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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.