It starts with what is still surely one of the most thrilling sounds known to modern man - a guitar being plugged into an amp. It's tempting to interpret that distinctive, buzzy pop as a statement of intent; enough of the radical experimentation, Radiohead seem to be saying - we're back and we're ready to rock.
It's not quite that simple, of course. Their sixth album may see Radiohead pulling back a little from the electronica-injected, multi-textured soundscapes of both 'Kid A' and 'Amnesiac' but it's by no means 'OK Computer', part II. 'Hail To The Thief' rather occupies a confident, half-way ground; it's the sound of Britain's most consistently challenging chart act achieving some kind of equilibrium, finally at ease both with themselves and with their status as this country's sole, meaningful commercial rock band.
Thom Yorke has described the album as Radiohead's "shiny pop record", which is of course his little joke. The title refers to George Bush's dubious election result in Florida and titles such as 'We Suck Young Blood' and 'Myxamatosis' imply that love songs are again thin on the ground. Themes of paranoia, ignorance, systemised political deceit, powerlessness and evil abound, but although Radiohead don't deny having a serious agenda, they have no interest in music as manifesto. "Are you such a dreamer, to put the world to rights?" are Yorke's first words (in '2 + 2 = 5'); he understands that it's a futile exercise, which is why his band concentrates rather on shining the light of their intelligence on the world around them, then reflecting it back at us, brilliant tunes attached.
There's an overall intensity and malevolent, looming gloom on 'Hail To the Thief', due to the fact that Yorke's initial inspiration for these 14 songs came from solitary, dusk drives around the countryside near his home, but this intensity is given a wide range of expressions: the gorgeous 'Sail To the Moon' is so loose and sweetly fluid it threatens to drift off and disappear for ever; the rhythm-driven 'The Gloaming' recalls nothing so much as 'Flat Beat'; 'We Suck Young Blood' - with its slow hand claps and vocal harmonies - is plain funereal in its chilliness; the brief guitar outbursts in 'Go To Sleep' are ragged and dirty as anything by Neil Young; but 'Backdrifts' sets woozy, techno-atmospherics and hammering keys against breakbeats so crisp they might well have been crumbed and deep-fried.
It's startling that a commercial rock band could sound this blood-and-oxygen vital, this meaningful and mighty six albums into their career. That nothing less is now expected of Radiohead is proof of just how extraordinary their talent is.
by Sharon O'Connell