Brandon Flowers. Of the Killers.
Here's what that particular flavour-of-the-week looks like:
Yup. The one in the red shirt with the sad look and the makeup. The one who's the frontman of a shitty band that makes shitty music, and has done so for a very short period of time. Somebody told me you had a hit single in 2004, only because corporate radio stations were stupid enough to play that repetitive, mindless drivel over. And over. And over. And over again!
So now you, the definition of Johnny-Come-Lately, decide that it's up to you to tell — ahem — Thom Fucking Yorke what to do? Let me refresh your memory as to what Mr. Yorke looks like.
That's Thom, with the rest of Radiohead, two guitar techs, four roadies, and a guy they have around just to make sure the only colour of M&M's served to the band backstage at shows are robin's-egg blue, which have to be specially-made. But they get made BECAUSE THEY'RE FUCKING RADIOHEAD AND NOT YOU, "BRANDON FLOWERS" OF "THE KILLERS."
Say all you like about AFI, or Fall Out Boy, or any of your other shitty colleagues that overrun the airwaves with your woe-is-me lame-ass guitars. Radiohead are not your brethren. Thom Yorke is brilliant, and you are a mere shitstain.
In conclusion, Thom Yorke will write whatever the fuck music he wants, because he's Thom Yorke.
Now you just go back to playing your little songs, and pouting your little pouts, and making 12-year-old girls' hearts swoon becuase they don't realize your music is wholly inconsequential. And shut the hell up.