The Eraser was Thom Yorke's attempt to liberate himself from the burden of being frontman for the most over-analyzed rock band in the world and explore more insular and austere forms of electronic production. Atoms for Peace is likewise his attempt to liberate himself from the burden of being Thom Yorke, shirking the added psychoanalytical interpretations that solo releases inevitably attract by receding into an all-star cast (complete with a name-- cribbed from a Dwight Eisenhower speech and subsequent program by way of an Eraser track-- that sounds like some one-off 1980s charity-single supergroup). From the similarly greyscale Stanley Donwood cover art on down, AMOK is essentially Yorke's follow-up to The Eraser, backed by the band that performed the album's songs during a handful of live dates over 2009-10: producer/multi-instrumentalist Nigel Godrich, Red Hot Chili Peppers bassist Flea, David Byrne percussionist Mauro Refosco, and drummer Joey Waronker (a.k.a. the 21st-century Jim Keltner).

Actually, "performed" is a gross understatement—in the hands of Atoms for Peace, The Eraser's songs were utterly transformed from skeletal synth sketches into full-blooded, festival-rocking workouts that gave Yorke occasion to test out the dance moves he would later flash in the "Lotus Flower" video. So there's good reason to believe that vibrant energy would spill over to AMOK. The new record is certainly a more colourful, layered work than The Eraser, and suggests all those late-night, Fela Kuti-soundtracked benders Yorke's talked about in interviews were as much educational as they were recreational. But if the opening "Before Your Very Eyes" faithfully assumes the jittery cadence of 70s Afrobeat, it doesn't seem all that interested in acquiring the same force, preferring to skitter rather than swagger. And it sets the tentative tone for an album that's intricately assembled and rhythmically complex, but oddly inert. "I made my bed, I'm lying in it," Yorke sings early on, a fitting advertisement for the unpredictable artistic course he's charted throughout his career. But over the entirety of AMOK, you get the overwhelming sense that, this time, his sheets are tucked in too tight.

Surprisingly, what this thing really needs is more Flea. While some Radiohead fans may view the union of Yorke's fragile, world-weary croon with Flea's cock-in-a-sock showboating as pure sacrilege, Mr. Slappeh De Bass commendably spends much of AMOK reminding us what a tastefully melodic player he can be when he keeps his right thumb in check. The album's most invigorating moments come when he takes the lead, like on the hypno-funk throb of "Stuck Together Pieces" and the mid-song ramp-up on "Dropped", whose accelerated, slippery groove indicates that Kevin Shields isn't the only 90s alt-rock icon currently getting mileage from his old drum'n'bass records.

But Flea can't carry the rhythm section alone. AMOK was reportedly built through a process of Yorke and Godrich handing over their laptop demos to the rest of the band for their embellishment. But Waronker and Refosco seem more intent on studiously replicating every last click and cut than giving the songs extra width. Instead, AMOK subtly applies its intensity through textural density—like with the fuzzy synth oscillations on "Before Your Very Eyes" that threaten to vaporize Yorke's vocal, or the eerie post-apocalyptic drones that permeate the title track's dubstep strut. But in each case, they set you up for a climax that never comes, with the songs pulling back or fading out just as they seem ready to erupt into something more fierce. For all the rhythmic chicanery at play, AMOK feels strangely static and contained, giving a perpetual sense of jogging in place.

This wouldn't be such an issue if Yorke assumed a more commanding presence, but his diffident vocals here-- which favor the hushed, high-register end of his range-- suggest a desire to, if not disappear completely, at least dissolve into the clattering backdrops. For all the electronic abstraction heard on The Eraser and Radiohead's King of Limbs, Yorke's performances were for the most part assertive and forthright, making the songs more impactful than their brittle structures initially suggested. On AMOK, Yorke's lyrics tend to drift in and out of decipherability, his impressionistic protest songs hinging on appropriations of well-worn phrases ("the will is strong, but the flesh is weak") or withering mantras ("care less, I couldn't care less"). And the more intimate the songs get, the more distant he becomes: the synth-swaddled soul ballad "Ingenue" counts as AMOK's most humane, romantic turn, yet also its most inscrutable.

And that's ultimately the most frustrating thing about AMOK: the fact that you can hear the great potential in every song, and so easily imagine how the hand-clapped hook of "Judge, Jury, and Executioner," the percussive breakdown of "Unless," and the creeping exasperation of "Reverse Running" would absolutely pop with a more vigorous attack. No doubt, like The Eraser, these songs will go down a like a storm in a live setting. But, given the caliber of players Yorke has on hand this time around, it's disappointing that we still have to make that assumption.