Somewhere in the distant shire of Oxford, Thom Yorke sits with a laptop under his nose and a broad smile on his face. Very few would take pleasure from an album as politically draining as The Eraser, but if anybody is to smile about it, you can count on it being the Radiohead star himself. Here is a man who should never have been a rock star. An agitated grumbler with the audacity to tell his own fans to "calm down and shut the f- up" should a gig threaten to spiral out of control. When Yorke decided to venture out of his usual five-piece rock band domain, there was very little in the way of a mainstream reaction. Probably because he refused to go public about it until a month prior to the album's release.

"This is not a solo album." says the Radiohead frontman. Then what is it? Well, we're allowed to call it a side project, as Yorke would prefer. He doesn't like the word "solo", and more to the point, he doesn't like the image that a solo album would portray of the current situation within the world famous band that he still fronts. Known for flipping out under prying noses, Yorke is one of rock's last remaining great myths. He has no intention of following the release of The Eraser with more solo work, and he absolutely resents the accusation that tension within the quintet forced him to explore his own musical horizons.

So a side project it is, hardly the greatest way to publicise what your audience is going to be shelling out their hard earned cash for, but Yorke could care less about album sales. Radiohead have been without a record label since 2004 and The Eraser finds itself being distributed via a small-time independent label, XL. It's a bemusing move given the star power that Yorke commands on the alternative scene, but a move fitting of the man.

The Eraser is the sort of album that will be forgotten by the end of the year. Not for any lack of musical prowess, but for the simple reason that Yorke hasn't made the slightest bit of effort to attach his creation to his name. Usually when a frontman breaks away from a globally successful band, his first LP will be splashed with identificaton of just who he is in the industry. Yorke could have easily painted his work as Radiohead's LP7, but he chose not to. In his own words, this is an album born out of political frustration and freedom of expression. Yorke would rather unleash his tenderest political fears in a way that the rest of the band don't have to pretend to agree with them. It was eating him alive, he says. Well now The Eraser is here to mess with our minds. Thank you, Thom. Thank you very much.

So how similar is The Eraser to Yorke's most famous musical contributions with Radiohead? In truth, it would be unfair to compare them. Radiohead are a band famed for their complexity and ability to scratch songs together out of itty bitty pieces. They do so with five talented musicians, all of whom are capable when it comes to playing a variety of instruments.

The Eraser isn't the work of five men. It's the work of one man and his laptop. Yorke can express all he wants, but he still finds himself to restricted to the confines of hot keys on his computer and weird futuristic bleeps.

My first impression upon hearing The Eraser was one of slightly unnerving comfort. The sound is neglectively compressed and Yorke has provided absolutely zero distortian tolerance to ease the listener. Every last cyber beat jars out of the speakers and smacks you square in the face. The vocals are crystal clear and dripping with trademark falsetto. It's as if Yorke has decided to uncensor himself at last. They float towards the ceiling with a strangely comforting "It's okay. I'll forgive you for your mistakes" afterthought. This is what Yorke does so well. He evaluates and expresses, without criticising the listener. An aggressive album from start to finish, The Eraser will fill your room with overpowering tension, before Yorke sings his gravest fears away with the sweetest lullaby in mock confession that he never expected any less.

Like an age-worn father scolding his children, Yorke possesses the knack of scoping political lyric and not sounding out of his depth. Indeed, he sounds like a lost soul. One you'd find floating beneath the houses of parliament with hands clasped over his ears at the workings of the world. The Eraser speaks loud and clear with a vicious call for action against global warming, nucleur disarmament and even the notorious David Kelly incident.

Without sounding like a snotty rebel on a payback mission, Yorke deflects his fears to the listener over the course of nine wishful songs which only the most morbidly curious could even think about leaving on repeat. It should be the most depressing album Yorke has ever penned. But for some reason, it's strangely uplifting. Hypnotic, perhaps.

5. Skip Divided - 8/10 - (I'm a lap dog / I'm a lap dog / I'm your lap dog, yeah )