I have an unshakable belief in arriving at least ten years too late for quality popular culture. Sorts out the men from the goats. Or is it the sheep from the fish? In any case, I'm raising a hat to Radiohead fifteen years on. Fake Plastic Trees. Plaintive is as plaintive does, and this is beautiful and plaintive enough for a uniformly grey December afternoon darkening into evening. It's as if Thom Yorke's voice were seeping slowly from the clouds.