Around him, sampled mouth music groans and shivers, a murderous miasma of desire and despair, while Yorke makes himself harsh, drugged and dangerous, like Howard Devoto on Magazine’s Permafrost. Not for the first time you wonder where he gets all this FROM, this constant, vivid empathy with the tortured and powerless. Strip away the talent, ambition, education, young family and brilliant band and maybe this is how he feels too. Tragic if it’s true, uncannily effective as art if it isn’t.
Mojo, August 2006