Rolling Stone 672/73
Flashing a song called "Creep" as a musical ID takes cheek, but then, everything abou these Brits is unabashed. On their debut, the swagger affected by every arch-Anglo since the Kinks is already in full effect. Three guitars (and bass) and a singer whose narcissistic angst rivals Morrissey's ("I will not control myself!" Thome. Yorke screams on "Vegetable," and on "Prove Yourself" he mourns, "I'm better of dead"), these five Oxford lads come on extreme. What elevates them to fab charm is not only the feedback and strumming fury of their guitarwork and the dynamism of their whisper-to-a-scream song scructures which recall the Who by resonate pop appeal. On "Blow Out" they savage a bossa-nova intro with sheer noise; "Thinking About You" is bitter folk with acoustic guitars soundly pemmeled; and the rest of "Pablo Honey" is equality surprising. If they don't implode from attitude overload, Radiohead warrent watching.