I won’t lie, I went through my jam band phase in high school—Phish, String Cheese Incident, moe., all that shit. Looking back on it now, I don’t understand it for the life of me, probably because I don’t smoke enough weed. I mean, I’m sorry, but I don’t enjoy listening to a band play three songs in an hour, or hearing extended guitar solos that go nowhere. That 20-minute tabla solo just isn’t that riveting, bro. Though it must be said, I did find a few really solid groups that I still spin occasionally today, namely in the form of the Disco Biscuits and Bela Fleck & the Flecktones, and the one band that I loved long before that phase, and continued to listen to for some time afterwards, was the Dave Matthews Band.

I remember my mom picking up a copy of “Crash” after hearing a song on the radio, and being blown away by it. Insane drumming, funky bass and sax, and the singer was playing some of the most unorthodox acoustic guitar I’d ever heard. Even after I started listening to jam bands, DMB never really struck me as one. Later, once I got past my jam phase, I realized that they had a lot in common with the bands I’d quickly grown to hate—more live albums than necessary, extended jams I didn’t care about—and on top of all that, they had a spectacularly douchebaggy following. The “Busted Stuff” album had a couple of decent tracks, but at that point, I just was past caring; and when “Stand Up” came out, with that creepy fucking “Dreamgirl” song, I completely gave up hope.

I saw in passing that LeRoi Moore, the group’s saxophonist had died. I was a little bit sad, because one of my favorite aspects of the band’s earlier work were his amazing horn lines; but I was more troubled at the idea of him becoming some sort of jam-band martyr, spawning new legions of fans and a further spike in the group’s already-too-prominent popularity. Receiving word that the group’s newest album would be dedicated to Moore only furthered that notion. I assumed the album would be full of the same generic, vaguely creepy ballads as the last, the type of music guys with popped collars and upside-down-and-backwards visors would play on acoustic guitars at bars and parties in hopes of getting laid by chicks in Sublime shirts.

But then last night, I saw the current lineup of the group (including guitar whiz Tim Reynolds and Flecktones saxophonist Jeff Coffin) play a song from the new album on Jimmy Fallon, and my perspective changed. The song, “Why I Am,” is dedicated to Moore, whose nickname was “GrooGrux King,” after the funky edge he brought to the band. Fittingly enough, rather than the song being a weepy ballad, Matthews straps on an electric guitar, and the band plays it funkier than they have in over a decade.

I picked up the new album today. It’s good. It’s really good, actually. Sure, there are the weak points (namely the ballads), but there are some heavy funkers and some driving rockers, the solos are all sharp and to-the-point, and the new horn section—Coffin and session legend Rashawn Ross on trumpet—sounds great. Moore’s saxophone is sorely missed (and the haunting opener, “Grux,” is presumably the last thing Moore was able to commit to record) , but this personal tragedy seems to have lit a fire under the band’s collective ass, pulled them out of frat-jam purgatory, and restored my faith in a band I used to have a great deal of respect for.

Radiohead’s “OK Computer” is officially over a decade old. Released June 16 in the UK (ten years ago this past Saturday) and July 1 in the States (coming up in about two weeks now), it blew the doors off preconceived notions of popular music, was nominated for a Grammy as 1997’s Album of the Year, and provided concrete evidence that Radiohead was a band of constant progress, evidence that would only be furthered by 2000’s wildly experimental “Kid A.” But “OK Computer” remains the defining moment in the history of a band that constantly redefines the parameters of music, a band that has never released a bad album, a band nearly as mysterious as they are mindblowing. Easily as revolutionary as bands like Genesis or Pink Floyd, as intriguing and otherworldly as Bjork or Sigur Ros, and as quintessentially British as Oasis, I think it’s OK to list Radiohead’s “OK Computer” as the most important rock album of the last ten years.

Exploding onto the pop charts with the paranoid, neurotic single “Creep” from 1993’s “Pablo Honey,” the band showed promise but nothing that hinted at where they could go. The album was enjoyable, but the band was easily dismissible as a one-hit wonder. But by 1995, with the release of “The Bends,” Radiohead proved they were cut from a completely different cloth.

The loud guitars and propulsive rhythms of “Pablo Honey” weren’t gone, but they were simply performed with more finesse, more care, more sonic layers and textures than anyone else at the time. “High & Dry,” “Fake Plastic Trees” and “Just” were the singles, but songs like “Sulk” and “(Nice Dream)” are haunting, dynamic arrangements as well, and the album prompted R.E.M. frontman Michael Stipe’s infamous quote: “Radiohead are so good they scare me.” Everyone was sure Radiohead had just produced their magnum opus — until they completely outdid themselves two years later.

Opening with the driving one-two punch of “Airbag” and “Paranoid Android” (arguably the most strangely constructed rock song to ever be a hit single), the real star of “OK Computer” is guitarist Johnny Greenwood. His epochal tones and frantic, frenzied style of playing clash horribly with singer Thom Yorke’s smooth falsetto and more laid-back tendencies as a songwriter, and that is where the magic lies on this album. Yorke made Greenwood ease up a bit, while Greenwood made Yorke spaz out more. “Kicking, squealing, Gucci little piggy” Yorke spits from between clenched teeth, contempt for his peers dripping from the speakers and melting holes in Chevron rugs.

Songs like “Subterranean Homesick Alien” and “No Surprises” show the band spending more time building arrangements, pushing songs to the brink of climax and only occasionally delivering on the promise. “Let Down” and “Karma Police” are utterly flawless pop songs, while “Fitter Happier” is anything but a pop song — computers have never been as terrifying as they are when reading the song’s post-apocalyptic beatnik poetry. “Electioneering” is faster and more aggressively organic than anything in the band’s catalog, and its placement immediately following “Fitter Happier” only makes the latter somehow more terrifying. From beginning (“In a fast German car/ I’m amazed that I survived”) to end (“Hey man, slow down, slow down/ Idiot, slow down, slow down”) everything between the car crash and the life advice is exactly that. This album is the threat of death, the suggestion of life, the sterility of computers, the organic essence of screaming over loud guitars, the echoes of stone cathedrals and the clang of distortion — this album is everything.

Additional Reporting by Evan Thorne

Andy and Evan interviewed an apricot. This is how it went.

obviate media.: So, what’s your name, Apricot?
Apricot: Phillip Juanita Hernandez-Smith Baxter.
om.: That’s quite a name you’ve got there.
A: My, you’re glib today, aren’t you?
om.: Aww, did somebody wake up on the wrong side of the fruit basket?
A: You want me to sick the grocer’s union on you pricks?
om.: …Anyway. What’s a day in the life of an apricot like?
A: Oh, you know. I’ve been doing some still-life modeling gigs. Usually talk to my stockbroker around three.
om.: What companies do you have stock in? Dole?
A: Very fuckin’ funny. I’ll have your asses on a fuckin’ platter if you can’t lay off the cheap shots.
om.: What…like, a fruit platter?
A: I swear to god…
om.: Okay, okay, sorry. So, how does it feel to be Peach’s shitty poor cousin?
A: Yeah? Well who tastes better dried? That’s what I fucking well thought.
om.: Touche.
A: Yeah, I get that a lot, but Peach can just blow me. In fact, it’s happened before. Plenty.
om.: So what’s your favorite color?
A: Peach, oddly enough. It pisses me off, but it’s such a fucking nice color…goes with everything.
om.: You are totally gay for Peach.
A: Fuck you guys, don’t judge me.
om.: God damnit, we don’t get paid enough for this shit…why don’t you sing us a song or some shit like that?
A: (singing) If you feeling like a pimp, *****, go and brush your shoulders off/ Ladies is pimps too, go on, brush your shoulders off…
om.: Wow. Not exactly what we were expecting.
A: Well, what the fuck were you expecting?
om.: Um…maybe something fruitier?
A: Try this one on for size. (singing) Millions of peaches/ Peaches for me/ Go fuck yourselves.
om.: Eh…it lacks flow. But it’s alright for a miniature peach, I guess.
A: Fuck you, interview over.

Additional reporting by Andy Dubbya