Finding a Way Forward

When the lead singer of a critically beloved, commercially successful band in its prime releases a solo album, it's a bit like a married man with two kids zipping by in a fiery new Porsche. Something, you suspect, ain't right at home. Sure enough, Thom Yorke has admitted that Radiohead, years-long holder of the title Only Band That Matters, has hit a lethargic patch. Personal lives have grown comfortable, professional momentum has slowed. With the future uncertain, Yorke made The Eraser--which turns out not to be a betrayal of his band but a love letter to it.

From the ethereal melodies to the beats layered upon beats, The Eraser is full of Radiohead music--dark, dystopian, oddly beautiful--minus the other members of Radiohead. (It was composed mostly on a laptop.) In spots, the band is missed. The Clock creates some grinding tension but never figures out how to release it, while Black Swan eddies around a chorus ("This is f___ed up, f___ed up") that hardly mines new emotional territory. You can sense Yorke's grasping for something, and with the help of producer Nigel Godrich, who oversaw Beck's midcareer-crisis record, Sea Change, he eventually finds it: clarity.

On much of The Eraser, Yorke's choirboy voice, usually pickled in distortion, comes through cleanly, and he conjures up some clear ideas too. Harrowdown Hill slips into the head of David Kelly--the British whistle-blower who committed suicide after alleging that Tony Blair had oversold the case for war in Iraq--creating a portrait of anger and futility that's overwhelmingly sad. More often than not, though, Yorke speaks for, and to, himself. On Atoms for Peace, he sings, "No more going to the dark side with your flying saucer eyes ... No more talk about the old days, it's time for something great." The Eraser isn't--but by distilling Radiohead into something intimate, it may point the way toward greatness to come.