On October 4th, 2000, I turned 16 years old.

I was a junior in high school. I was crazy in love with my first real girlfriend.

But what I wanted for my birthday - more than anything else - was a copy of Radiohead’s new album, Kid A.

I had stayed up late, the Sunday before. Our local alternative rock station, the legendary WHFS 99.1, was one of many stations simulcasting a “world premiere" of the new Radiohead album. Being able to lay in bed, listening to the new Radiohead followed by a live west coast edition of Loveline? What more could a teenager want?

While reception in my bedroom was spotty, what I was able to hear absolutely melted my brain. While Radiohead hadn’t done much for me with their first two albums - I felt “Creep" was overplayed, and I thought that “Fake Plastic Trees" song was whiney - I fell head over heels for OK Computer, mostly on the strength of the epic, chorus-less single “Paranoid Android", and its Liquid Television-esq animated video.

I remember catching pieces of Meeting People Is Easy on MTV, surprised to find a band so miserable at the height of their fame. Their lives seemed dark, difficult, muddied. Little did I know what they intended to release onto the world.

My interest piqued, my parents knew the one thing I really wanted for my birthday was a copy of that album. They were surprised. I was a gamer, a toy collector, a comic collector. Of so many options, what I really wanted was an album?

I came home from school on my birthday, and wrapped with a lovely card (and alongside a Subway 12" Turkey Sub, my favorite meal at the time…why I remember this, I have no idea.) was this album. Kid A.

Its artwork was stark. Even the packaging was unique. A glossy black edge to the CD case at the side. I quickly slid open the plastic, ran into my room, and placed the album in my mid-range teenager stereo.

10 tracks*, 49 minutes and 57 seconds later, I wasn’t the same listener.

Again and again and again I replayed that album.

I shared it with my then-girlfriend, I’m not sure if she loved it as much as I did, but I could tell she knew the CD had a very special place for me.

The brilliant introduction of “Everything In Its Right Place". The warm ambience of “Kid A". The thumping bass and cacophony of horns of “The National Anthem". The loss and abandonment of “How to Disappear Completely" - I’m sure my teenage brain loved it. The calm ambience of “Treefingers". The nervous and driving guitars of “Optimistic" - the only song “safe" enough for radio play. The sea of sound of “In Limbo". The frantic dance feel of “Idioteque". The way “Morning Bell" came up on you from behind. The coda of “Motion Picture Soundtrack".

It was unlike anything I’d ever listened to before. It was oblique, it was difficult. It was like joining a secret club and being able to hear the future. This must’ve been what it was like for my parent’s generation to hear The Wall.

There was so much smoke and mirrors around the band, around this album. The excitement, the impact - I’m not sure if I had felt anything like it before, and I’m pretty sure I’ve been chasing it in music ever since.

Before Kid A, I’m not sure I fell in love with an album as a statement - as opposed to a collection of songs. The closest that I had come was the fall prior, with the 1999 release of Nine Inch Nails’ The Fragile - an album I loved, but like with most double albums, felt like there was too much to digest.

Now - 15 years on - it’s amazing how much the album still feels alive to me. It’s not a snapshot of the past as so many are to me, but its still a driving image of the future. I can hear the bands I’d later fall in love with - the ambience of Aphex Twin and Tycho; the important, delicate guitars of The Appleseed Cast and Explosions in the Sky; the mystery and theatricality of Arcade Fire. But even still, it blows me away that an album of such permanence came alive in my time.

When I think of albums that changed the world - they’re all before my time, the aforementioned The Wall, The White Album, countless others. But Kid A was made by real, living breathing people still making music today in my time. And every second of it still holds up as a moment of genius.

I’m not a person who considers this Radiohead’s peak. If pressed, I find In Rainbows to be their best album, but there’s no doubt that Kid A changed my perception of music as art, in a way that will never happen again.

When now in this world would we be shocked by an artist’s departure and change? When now would we as an audience hold our breath and be surprised by what a band has in-store for us? Hell - I still remember, almost a year later, only then discovering the hidden second booklet behind the disc holder. Hundreds of listens later, Radiohead’s Kid A was still surprising me.

And today - 15 years later, as I stream it through Apple Music - it still grabs my attention in the way a 16 year old me was drawn in.

Happy Birthday, Kid A. You grow greater with age.

*Not including the untitled, brief, hidden track.