I paid two pounds (approximately 0.9 kilograms, for you Canadians) for Radiohead’s intangible new release, the digitally delivered seventh album, called “In Rainbows.” Since the stunt was announced in early October 2007, this album has everybody talking, but for the first time in Radiohead’s career, the conversation has nothing to do with their music.

“In Rainbows” is music to become familiar with, not music that captures your attention. It’s not music to share with your family and friends, unless you’re hosting a “Serious Music Discussion Night.” It’s not music you listen to for fun, unless you define fun as “a period of discouragement and longing.” Plain and simple, like much of the Radiohead catalogue, “In Rainbows” is music to be lonely to.

The album opens with “15 Step.” As electronic drums set up the song’s over-complicated rhythm, drummer Phil Selway joins in to add a little more confusion. Thom Yorke begins inserting quotes he heard during the day: “Won’t take my eye of the ball,” “Did the cat get your tongue?” and so forth. You can’t sing along – because you don’t actually want to, because the words are unclear, and because your voice doesn’t sound good when you sing like Thom Yorke. Congratulations, you’ve just been alienated.

“Bodysnatchers” takes over, introducing Radiohead’s first memorable rock riff since “Just.” The panting drums carry the song like a dogsled team. Each time this track starts, within three seconds, I’ve got my air guitar plugged in. “Has the light gone out for you?” Yorke demands, “Cause the light’s gone out for me.” This is a rock song for the apocalypse – but then again, Radiohead songs were bred for no other occasion.

Track 3 – bear with me, this isn’t actually a track-by-track review – is when the album’s mood and personality is finally established. “Don’t get any big ideas,” the listener is encouraged. “They’re not gonna happen.” Selway’s waltz rhythm is purposely ironic, taunting the listener with a rhythm you’d be tempted to snap your fingers to, while Thom Yorke is busy pissing pessimism all over the percussion.

Throughout this record, you’ll find that drummer Phil Selway is given one of the most prominent roles on this album, with his human rhythms winning out over the machines. His diverse beats, from the meandering hip-hop of “All I Need” to the quick straight-time rhythm of “Weird Fishes,” provide something tangible for the listener to hold on to. It’s a vital role to play in an album that doesn’t make an effort to stick in your head.

If you’re in the mood for a little bit of isolation, with a side dish of “haunting melodies,” this is the record for you. In public, this record alienates, but in private, it provides nothing but empathy. If you ever find yourself commuting to work on mass transit, lost in an anonymous sea of faces and burdened by the insincerity all around you, put on “Videotape” and let the scattershot percussion blend in with the sound of traffic and movement that surrounds you, and let the cyclical, soothing piano line carry you off to the pearly gates. Keep in mind that when Thom Yorke says this will be on videotape, he only means that figuratively. It will actually be on TiVo.

Music has changed so much since “OK Computer” and “Kid A” took everybody by surprise. After all of Radiohead’s vital work providing new creative direction for music, it seems they’ve finally arrived at a sound and a style that is firmly their own – and it’s a style that revels in despair, remains in darkness, and relishes desperation. While for many, this type of musical sadism helps heal wounds, for me, it suggests that it’s time to be looking for music that is actually looking forward. It is Thom Yorke’s line from “Faust Arp” that summarizes Radiohead’s new release for me: “I love you, but enough is enough.”