Worst to Best: Red Hot Chili Peppers

“I’m forever near a stereo saying, ‘What the fuck is this garbage?’ And the answer is always the Red Hot Chili Peppers.” ― Nick Cave

Writing this article seemed like a good idea at first, but when I finally stepped back and hesitated to question what exactly I was doing, it was already too late. I think I may have made a mistake.

Red Hot Chili Peppers have become the punchline to a joke about the embarrassing state of dadrock meeting the unfashionable stupidity of mainstream audiences, hahaha, so funny! It’s way cooler to dislike RHCP now than it is to like them, the trendy kids won't read this article, which was about the realisation that drowned my brain in its own insecurities. I was gambling all of my credit chips on a band I wasn't actually allowed to enjoy! What was I doing here? I mean, there is no denying that these musical figureheads had followed me my whole life for better or worse (their debut album was released during my birth year, in fact), but perhaps this longstanding relationship blurred my usually sound judgment? This art had raised me like they were my parents, which could mean that my adoration and respect may have stemmed from a place of conditioning, right? Did this band even have enough depth to withstand the hours of digging from my article's analysis-spade? Could I conjure up an adequate amount of eloquent words to describe such a commercial outfit that every publication in existence has already described at unreasonable lengths? The answer was probably not.

Unfortunately, my boots were in the thick of the mud as I had already created the above lead image, and it looked fucking sick, so what choice did have? I closed my eyes, and I trawled onward, burdened by a backpack of self-doubt and wet sandwiches, my hands reaching out to hopefully rediscover some former appreciation within the cracks of their entire discography. And that's when I turned one corner and walked directly into my old buddies again, hey! Wow, it was so good to see them! They seemed really well, and they welcomed me with open arms of love and warmth, taking off that backpack and carrying it for me, as they spoke about their history and their influences and their integrity while I just listened. My soul recharged and my associations realigned themselves. Oh yes, I belong here.

Let me explain something to you. Red Hot Chili Peppers have been through more hardships than almost any other band I can think of, with an unstable line-up of at least 14 musicians coming and going, usually because they were completely preoccupied with needles, stabbing holes into their veins then stuffing their systems full of cement flavoured opiates, to the point that a man died once. And yet, within these tragedies, the Chilis never lost sight of their organic spiritual appreciation for life itself. This is important because we are so often bombarded with art which collects stones in its pockets and then jumps into freezing cold water, despite the fact that the father artists have never experienced true misfortunes. Those palettes did not earn that colour of inspiration! The Peppers, however, are drenched by this agonising form of source material and yet they chose to spin these traumas into sunshine socks of positivity, placing them over their cocks and then fucking barely legal girls with them. And that is where their unparalleled magic thrives. From teenage pussy. Oh my God, I remember all of this now.

No self-respecting individual would ever label this band as one of profound intellect or articulated wisdom, but what RHCP can teach you extends far beyond clever wording. There is a true understanding of life to be found within these fruits, more so than any other band, where a connection to Mother Nature's core energy can develop into a telepathic chemistry between you and other human beings. In order to unlock these achievements, all you need to do is what the Red Hot Chili Peppers do, which is dance. Dance against any odds which the universe may roll to oppose you, and share your space with those you love. There should be no leaders in your friendships, rather an aura of security where ideas can be freely jammed out, liberated from judgment or preciousness, allowing the improvisational hands of allies to meddle with your artistic expressions, harnessing the abundant fertility of unrestrained collaboration and collective imagination. It may also help that their members have often included some of the best rock musicians the world has ever seen.

The numbers don’t lie. 80 million records sold. Six Grammys won. 13 number-one singles. 25 top-tens. 85 weeks at number one in total. Inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame. Officially the most successful alternative rock band in history who accomplished all of this by fusing themselves with funk and rap and metal and pop, which is not a mixture that happens by accident. Rather, this only happens when you die and come back to life so many times that you are probably immortal, point proven that this outfit are still going. I address you now, the reader, and assure you that little kids will be asking you about this band when you get older, which is why I implore you to turn your back on those hip friends who refuse to acknowledge RHCP's greatness. These guys are legends. Rockstar royalty. There is no shame in admitting this, let it all go. Be proud of your feelings. You love the Red Hot Chili Peppers, and you know you do. You've intentionally watched their music videos to the end. You've danced by yourself like Anthony Kiedis before. You’ve had some of the best times of your life with their music playing in the background. Never forget what they have done for you. Here are all their albums, ranked from worst to best.

11. The Red Hot Chili Peppers (1984)

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Like any undiscovered outfit who’s trying to offensively elbow their way to the top of some pyramid of recognition, the Chili’s debut wasn’t exactly the most effortless of projects. Founding pepper Hillel Slovak was absent due to other commitments (desensitising the revolving musician idea far too early in their career), and the lifeless production from Andy Gill fell short, unable to capture the live, youthful spirit which got the Chilis signed in the first place. This left us with one jammy demo-sounding offering from a silly little band who seemed lucky to have made it out of their garage—delightfully cute, for sure, yet with zero indication of what was to come, arguably the furthermost one could get from the biggest group on the planet at this point. Naturally, no one took it seriously, and this was fine, because no one ever asked you to, but the historians of hindsight have all agreed that this is an overlooked piece of importance, an unsung pioneer of the funk metal and rap rock phenomenon, while Flea’s repetitive funk bass lines slapped the shit out of the competition even way back when. Basically, at their worst, RHCP were still an underrated bit of fun.

10. Freaky Styley (1985)

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According to Flea, sophomore album Freaky Styley was "too funky for white radio, too punk rockin' for black," but it was a definite step forward for these Los Angeles boys, as they gradually sniffed out what it was they were looking for and then began to eagerly pursue it (and I'm not talking drugs here, although that was close behind). The legendary George Clinton was snatched up as the producer this round, and he was the ideal conductor to nurture the true funk within these youngsters, playing a father figure who approved their license to be as confidently idiotic as they so desired. Even better was that founding member Hillel Slovak had returned to the guitar seat and his liquid string-work effortlessly spilled their fluid all over the Chili blueprint. Meanwhile, Anthony’s unpretentious poetry was even more immature and erect than before, while the carefree trumpets which slipped between Flea’s signature pops proved that there was genuine talent hidden beneath this comical misbehaviour. They call it playing music for a reason, yeah? And yet (as with all early RHCP) the true joy comes in with how obviously oblivious this band were, the future of their inevitable fame impossibly far from their intentions, because no one would write songs this obscure for any financial purposes. Oh well, fuck ‘em just to see the look on their face, fuck ‘em just to see the look on their face.

09. I'm With You (2011)

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If nothing else, I’m With You is definitive proof of how collaborative the Peppers have always been, as every personality invited into the circle will somehow alter a fundamental component of the audio chemistry. After the creative authority of Frusciante had abandoned the cause for the second time, Josh Klinghoffer was recruited, and he was undoubtedly the best choice, the only choice, and the perfect choice. However, with these fresh ears came a lack of instrument confidence. There was a certain caution where his faint strings timidly tested their role, exploring their boundaries in a civilized fashion, unlike any RHCP guitarist who had come before. This proved to be the ideal window for Flea, who bullied the gentle Klinghoffer back into the shy of the mix, then shouldered his bass directly into the center stage, a luxurious domination that Mr Balzary was never granted before. Nevertheless, everyone was still dealing with the gaping John divorce, and despite putting all of the necessary hard work into the product, the overall forgettable wishy-washy quality and lack of any explosive hits on I’m With You fell over as the band’s lowest selling album in 20 years. However, I think this failure was primarily the public's fault. Truthfully, everyone had grown tired of Chili’s refusal to die at this point, and many were sick of their persistent radio presence, prompting an automated resistance towards any of their work, even the most respectable of songs immediately discarded as a mediocre snooze (which was only half true). Fantastic artwork though.

08. The Uplift Mofo Party Plan (1987)

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As a segment from the earliest of Chili Pepper stockpiles, their third album is often overlooked as yet another failed attempt at capturing the ever-elusive electrifying stage spirit that this band were quickly building a reputation upon. They were getting closer though, as this record's hyper-excitement smashed through the window with a much harder (almost metal) edge, louder than before, mindlessly slopping their colourful paint on everything, one helluva party! And yet, chip away the messy conglomerate of over-masculine cockiness splashing water out from the kiddie pool, and their mission of running amok still felt a little aimless and for-the-sake-of-it. Be that as it may, however, The Uplift Mofo Party Plan is still an extremely important landmark album in the Chili story, continuing along the trend of sharpening their craft and rapidly evolving per each release, taking more risks whilst slightly tweaking their energy levels by occasionally lifting their foot off of the pedal if the song called for it. Even more importantly, is that this is the only studio album in existence where every single track features all four of the RHCP founding members, partially because this was Slovak’s final artistic statement ever. Sadly, their guitarist passed away from a heroin overdose shortly after this release, and drummer Jack Irons understandably quit as a result, stating that he did not want to be part of a group where his friends were dying.

07. Stadium Arcadium (2006)

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When a band’s ego swells so large that it swallows its common sense like some fetal resorption, a double album is sure to follow, so please excuse me while I roll my eyes so dramatically that they make an audible sound. Although, to be fair, other bands didn't have Frusciante, and this is an imperative point as it is his minimalist guitar work which exclusively drives Stadium Arcadium, by densely layering itself upon itself with both eyes closed, all other components revolving his core, floating within a tender incarnation of everything everyone wanted RHCP to be. Predictably, a 2+ hour long meal will always be a calorific swallow (best consumed in two separate seatings, if you want my recommendation) but none of this hefty order felt forced. Instead, it was delivered to the table with creativity spilling over the brims of each radio-friendly song, with so much record space that they could casually spread every mood from their artistic history across the surface area, as if an accumulative statement summing up their entire career, and their final worthwhile fart on the matter. Sadly, this relentless weight of RHCP trademark upon RHCP trademark did eventually sound like a parody record, their latter-day safeness gone too far, and unsurprisingly, it loses steam by the end. This is not for lack of quality, mind you (the hits far outweigh the duds), but simply the sheer unreasonable quantity of it all, as everything loses its taste after a certain amount of chewing, and just how many Chilis were we expected to endure here anyway? Fuck, even Frusciante had enough at this point, quitting directly after this album, for realsies this time.

06. The Getaway (2016)

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After the stale I’m With You failed to impress anyone, the Chilis got such a fright that they immediately made some drastic changes to how things were going to be run around here. For starters, they fired two-decade strong producer Rick Rubin, employing the famed Danger Mouse to fiddle with their knobs instead, already forcing a shift directly at the entry point. After this, the humbled band regrouped themselves, approaching the problem cautiously as a team, laying back and focusing on their individual roles with a reduced ego, clearing a space where Josh could find a louder voice whilst Danger Mouse secretly added his mixed studio spice to vary the mellowing flavours. However, all of these calculated tactics and reserved attitudes could only nudge the old dogs slightly sideways, and the band’s eleventh studio record slid out as a relatively standard Pepper affair, the flame evidently long lost, yet a sturdy formula gained, one which knew how to manufacture a satisfying sound that could both hold a fanboy's happiness and keep the mouthy critics in a placid state. Negatively, (like most of their latter-day albums) The Getaway suffers from a bloated length, but (unlike most of their albums), it is a fillerless piece of work, impossible to decipher which songs should have been cut below others, with certain moments even skimming some former greatness. Undeniably, they’re still a highly skilled band, but it will never be what it was, and that’s why it really hurts.

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05. Mother's Milk (1989)

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The year was 1988 when founding guitarist Hillel Slovak overdosed on heroin and died, a mishap so terrifying that founding drummer Jack Irons withdrew his services too. This meant that the following record, Mother's Milk, introduced a 50% line-up change, a disastrous idea on paper which surprisingly turned out to be the most popular Pepper variation that the majority of people associate with the group today. The above-competent Chad Smith took skin duties, but it was truly John Frusciante (an eighteen-year-old Chili’s superfan/one of the greatest guitarists in the world) who made the largest dent in the entire history of RHCP. Frusciante’s confident string work oiled the existing parts that were already in motion, tightening the screws then turning the machine to face a more melodic direction, a bold refocus which, unfortunately, producer Michael Beinhorn didn’t quite understand. Instead, Beinhorn distorted the guitars and pushed this recording towards a more aggressive, hard rock stance, much to the band’s dismay. Nevertheless, it wasn't all bad, as this album does boast some of the group’s more tolerable production (a definite pricier studio quality which predated Rubin's march into the Loudness War), and the consequent benefits were instant: a cleaner Chili Pepper sound with an ever-developing catchiness in songwriting, growing slinky legs of its own and then tiptoeing closer to the mainstream, selling out venues, pissing old fans off, inviting new fans in, fame now within arm’s reach. Certainly, Peppers were always uniquely themselves, but this was where they got proficient at it, Mother's Milk remaining their most overlooked good record to this day.

04. Californication (1999)

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For many, Californication is prime Chili, their unrivaled finest hour, and a bonafide staple of late-90s musical culture—all of which are fair statements. Unfortunately, it was also this excessive talent which ultimately suffocated itself. The unignorable prowess of this album was so sticky that the radio and MTV would not stop stabbing it until the public’s own correlating memories overrode any former compositional worship, and in turn, we became sick of it. Thanks a lot, corporate media! What’s more, the best songs were so enormous that they accidentally toppled the lesser-than songs off of the ride, which stitched together a very patchy collection at best. Still, if you can recall those initial listens, you will evoke something truly magical in that American summer air. Frusciante had been living in a pit of near-fatal heroin addiction for eight years, and it was here that his brothers pulled him out, asking him to rejoin the band and employ his innovative restraint to meet Flea exactly halfway, their collaborative chemistry closer in tune here than anywhere else, period. Even Kiedis levitated above his trademark animalistic vulgarities into more thoughtful realms, complete with the vocal expansions to match it, and as one, they shot a syringe full of rejuvenation into their relevance. It was almost like a completely different band had appeared out of nowhere, a drastic sound change favouring a standard alternative pop-rock feel, a style which they’ve been running with ever since, and yet never quite coming as close to something as commercially successful as this.

03. One Hot Minute (1995)

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RHCP are the masters of channeling positive energy, but as we've already established, their backstory of drug addiction with members dying wasn’t exactly a hopscotch in the sunlight. By 1995, conditions were particularly bad, as Kiedis has fallen backwards into heroin again and Frusciante had left the band to pursue his own habit full-time, all the while there was this immense pressure to follow up their monster-hit record Blood Sugar, as bonafide famous rockstars for the very first time. Dave Navarro (the guitarist from Jane’s Addiction) was signed on as Frusciante's replacement and he immediately ruined their trademark funky fun by muddying the upbeat spirit with psychedelic metal and a brokenhearted darkness, the destruction of their misfortunate history finally weighing an album down into a muck of sadness. The natural dynamic was broken and the flow was throttled until the juices struggled to escape, exposing a dry, vulnerable crust of a band left behind, essentially just a depletion of junkies who were hardly hanging on. Due to this painful display, critics and fans were lukewarm to this somber manifestation until even the Chilis ignored its existence, firing Dave shortly after and hardly ever revisiting these songs live to this day. Interestingly enough, however, these circumstances eventually worked in One Hot Minute's favour, as it’s never been overplayed and is always overlooked as a uniquely uncomfortable part of their career, a gloomy place that the more sadistic of us adore as one of their best.

02. By the Way (2002)

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Take Californication and nourish that sophisticated awareness until it's all grown up. Pour water into the funk and stir beyond recognition. Massage the hard-hitting raps into softer melodies, kneading the mixture into a rich poppy bubblegum, ready to feed into the fickle jaws of radio audiences. Hollow out the reckless energy until you can see its ghost, hesitantly covering its face but beaming with sentimental love. This is not the Chili Peppers you signed up for. This is a charm so delicate that any former successes seem accidental, a lucky stumble now washed away by this gentle wave of mild emotion, a calculated smothering, an intentional submerging of their previous trademarks, disappearing beneath Frusciante’s warm textures to the point that Flea nearly handed in his resignation. Understandably, some people felt betrayed by how far we’ve strayed from the rhythmic grooves, cursing an inability to perform the usual monkey dances over this 60+ minute runtime, but not everyone. People like me embraced this as the most cohesively perfect record the band has ever developed within their unique chemistry set, a gift from the stars, and the pinnacle of the Red Hot Rollercoaster before it turned down to face the ground and begin its most monumental descend yet.

01. Blood Sugar Sex Magik (1991)

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Blood Sugar Sex Magik as a title may seem like some typical Kiedis buzzword drivel, but independently, each word sums up the four pillars of this record impeccably. There’s a newfound blood on this album, not only in terms of a deeper brotherhood connection, but also with Anthony’s pattering into softer territories, cracking open his primitive macho shell to offer us an introspective glimpse towards his demons and track marks. Conversely, around every corner is a mountain of sugar ready to raise your glucose levels so high that you’ll bounce off the walls, smashing through them at hyperspeed, you're still an animal on drugs after all. Of course, the sex was always an integral stain on the Pepper fabric, but with BSSM it’s an exaggerated blurt of vulgar innuendos like some poetic pervert malfunctioning in public. And finally, there’s the magik, where the telepathic chemistry of Frusciante’s inventive textures flow between Flea’s signature dominating slap grooves, everybody flexing their biggest muscles without getting in one another’s way, a metaphysical presence that is easier explained by some spiritual voodoo. Place Rubin in charge of the desk for the first time, and we have the Red Hot Chili Peppers, climaxing in the face of a sound they invented, well practiced, now perfected, immediately blasting them into superstardom where they still orbit us from today.

If you'd like to hear my favourite songs from each of these albums, you can! Here is a little 94 song 6h29m Spotify playlist just for you. Don't worry about it.

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Worst to Best: Radiohead

Be quiet for a moment. Listen. Can you hear that? The frenzied chattering has stopped. That intolerable flat hiss, I think I finally got rid of it! Perhaps this outcome is a little obvious in hindsight, but I definitely didn’t see it coming. I’ve spent the last two decades in full defense mode, every morning habitually standing rigid with my nose pressed against the mirror, aggressively debating the ranking order of Radiohead’s works, not only based on their brilliance, but also their influence on my existence. Occasionally, there were words which nearly turned to blows, believe me. I guess looking back, it does make some sense to connect these routine practices to some of my more... inconvenient disturbances. It's just that I’ve heard that rusted train of my mind grinding against those contemplation tracks over and over and over again, so many times that the wheels had permanently scarred the iron. The levee of Radiohead opinions had built up so much pressure from all angles of discussion that the eventual relief of venting the floodgates became an uncontrollable scene of gushing reflection, so eager to finally escape the cocooned prison of my skull after so many years of confinement. Not a single original thought was required in the composition of this article. These passages wrote themselves. These are not my words, I was merely the medium, and yet I will happily take the credit, thank you.

Please ignore that whole bit I said earlier on about those voices in my head hahaha I was only joking about that hahahaha obviously lol. But even despite whatever, it’s surprising that I only wrote this piece now, for reasons I hardly need to explain. Radiohead have been my on-again, off-again favourite-band-in-the-world love affair since the early 2000s, which means that I was actually embarrassingly late to the gathering. Regardless, I made up for lost time by pissing on everything and claiming it as mine so loudly that everyone simply assumed I’d always been here. Radiohead themselves, however, are why we’re having this conversation even if I’ve only really been talking about myself thus far.

Ok, so Radiohead then, already an undeniably fat chapter in the textbook of musical greats. I could easily copy and paste a dramatic swarm of extraordinary achievements from Wikipedia, using those numbers and polls to present a bulletproof case proving their already monumental legacy, but instead, I’d rather present my ballsack with this little declaration: Radiohead are one of the most important bands in history, and the only reason they don’t get their due acknowledgement in this regard, is because they are still going. Believe me when I look at you in the eyes, and I tell you with all the stress my lungs can muster, that in 50 years, they will still be an academic topic, and your grandchildren will be asking you if you ever saw them live (for the record, I have, three times). They are like The Beatles, in that they have enough mainstream appeal to conquer the charts with every release, and yet they also have the artsy smarts to push even the most seasoned of pompous stoners far out of their cosmos. They are also like The Beatles, because they have never released a bad album, they got better as they went along, and they somehow maintained a firm grasp on each member, not a single unit of the tight Radiohead crew ever leaving or being replaced, which includes their producer (since 1997) and go-to artwork designer (since 1995). Basically, they are like The Beatles of our time, do you understand?? I’m not even the first to say this! I really wish I was though!

Shit, you’re still here? Was I doing the thing again? Sorry, I didn't realise you were waiting for me. Let’s walk in this straight line then. Presenting the Worst to Best of Radiohead, the definitive order, no one else’s list is correct unless it goes exactly like this, no exceptions:

09. Pablo Honey (1993)

Alternative Britpop Rock
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Considering all of their inconceivable feats, one Radiohead achievement which was impressively unique stands as this one: their first album was their absolute worst. Usually, a band’s debut features years of hard work and live rehearsals before a record deal answers the phone, meaning that most bands' standard introduction is essentially a greatest hits compilation, artists traditionally only stumbling during the sophomore pressure. In Radiohead’s case, however, their launch came crushed beneath the “One Hit Wonder” sticker of doom, Creep almost embarrassingly regarded as their signature tune, somehow still to this very day. Yet as part of the whole package, this song and album were nothing more than self-loathing grunge copies, painfully 90s, so common, so conventional, absent of the artsyfarts they ultimately became known for. Be all of that as it may, however, hindsight has been warmer, and I value both sides of the tugging rope. Obviously, if we compare Pablo to what followed, it’s gum under their boots, unanimously agreed upon as their weakest endeavour, lacking everything that made them great in later years. But! If we praise it as the very first step of such a historic journey, it’s one fascinating listen, with occasional winks towards what was to come (Blow Out, hello??), and in the end, unfairly dismissed only because it was the easy thing to do.

08. The King of Limbs (2011)

Experimental Electronic Rock
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There is no Radiohead album more problematic to dissect than that of The King of Limbs. You end up contradicting yourself, writing in circles, scribbling out of the lines, and then forgetting where you were going with that. The band had evidently made the conscious decision to drive their creative power out into the fields of weird again, by dancing around glitchy rhythmic centers and looped samples, one studio-heavy twitch, while traditional instrumentation was almost dissolved in the light rainfall. And yet even these electronic jitters were surprisingly relaxed, lost deep within the thought of a very strange nature, spooky and ominous and... dull? Which was where the dilemma started. Everyone agreed that this was a good record, but it was lacking... something. Lacking ingenuity? Lacking a pivotal artistic development point? Lacking basically what every Radiohead album had excelled at before this? Lacking of limbs? Who are we to say? And yet, somehow, impossibly, it was these very downfalls which also blossomed as TKOL’s most notable strengths, as the record was abandoned by the circle of approval, and in turn, became the ugly beautiful reject, sat outside the cafeteria, forsaken by its peers, not included, uninvited. Because it was too short. Because certain songs were obviously much healthier than others. Because the exclusion of The Daily Mail is one of Radiohead’s greatest professional mistakes. Because, perhaps, we still just don’t get it.

07. Amnesiac (2001)

Experimental Electronic Art Rock
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Ignoring what Thom told you, Amnesiac is less of an album, more of a b-side collection of Kid A residual. Kid B. The reject twin. Recorded during the same sessions, severed at birth, the ugly scraps carved off of the prime meat, thrown aside to keep the host mother pristine, packaged separately and sold at cost price. Due to this gruesome spectacle, Amnesiac will forever wither beneath an infinite shadow, unfairly compared to the superior product, labelled as an inconsistent, flawed bag of mixed treats, one diverse mess of graceless jazz-fidgets, a stiff machine of mentally unstable restlessness. Cast your mind back to the asphyxiation of Kid A who was released a mere eight months earlier, and the comparisons turn even stranger. Remember how resistant the public outcry was against the first-born? And then remember how the grain of glorification expanded until Kid A was honoured as the most innovative album of the decade? Strange then how the apathetic confusion for Amnesiac still stands relatively fixed, fans remaining uncertain, half-heartedly debating its importance without too much interested in a satisfactory resolution—it's just not worth the effort. But hear me now: this album is the rarest of all the Radioheads. Say what you will about Kid A (and we do!), but this specific congregation is a far more carefree, band-y, song-y, and unpredictably mysterious offering than anything the aforementioned classic would even dare to be. Hence why this is unchallenged as the greatest b-side compilation ever created, so says me, amen.

06. The Bends (1995)

Alternative Rock
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For close to 10 years, Radiohead’s career was a path of obvious stepping stones, calculated progressions, moving forward in dramatic strides, yet unable to fully shake the scent of their previous environment. Armed with that thought (and overlooking the immensely conflicted public reaction between the two), The Bends is Pablo Honey. They were both standard 90s guitar rock affairs with the instantaneous superglue stick of Britpoppy ideology, except this time... they came bearing songs which were actually good. Great, even. A far more textured meal. Not a sliver of filler on offer. The band’s puberty record, and goodness gracious me, they were growing up so fast, featuring some of their most impressive compositional statements to date, purely because they hadn't cowered beneath the safety net of artiness just yet, instead presenting a simple collection of moods which either sunk deep into the abyss of depression, or shouted loud from waves of distorted aggression (a scarcely found demeanor on future recordings). Contemplate all of this with Godrich and Donwood now permanently on board, and the constellation had lined up forever, sketching the episode where our legendary tale truly begins. So... one of the most influential alternative albums ever made? Oh God, undeniably so! But ahead of its time? Not whatsoever. And, therefore, the tiniest bit overrated? What, are you asking me? Yes.

05. Hail to the Thief (2003)

Alternative Art Rock
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If we were to individually personify this catalogue’s components, Hail to the Thief would be the lunatic most likely to win in a brawl. Here is the ugliest of monsters, hiding within a dark forest you remember from a childhood bedtime story; bitter, anxious, confused, and ready to eat you. What a densely dangerous tale that is. The band's intention was to cook this concoction very quickly with all artistic pretensions turned up to the maximum and a political kick in their step. The meeting point was conveniently organised in the dead center of their musical map; the long-rejected guitar riffs were back and they were angry, balanced out by the palpitations from their most recent electronic adventures, complete with panicked uptempos and draggy sedation, the best of both Radiohead worlds now copulating, somehow birthing a baby completely different from either parent. Contradictory to the years preceding, this was not some sucker-punch of transformation, but rather a familiar murder, growing over your body like a moss, suffocating you until you were all gone. Initial critics were frustrated and have often left this album behind, foolishly regarding it as a lengthy, exhausting, and flawed project. Yet, in hindsight, Hail to the Thief is absolutely timeless, towering over the Radiohead land as their most underrated of treasures, sounding more relevant now than it ever did. Hail it, you ungrateful fucks! Hail it!

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04. OK Computer (1997)

Alternative Art Rock
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Radiohead’s success was bleaking them out. The isolation was pushing their naked skin against a cold metal until they were hopelessly scared, and then they shattered outwards. This was a natural defense mechanism, an abstract progression which had begun to lose grip on the guitar work, the strings visibly evaporating into an atmospheric fog, controlled by machines plotting their conquest. During this crisis, OK Computer stabbed up through the ground, and the people fell to their knees, instantaneously worshipping it as a historical landmark, frozen in the most important league of all albums ever made. We were no longer dealing with an ordinary band anymore, that much was certain. Make no miscalculations: without this record, Radiohead would not be a conversation. This is still the album which all of their other albums lean upon, sprouting outwards in one way or another with their own dedicated followers, but everyone—art students, simpleton radio listeners, critical publications, award ceremonies, MTV execs, Library of Congress—everyone agreed that this was a significant contribution to the very fiber of music itself. And yet... for me... it felt like the aura of devotion had outgrown the nervous system, while the devotees themselves were so delirious by its fumes that you couldn't engage in a sober dialogue about their fucking holy artifact. Please, you must believe me, I get it. It's OK Computer. It's an insult to even call this an album. But when I listen to it, I hear the restless sound of a distracted band headed somewhere else. This is a mere stopover, where Radiohead filled up with gas, checked the map, and then continued on their quest towards the boundaries of themselves. Which, as we all know, was a territory they discovered shortly afterward...

03. A Moon Shaped Pool (2016)

Art Rock Chamber Pop
Spotify

In the evolution of Radiohead, each phase reads like a forceful push towards an epiphany, scrounging for elitist influences whilst utilising unprecedented promotional methods until we all receive yet another grandiose announcement that, of course, the band have gone and done everything differently once again. A Moon Shaped Pool was not that. The desperate sense of experimental urgency had been distracted, the yearning to prove themselves had been smothered out by creamy layers of orchestral ambiance and luscious glooms, inspired by nothing but their own introspections, finally breathing in that fresh cold oxygen that they had invented themselves. In this place, the group seemed their most comfortable, standing dignified on a level terrain, no song singing louder than another, a melodic mid-tempo heart rate keeping them live as they held hands with a ghostly figure, looking into each other's eyes, both defenseless yet never boring, sculpted to an icy perfection, melting within your freezing palm. And now here we are, the definitive proof that three decades worth of industry aging does not equate to becoming stale. No loss of talent can ever be blamed on time, because... Radiohead. Radiohead! Still the world’s most crucially valuable musical act, after wearing that title for a lifespan longer than any other group in history. Three decades! Nobody has been this important for that long.

02. In Rainbows (2007)

Alternative Art Rock
Spotify

It’s impossible to avoid the sidetrack temptations, and we will always end up discussing In Rainbows as the benchmark album it was before anyone had even heard the damn thing. With this contribution, the band had become the first major act known to employ the pay-what-you-want model, an adventurous gamble which questioned the very value of music with deafening reactions fluctuating from all sides of fans and industry workers alike. But Radiohead were independent now! They did what they wanted! And surprisingly, what they wanted to do, was present a normal album for once, perhaps the least pretentious piece they’d accomplished since The Bends, except happier, more upbeat, and confidently assertive. In fact, the strangest aspect of this release was the aforementioned financial experiment, so what else do you even wanna know? Everything is in the name anyways. In Rainbows, eh. That colourful dream we had back in 2007, when Radiohead gently floated down from their artsy pedestal carrying a collection of rich, self-reliant songs, easy to digest with the rulebook still perfectly intact, alluring the listener with romantic gestures, inviting us to sit down in this naturally attractive landscape as they fed us their latest delicacies without wasting a single moment of our time. And it was in these thoughts, that the band’s seventh studio album became their most flawless gift yet, transcending the irrelevant business strategies, and standing as one of the very few perfect records I’ve ever heard in my life.

01. Kid A (2000)

Experimental Electronic Art Rock
Spotify

The OK Computer microscope had squeezed a mental breakdown out of Yorke’s brain, and that’s when Radiohead hit their peak disinterest. The straight-A students had grown bored of outsmarting their teachers, and with the blessing of a label who were still sopping wet from Radiohead money, our heroes climbed into their spaceship and set sail, determined to discover the confines of the Radiohead universe. And this is what they found: stretched minimal ambiences; skittish IDM drum patterns; freeform jazz ethics weaving gorgeously cold soundscapes together as a singular unit; disjointed one-liners and a pulsation of obscure electronics humming out into the atmosphere; structureless and abstract everything; the guitar is dead in space. Now lift up these cryptic complexities, and below you will note the rewarding reaction from critics, who (perplexed by the fruits that this otherworldly excursion had produced) hastily dismissed the result as “awful”, without exercising the necessary hesitation required to adequately bite through its texture, tasting that metallic winter which would dribble down their throats and choke their voices shut. These critics have since been banished, sealed in an embarrassing hole of ignorance forever, forced to repent, admitting now that Kid A was the prophecy we had all been promised. It crippled the imitators, it floated ahead of its time and ahead of time itself, and continues to expand to this very day. Look around you. It's nearly two decades on, and with a little bit of honesty, you'll confess this as still the most important album of the millennia according to criteria which extends beyond your own opinion. And while we're still talking, this is a high competitor for the greatest album ever made as well. And now we're not talking.

If you'd like to hear my favourite songs from each of these albums, you can! Here is a little 70 song 5h08m Spotify playlist just for you. Don't worry about it.

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