I feel that the rot is starting to set in for Radiohead. There's still beautiful melodies, graceful memories and lots to share and discover. But the subtext I'm getting is watch out before it all comes down.

Entropy and decay is just as much a part of the cycle as rebirth and rejuvenation. Radiohead, for their part, are sentimentalizing rot and decay -- which is just as spiritually bankrupt as sentimentalizing only the good times. You know, it's very fashionable to be ironic and isolated and a bit bitter. But no matter how much junk has crashed onto my head this year, I am not about to embrace a worldview where a paranoic's dream-map (the cover) is implied as the sanest way to navigate reality. Yes, art needs a focus, but this album is such a laser focus on all the ways you have to batten down the hatches and prepare for the worst, it's lost its allure for me. Thom Yorke has recently become a father, but the best he can do for his newborn son is imbuing his creepy, broken songs with comforting assurances. "Go to Sleep." "There There." "I Will." Which is fine and dandy as far as that goes, but how about actually writing lyrics to coincide with those sentiments?

Don't get me wrong, there are some powerful, stand-out tracks on this album. The opener "2 + 2 = 5" is one of my favorite Radiohead tracks of all time, what with its skewed, through a looking glass, Orwellian world that can only be made sense of by chanting "The raindrops" in a fugue. "Sit Down. Stand Up." is a lullaby to itself, creeped out at its own instructions, pulsing vaguely with hope torn apart by circumstance. "Backdrifts" is the sound of genies taking wishes away. "Go to Sleep" takes us from the street corner into the most blinding white dot of light. "We Suck Young Blood" would creep out even the most seasoned nihilist. "The Gloaming" makes malfunctioning stereo equipment sound romantic, just as "Hurt" did for Nine Inch Nails all those years ago. "There There" is one of Radiohead's most twisted, serpentine melodies, tribal thrums, perfect tears. "I Will" looks to the future, briefly, before losing itself to dreamspeak. "Myxomatosis" screams at the same time its talking calmly, all buzzed by and burned out. "A Wolf at the Door" bemoans there is nothing that can be done, the world police have won.

But do you know what I'm really going for in these songs? The sounds, man -- the sounds. There are sonic drugs aplenty, falling out of the albums' many brimming pockets. Snap them up and suck them in. Sonically, this is the band at its highest point. Everybody meshes, knows when to bleed into the background, step out for a smoke, or punch your speakers through. I've never heard the band this tight, and for that reason, this album is worth hearing.

Lyrically, though, Yorke has gone into a parody of himself. A cardinal sin -- he's let all those articles about his importance seep into his system, and now he cannot step out for some fresh air. He doesn't remember how to smile. I'll take the youthful "Punchdrunk Lovesick Singalong" over the bereft and boring "Drunken Punchup at a Wedding" anyday.

His best moments on this album are the lyrics that are heard for a moment, then drop back out of consciousness. Things like "The raindrops," "Little baby's eyes," "The rag and bone man." But good lord, guys, grow a sense of humor and a backbone. It's easy to let yourself be cowed, shoulders hunched, staring only straight ahead. But then you miss a lot of beautiful scenery, and many beautiful people. It's time for Radiohead to grow up, is what I'm saying. Yorke's a father. Shouldn't he have something more to say about the world than it's a place his son should be hidden away from? The music has reached a new peak. Can't the lyrics follow the same? There is nothing at stake, no emotional risk. It's theater. And theater has its place, but not at the expense of real feeling. Can we get some of that back, guys? I know you have it in you.

Recommended: Yes