(Stinker Of The Year, of course, does not mean it’s the worst album of the year. I’m sure Clay What’s-His-Face or Limp Bizkit or Blink 5150 released something head-shakingly bad, but why bother? I’m a total music snob; they’re beneath me.)

I was originally going to award the most disappointing album of the year award to Liz Phair’s self-titled record. Almost all of the Matrix-produced tracks, particularly “Rock Me,” are indeed horrible beyond belief. With her voice all processed beyond recognition, and the lyrics (“Baby, baby, baby, if it’s alright / Want you to rock me all night” goes one chorus) truly insipid, Liz Phair is quite bad, certainly according to her previous standards. But at least some of the tunes are… well, fairly catchy, even if you don’t like Avril Lavigne.

No, the most disappointing album of the year goes to Radiohead’s Hail To The Thief. It’s a morose, humorless slog through boredom and dread and and paranoia, with moans and mumbles of consumerist conflagration and military apocalypse. One gathers that this is all meant to be important, but not with the same epic sweep as OK Computer, or the sonic novelty of Kid A. This is dull, affectless playing and singing, and while I’m sure Radiohead may have meant it that way, I’m not sure that the album was supposed to sound so passionless, with the songs practically devoid of melody. (Check out Christopher O’Riley’s very good True Love Waits for abundant evidence of the latter.)

I’ve always liked Radiohead — from the indie-rawk Pablo Honey all the way to the odds-and-ends-y Amnesiac — but Hail To The Thief is a step backwards in their otherwise impressive musical evolution and reinvention. Signs and portents abound, but here the world ends with Thom Yorke’s whimper.

[Up next, maybe next week: the best albums I heard all year.]

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