...why the fuck does Thom Yorke insist on doing that stupid face the whole time? I realise it's partly down to genetics, but, come on, I mean...
Surely everyone has had enough of this guy now, the ultimate ‘typical of my luck’ miserable student wanker, the kind of bloke found down the S.U. bar, like some crudely imagined Viz character, pissing and moaning on because the prices have gone up by 2 pence a pint, they started selling meat again and someone took “L.A. Woman” off the jukebox. The kind of bloke who invites the leaders of all the major British political parties (well, nearly all – thankfully, I don’t think Nick Griffin got the nod) to a Friends Of The Earth gig he’s doing then fucking moans about it when one of them (the Tory obviously) says they played a song for him (what did Yorke expect from the opportunist prick? Humility?) The kind of bloke who bangs on and on and on and on about the evils of ‘the man’, the corporate world etc et fucking cetra then goes and headlines Richard Branson’s V Festival. V as in Virgin, as in planes, cola, records, and, possibly spaceflights should everything go according to plan.
Maybe it’s just me and I’ve missed the boat (again!), and, like Pink Floyd, that other middle class rock snob cornerstone band, I’m destined never to ‘get’ Radiohead. Well, if it is, thank fuck. Life is too short. The sun has been shining for weeks and Kasabian have a record out soon called “The Doberman” (fucking yes, of course they do and thank God for that). Maybe Yorke will look out his monochrome, pinched, painful world and hear the birds singing, see the flowers growing. Actually, I'm pretty sure the fucker would probably only start bollocking on about fucking hayfever and global warming.
Anyways, rant over. I’ll leave the last word to Richey Manic, a man infinitely more interesting (and, sadly, a lot more fucked up) than that bloody twerp, who, when quizzed on Yorke during Radiohead's early days, said this:
“He’s not a creep or a weirdo. He’s just an ugly bloke with a gammy eye.”
