Nothing in me, no uncertain cell, desires to resist stating that Jonny Greenwood's score for "There Will Be Blood" is the greatest thing ever composed to accompany a film. Hyperbole's not even up to the task. When permitting it to penetrate me via iPod in the Whole Foods, fr'instance, I sometimes am so struck by the adrenaline-stinking dread I abruptly stop all motion and my mouth falls open and I assume an expression that must appear as mute horror, horror, like there's a toddler's chubsy severed leg amongst the grapefruit. It's a cadaver's salamander-cool tongue pressed to your spine. In its climaxes it's like hearing a strange clicking approaching you from behind and turning to be hit in the face with a plague of hornets whizzing sting-first. I mean Christ. I mean dripping impaled purpling Christ on the cross.

My Thom Yorke devotion has long made me wave off people who insist Greenwood's importance in Radiohead's astounding brilliance is grossly underrated: my goodness, imagine what I'd've done if one of them'd said he'd some day do some possibly more important than Radiohead! It gave Li'l Copenhagen a high fever the first time he got to "Henry Plainview", and has since made him halt several times, like me in Whole Foods, and clasp his head in both hands and moan "Oh no!" Only it's when he isn't listening to it.