Radiohead’s third album wasn’t specifically about Y2K. Were we losing part of our humanity in the process? Were we turning into machines? And what might happen at the end of the century? Was Y2K going to destroy civilization as we knew it? Sure, the decade had mostly been a breeze, but maybe we were just setting ourselves up for a global catastrophe. Everybody had started getting computers, and the internet was becoming a thing, and we weren’t sure what all of that meant. Well, we did have one thing that kept us up at night: technology. (I mean, there were, but we Americans didn’t pay attention.) Yep, everything was pretty chill. Man, the 1990s were so great, there was nothing you had to worry about back then. Come for the Chumbawamba, and stay for the return of the Mack. Twice a week over the next 12 months, we will take you back to the winter of sheep cloning and the summer of Con Air. It was an ear-biting, Pierce Brosnan-loving, comet-obsessed world, and we’re here to relive every minute of it. Given that it was written by geniuses, ‘OK Computer’ inevitably has flashes of genuine, sky-scraping brilliance.2022 marks the 25th anniversary of the year that everything happened - 1997.

The Sacred Cow column isn’t about shit albums – if it were, I’d be writing about JLS’s ‘Outta This World’ – but ones that perhaps don’t deserve to be given critical fellatio on Channel 4’s ‘Top 100 Albums Countdown’ every fucking year. I’ve loved countless moments since they ‘went weird’, and still believe they’re the only ’90s-era musicians with creative gas left in the tank.

I’m not a knuckle-dragging electrophobe and I don’t expect Radiohead to be the Stereophonics. There’s no defiance, gallows humour or chink of light beneath the curtain, just a sense of meek, resigned despondency. ‘Climbing Up The Walls’ isn’t ‘atmospheric’, it’s like listening to paint dry. Where ‘(Nice Dream)’ and ‘Fake Plastic’ Trees were epic downpours of sadness, ‘Let Down’ and ‘Exit Music’ are thin drizzles, sucking the joy from house parties like a Dementor.

Or ‘The Tourist’: a club-footed, signature-shifting shrug that sounds like the titular tourist is visiting Slough.

Take ‘Electioneering’: an ugly, graceless clatter that sounds like The Pigeon Detectives being rolled down a hill in a dustbin. But they’re just blips in a musical tailspin.

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