CURRENT ISSUE 10/12/04 Front Page Weekly Features Ain't That America? Ask Zarxnol McQuigly & Moss Moth's Diary Musing With Mitch Newsmakers Say the Darndest Things! Probe Interview Probe Poll Still Life With Joan Info Previous Issues Crap Shop Who's at Fault? Contact Us! Aye, mateys! Get you some Daily Probe booty!	I Wish Thom Yorke Would Just Sell Out Already A guest Probeatorial by some other guy in Radiohead Sure, it's great when even the toughest critic can't call your band a tool of the man because you refuse to produce fluff suitable for the masses or sell your songs for adverts. And it's really smashing that every other day we're performing for charity or donating something to charity or just waving our bloody arms around, jumping up and down and yelling 'Charity! Charity! Charity!' on the telly. But for the love of god, Thom, can we just sell out already? I, for one, am over being the darling of the critics. Fuck the critics. The critics don't pay for a garage full of Porsches or gobble your knob on the back of the bus (not that you'd want them to, though). Yeah, I'm all about the music, too, man, but what is the music about? I got into this gig to become Keith Richards! I want piles of money, hordes of hot 18-year-old girls dressed in plaid skirts pushing and shoving to get backstage, suitcases of illicit substances being forced upon me at all times, and people on the street to ask me for my autograph. Instead it's like I'm the drummer for The Doors. Sure, everyone knew who Jim Morrison was and everyone's like, 'The Doors' Bloody brilliant!' but can Mr. Everyman name the drummer or recognize him in a pub or offer him his coed daughter to do with as he wishes? I doubt it. Come on, Thom! Forget all this electronic noise and postmodern electronica and let's get back to what counts! Let's write a piece of pop-shite that teeny-boppers around the world will gobble up, gets played on MTV and VH1 for 48 weeks straight, and sell it to whatever ecologically unsafe third-world-exploiting corporation offers us the most cash, then blow it all on mansions in Rio de Janeiro, stuffed with hookers and smack and do what rockstars are meant to do! Christ knows you could stand to get laid. (Transcribed by RM Weiner)
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