Der britische Journalist Mark Beaumont (einer der wenigen guten NME-Schreiber in den dunklen Jahren unter Conor McNicholas) hatte Radioheads gefeiertem „Kid A“-Album bei Veröffentlichung ein „1,5 von 5 Punkten“-Review gegeben und sich nun entschieden, der Platte nach 10 Jahren eine neue Chance zu geben und es von neuem zu besprechen:

„The trouble is, my opinion of Kid A – 1.5 out of 5, because I only liked three of the 10 tracks – has barely changed in the last decade. Having been struck off the Radiohead mailing list for my review (and obviously not inclined to part with good money for it), I’ve not returned to the record since 2000. (…) Older, wiser and a little less sweary, I returned to Kid A this week to re-assess it in the light of a decade’s veneration. And found it largely as dull, frustrating and sporadically brilliant as I did back in 2000.

For me, the „growers“ have failed to grow. Everything in Its Right Place still sounds like a haphazard and pointless synth’n’laptop experiment. How to Disappear Completely mumbles and drags too drearily even for this die-hard Tindersticks fan. I found myself warming to the cutesy micro-melodies of Morning Bell, but still can’t find anything in Treefingers or the title track that you, me or any trained monkey couldn’t make with access to a keyboard, a vocoder and a box of squeaky animal toys. Yes, I felt a rush when the free-form jazz horns of The National Anthem reached their unified crescendo, but it was a rush of relief that the Mingus-in-a-tumble-dryer racket was finally over.

There’s little real Millennial state-of-the-globe commentary here either, besides abstruse visions of climate change and oil wars on Idioteque. Even the demonic Tony Blair was hidden deep within the packaging. Otherwise there’s nothing but Thom Yorke’s personal alienation or the abstract images and hat-drawn slogans that would become their trademark over the next two albums. Wilfully impenetrable, emotionally inaccessible, encased in opaque aspic, saying nothing to me about my life.“

(Mark Beaumont in der britischen Tageszeitung The Guardian)

Als Bonustrack hier Beaumonts Original-Review aus dem – Gott hab ihn selig! – Melody Maker vom September 2000 als Schmähkritik classic (und was für eine Schmähkritik!):

„It is the sound of Thom Yorke ramming his head firmly up his own arse, hearing the rumblings of his intestinal wind and deciding to share it with the world. Let’s do the math: „OK Computer“, until today the most overrated album ever recorded, contained a total of four actual tunes, two of which („Karma Police“ and „No Surprises“) were almost identical. (…) Gulping down their own hype and under self-imposed pressure to make a record even more „ground-breaking“ than their third, Radiohead have committed the ultimate folly. They’ve created a monument of effect over content, a smothering cataclysm of sound and fury signifying precisely fuck all.
(…) Jonny Greenwood comes on like a Chinese DJ Shadow, laying down cold and charmless flickerbeats while Robo-Thom, casting himself as a Wonky-Eyed Piper of Grimlin, chokes, „Rats and children follow me out of town“, thereby introducing the underlying theme of the album: oh woe upon woe, why must poor Thom be tormented with mass international success, a pile of hard cash the size of Ann Widdecombe, and this damned fanbase that plagues him so? Put another record on, mate. Quite literally, before they do „The National Anthem“. Presumably the National Anthem for some bizarre jazz-loving nation ruled by demented circus folk, it is both „Kid A“’s nadir and its first really important track. For once we’re past the lumpen space-funk workout and they let the horn section from Bedlam out of their jaw restraints, it turns into Primal Scream’s „Accelerator“ as played by 50 crack-crazed clowns on their honky noses and thus utterly redefines the notion of „unlistenability“, propels us to a whole new sphere of self-indulgence, invents – if you will – post-bollocks.“

Inhaltsverzeichnis:
* Die ersten 300 Folgen Schmähkritik
* Wer disst wen?