Kid A

Kid A is the album where Radiohead abandoned the guitar-rock architecture of their earlier records for a sound assembled from electronics, jazz, krautrock and 20th-century classical music — a frosty, paranoid moodscape of processed vocals, ondes Martenot, glitchy rhythm beds and orchestral strings. It is now widely regarded as one of the boldest pivots in modern rock: a record that redefined what a rock band could put out and, in retrospect, set the template for much of the experimental indie and electronic-pop of the following decade. Its touchstone moments — the disorienting synth-pop opener, the horn-stomping free-jazz workout, the aching strings-and-piano centerpiece, the techno dread of the album's most famous track, the hymnal closer — are routinely treated as landmarks of the era.

The catch is that this is music which withholds almost everything radio audiences were trained to expect: no singles, no conventional choruses, vocals often buried in effects, and lyrics assembled from cut-up fragments rather than stories told. Contemporary critics split sharply — some heard a brave masterpiece, others a willfully obscure and self-indulgent record with too few actual songs — and early fan reaction was similarly confused. Even many admirers concede that it is cold, dense and demanding, an album that reveals itself slowly or not at all.

Its themes — millennial anxiety, alienation, the feeling of being dissolved into data and noise — are carried by atmosphere rather than message, which is exactly why the argument over it lasted so long. Time has largely settled the dispute in the album's favor: it has been crowned the best album of its decade by major publications, ranked among the greatest albums of all time, and its influence is everywhere. The honest caveat that survives is that its rewards are conditional — this is an album listeners tend to grow into on repeated visits, not one that meets them halfway.