Note to the music industry: This is how you do it.

If there's any band that knows how to generate maximum excitement with minimal output, it's Radiohead. When Thom Yorke and co. put out an album, there's no massive promo campaign. No slate of talk-show gigs.

Nobody gets carted around in a giant egg. All the English art-rockers do to get the blogosphere frothing is post a line on their website.

This time, that line arrived on Monday, informing us their long-awaited eighth album The King of Limbs -- the sequel to 2007's universally heralded In Rainbows -- would arrive on Saturday, Feb. 19.

Surprise! Then, on Friday, another surprise: It came out a day early.

Not sure why; maybe it was going to leak, or maybe it had something to do with a cryptically announced and then hastily cancelled release-day event in Tokyo. Whatever.

In any case, The King of Limbs is here. Like In Rainbows, the eight-song, 37-minute album is downloadable (www.thekingoflimbs.com). Unlike Rainbows, it's not free: You'll have to shell out $9 for MP3s or $14 for WAV files. There will be a physical release in May for those who still want that sort of thing.

Is it worth the bucks? Hard to tell at first. It's not a game-changer a la Kid A. It's not even as accessible as Rainbows (and that's using the term loosely). It's understated and introspective. There are no big anthems, no singalong choruses -- virtually no choruses at all, in fact, just layers of skittery rhythms, dreamscape sonics and atmospheric vocals. The lyrics are preoccupied with nature -- lotus flowers, magpies, fish out of water and whatnot -- in contrast to the music's unnatural chill. Coupled with the title -- which refers to a 1,000-year-old tree in Britain -- it suggests a man-vs-nature theme.

The whole story, as with all things Radiohead, may be revealed only through repeated listening and analysis. For now, we'll make do with first impressions:

Bloom | 5:15

A glistening keyboard loop flutters aloft. A glitchy, unstable rhythm gets stitched to it. Seemingly random bass notes gradually coalesce into a pattern. After a minute, Yorke arrives. "Open your mouth ... wide," he urges. All the better to swallow lyrics about the ocean keeping him alive -- along with horns that sprout and blossom mid-song. Gorgeous and very stream-of-consciousness.

Morning Mr. Magpie | 4:41

This is a little more like it: An insistent little hypnogroove decorated with itchy guitars, a funky bass and decipherable lyrics. "You've got some nerve coming here," Thom mewls at the (presumably analogous) title character who has pilfered "all the magic (and) melody." With its infectious beat and hummable refrain, this might be the closest thing to a single.

Little by Little | 4:27

Back into the shadows with some thick low-neck chords and rickety rhythms -- the downbeat shifts back and forth during the song, throwing you off your game. Yorke, meanwhile, is playing a more seductive game. "Little by little, by hook or by crook," he croons. "I am such a tease and you're such a flirt." Good luck with that line, dude.

Feral | 3:13

More glitchy low-impact percussion -- drummer Phil Selway is doing a lot of detail work on this disc -- with keyboard pulses, a subterranean bass, treated vocals and repetitive muttering from Yorke. It's got enough momentum to grab you, but honestly seems less like a song than a collage.

Lotus Flower | 5:00

The album's centrepiece (pun intended) and perhaps its standout cut. The beat is soft-pedalled but propulsive, the headnodding bassline is ominous, and the sonics are woozy and wobbly but still coherent. Yorke enters musing on invisibility and disappearing, shapelessness and being set free, before announcing "Slowly we unfurl as lotus flowers." Sure, grasshopper.

Codex | 4:47

Every album needs a stark piano ballad. This one comes sweetened with swirly textures, mournful horns and eerie strings.

Give Up the Ghost | 4:50

It's Radiohead unplugged! More or less. Built around an acoustic guitar line, a bare-bones beat and intertwining layers of ethereal vocals, this is a suitably haunting affair.

Separator | 5:20

Finally, Selway gets the spotlight, laying down a crisp little beat beneath a minimalist bassline, peripheral keyboards and elegant guitar curlicues. Yorke's indistinct vocals seem to be about disconnection. "I'm a fish, now, out of water," he says. Pretty much how I feel listening to this.