faint whiff of Godspeed You Black Emperor!, and positively smacked of "Avinu Malkeynu". Whatever, I thought, Godspeed's "Gathering Storm" sounds more than a bit like "Amazing Grace", but clearly I am hearing things, the Molasses (a Godspeed offshoot) cover of "Amazing Grace" notwithstanding. However, in both cases, the truth has been staring me bullseyed in the face. By whatever name the internet has called it, by whatever the the songs' final/working title, be it "Jewish", "My Father, My King" (the literal translation from the Hebrew is "Our Father, Our King"), or anything else, ladies and gentlemen, freaks and geeks, Mogwai have covered "Avinu Malkeynu". At the (huge, but tantalizing) risk of sounding sacrilegious, this is one of the best things to ever happen the Jewish people. What could be more flattering than one of the world's top bands paying tribute to a deeply religious Jewish spiritual? This never happens to Christians, sure they have their Xmas music, but Xmas music is a novelty, it's practically secular. That's why all the best Xmas music has been made by Jews (Spector, Berlin, etc.), you certainly don't have to down with Jesus to understand it and enjoy it. On the other hand, throughout the rock era, the Christian *religion* has been spat on consistently, from Madonna dancing semi-naked in a field of burning crosses to Lennon's "bigger than Jesus" comment. Mogwai's "Avinu Malkeynu" is a towering tribute. There is not an ounce of kitsch present. To the best of my knowledge, none of Mogwai's members are Jewish, so how they were aware of the song's existence, let alone had the sharp judgment to understand it's tremendous poignancy within the Jewish religion, is a mystery (and they are far too astute, far too intelligent to cover such a song without fully gripping it's meaning, there's a reason they covered "Avinu Malkeynu" and not "Adon Olam" or "Eyn Keloheynu"). I suspect that when most people think of Jewish music, or perhaps even Jewishness in general, they think of humour. When this song is (hopefully) released on their next album, the world will be hit with the most straight-faced sample of Jewishness that has ever been unleashed in the name of human entertainment, a track free of irony, free of a Yiddish accent, free of "Seinfeld" references, free of big noses and scavenging for dimes on the street, no, it will be a track that will make everyone understand why devout followers wail this tune in synagogues each fall, singing and shaking and swaying and hungry with tears welling in their eyes, a track that will sit heavy on every listeners' sternum even if they disagree with the notion of a second Messiah still forthcoming, a track that will fill the (presently) empty folder of popular culture that is entitled "Jewish spiritual music, that is, a primer for everyone who has no idea what goes on during a Jewish religious service, who can't see the faith beyond the funny-looking caps". And it will be loud as all hell.

I may have been too sloppy in comparing Coldplay with Radiohead. I have upgraded "Yellow" from the realm of squeaky-clean, inoffensive guitar pop (although well done, at that) to the *true* "Live Forever". In fact, Radiohead could have never written "Yellow" because it's such a godfearingly childlike paean to the Power of Love, whereas anything Radiohead have written about love is soaked in their self-important ego-maniacal pissings of high-art seriousness, i.e. "Just" with it's quiet/loud dynamics ("hey, it's like, the grunge dynamic, like, and what could be more serious than that?") and the video's four minute depression primer mini-movie, which as far as I can tell, has little to do with the lyrics of the song, except that Thom Yorke would like to convince everyone that he's a miserable old poop (notwithstanding, who hasn't wondered what it would be like to just lie down in the middle of the street for no apparent reason, a silly subject for a video, perhaps, but very, very, intriguing because it would be sorta cool to try it one day). On the other hand, in the "Yellow" video, Chris Martin walks along the beach and the sun comes out -- voila -- impeccable romantic simplicity. What could be nicer than watching the sun on the beach? Of course, romance never works that way, true romance is snogging while drunk at a party or waking up next to someone else's discarded underwear, but "Yellow" isn't about a real relationship, it's a fantasy (is it obvious that my change of heart is linked to finally seeing the "Yellow" video?), it earmarks what is potentially attainable. And even though "Live Forever" was tremendously overrated as a single (in my opinion), those who speak so highly of it do so because it's so glowingly positive and makes them feel like they could do anything. And so does "Yellow". Thus, Coldplay: not third rate "The Bends" ripoffs, rather: the new Oasis.

The world probably doesn't need even MORE of my anti-Radiohead rantings, but there are so many things that need to be addressed in print that this entry is absolutely necessary. So in the spirit of year-end Top 10 lists, here are, in no particular order, "10 Random Misconceptions, Nonsensical or Downright Sucky Things about Radiohead".

1. Thom Yorke's voice is not "mournfully soulful". Thom Yorke does not sing, he whines. I have nothing against whining -- Billy Corgan (Smashing Pumpkins) and Ira Kaplan (Yo La Tengo) make excellent music and both are a tad on the whiny side -- but whining is not soulful, it has never been soulful, and it never will be soulful. Therefore, Radiohead's music is not soulful in any way.

2. Say whatever you want about Pearl Jam's music, but when they decided to cut themselves off from the world, they DID it. No videos, no press, no nothing. Radiohead tried a similar trick after the release of "Kid A" and yet somehow every time I opened a music mag there was an "exclusive" interview with one of the band members.

3. "Kid A" finished on a lot of "Top Albums of 2000" lists because it was released in October. Had it been released in March, there would have been more time for the backlash to kick in and come year's end, it would have been viewed as the load of self-indulgent tripe that it is. Remember, most people liked "Be Here Now" when it was released in August 1997, and we all know what happened after THAT backlash kicked into overdrive.

4. I visited HMV today and finally had a listen to the JJ72 album. This was a band I had wanted to check out for quite some time. JJ72 -- abrasive, sexy, the new Manics! Disappointingly, but not surprisingly, I found that JJ72 do not sound like the Manics. JJ72 sound like Radiohead. The lyrics do resemble the kind of rambling prose and irregular pacing that characterized Richey-era Manics, but otherwise the high-pitched, whiny angelic voice, introspective acoustic ballads and not-in-the-least-bit-feather-ruffling rock riffs are pure Radiohead. I've long since given up on any UK band creating an album as visceral and gripping as "The Holy Bible", but SOMEBODY out there should be talented enough to make a run at creating another "Gold Against The Soul".

5. Speaking of bands that sound like Radiohead, take Coldplay. At least they're smart enough to rip off "The Bends"-era Radiohead, i.e. ripping Radiohead off during the only period when they were actually any good. But if the success of Travis and Coldplay has proven anything, it's that there are many, many other Travises and Coldplays out there waiting to break through. Their type of music is simple, catchy, and the record buying public is eating it up with a spoon right now. By spring's end, another band sounding just like Coldplay and Travis will have released this year's "Yellow", it will soundtrack the summer and the successes of Coldplay and Travis will be rendered commonplace. If new Travises can break through all the time, then the real Travis aren't very unique, are they? Why do you think the Backstreet Boys release an album every year? If they don't, then their fans will quickly forget about them because there are 1452 crappy boy bands born every minute, all of them sound the same, thus, the fans aren't going to care which one they listen to, they'll just listen to the flavour of the month. If Travis and Coldplay are to survive long-term, then they MUST quit sounding less like 1995 Radiohead and more like something, anything, else. However, advance press regarding the new Travis album do not suggest that this is the case.

6. It seems that there is a new catchphrase for the act of a band following up a guitar album with an electronic, wibbly album. This is known as "doing a Kid A". Anyone who claims to be the least bit knowledgeable about music and supports the entry of this phrase into the critical lexicon is thicker than the sac of saline currently supporting Britney Spears' latest "I don't want this sexy image" see-though rhinestone-studded top. Once upon a time, a band from merry Britain followed up their hugely successful guitar album of 1997 with a record of massive indulgence, electronic weirdness, and seemingly bereft of potential hit singles. The name of the band is Blur, the name of the album is "13" and it was released almost two years ago. Yet I've never heard anyone talk about "doing a 13". Are people's musical tastes shaped so much by Flavours of the Month (see point 5, above) that they have already forgotten about "13"?

7. This Pisses Me Off So Much that it warrants another point. Thom Yorke babbles on about listening to the Warp Records catalogue and how much it influenced "Kid A". While he does this (during one of those many "exclusive" interviews, of course), the mags drop their collective jaws in amazement like he'd just discovered the Holy Grail and deserves a medal for doing so. Dear God, I thought that the post-electronica mainstream press could accept the influence of techno-based music on guitar bands as being commonplace, but I guess I was wrong. Even Eric bloody Clapton made an ambient album, so why is it suddenly so risky and inventive once Radiohead does it?

8. I'm not done. I was not suggesting that Blur were the first guitar band to go electronic, wibbly, and uncommercial. I just addressed the fact that they did so long before Radiohead. Hell, Oval (Berlin-based techno artist) made some pleasant albums of dubby, click-filled techno in the mid-90's. Now that this music is more in vogue, what did he do? He released an album of indecipherable noise (and clicking). Yet nobody talks about "doing a Process". Far more famously, in 1975, Lou Reed followed up the success of the inoffensive AOR album "Sally Can't Dance" with the very offensive "Metal Machine Music", a 60-minute blast of noise and feedback, an album which is considered to be a work of genius years ahead of it's time or the worst album ever recorded, depending on who you ask, what time of day you ask them, and what stimulants they are on at the time. I know I am not alone in considering "MMM" to be the first instance of what these hacks are referring to as "pulling a Kid A", but by no means am I arrogant or closed minded enough to insist that there wasn't an earlier instance of which I am not aware. One final note, "MMM", even today, is 80 billion times more radical than "Kid A" would be even if Radiohead performed it naked with bombs strapped to their chests. The simple reason (among other things) is that "MMM" may be loud and unstructured, but certainly not boring, whereas "Kid A" is merely boring and unstructured.

9. Radiohead are actually not all bad. "OK Computer" is one of the most praised albums ever, and even I have to praise ... the singles from "OK Computer". The rest is meaningless filler. "No Surprises" is easily the best thing they have ever done. There's so much empty space in that song, so that every last drop of sound that is there counts for so much more than it normally would. And the video is the perfect accompaniment to the loneliness -- few things are lonelier than almost drowning. However, I haven't heard a live version that comes close to recreating that emptiness.

10. The hype machine will soon be restarting in time for the release of "Amnesiac" in March. Thus, I may have to add more points to this list. Happy New Year.