Beck

The darling of the postmodern age, Mr. Bek David Campbell was once the definition of American post-grunge "alternative," inasmuch it was difficult to describe what sort of music he was creating. Rock, funk, electro-folk, hip-hop sampling, ironic rapping - you never quite knew what to expect from a Beck album. He's more straightforward these days and seemingly in a rush to look like Tom Petty circa 1989, but I cut him a lot of slack. He's earned it.

Ah, the youthful monkeyshines of "Loser," a head-scratching number that combines a raga beat with trailer park imagery and a Spanish-language hook. It sounds like a laconic version of the Beastie Boys who traded in their brass monkeys for Budweisers.





People call "Loser" a 'slacker anthem' but that's a misnomer. It's more like a working-class slimeball anthem, a self-aware "here I am, poor and weird, and what are you going to do about it?" It's a sentiment all but lost on the radio after the alternative boom, and now we have to listen to Bruno Mars whining about how he wants to be a billionaire so frickin' bad. Mellow Gold is likewise comfortable in its own skin, a collection of trashy folkie sludge composed amongst imaginary swaps of flies and pyramids of empty beer cans.





Along come the Dust Brothers on Odelay, helping Beck fashion the hillbilly rock-rap on Mellow Gold into a hip, crowd-pleasing musical collage, an approach that spawned hits like "Devils Haircut" and "Where It's At." Call it a second, more commercially successful pass at Paul's Boutique. Odelay also sees Beck still showing his "Loser" roots on the soulful "Jack-ass"; the braying donkey at the end lets you know he hasn't lost his sense of humor.





The Odelay formula basically set Beck up for life, but it also typecast him as a deadpan white rapper, someone to be trotted out to make your movie or TV show soundtrack seem kooky and hip. His resistance to this only made him more fascinating to watch as he tried on a variety of stylistic hats - the hair-raising funk of Midnite Vultures, the darkroom philosophy of The Information, the deep audio pleasures of Modern Guilt (...and garage rock revival on the Scott Pilgrim vs. The World OST, but that's another post).

Vultures separates itself from the rest of Beck's genre-shifting partially because it's shockingly masterful throwback to Ohio Players and Funkadelic and Prince, and partially because it contains "Mixed Bizness," the song that turned me on to American alternative in the seventh grade. Though I was mostly unaware of him at the time, Beck's performance of "Bizness" at the 2000 American Music Awards completely transfixed me. Gas masks, superhero capes, sit-ups, crazy skinny man dancing - it was the coolest thing I had ever seen on television. The music video only ups the ante.





The oddest thing about Midnite Vultures is that, like a discofied Ziggy Stardust, this was a one-and-done version of Beck. But damn, that record gave us so much greatness like "Nicotine and Gravy" and "Debra" and the "Sexx Laws" video featuring kitchen appliances fornicating in the presence of Jack Black. What a magical time.





The divergent Mutations (a title he should have saved for the greatest hits comp) really sounds like a transition album, its nascent introspection ("Nobody's Fault But My Own") not fitting with the leftovers from Odelay ("Diamond Bollocks"). However, it foreshadowed a mood that Beck would perfect four years later on Sea Change.

A superior breakup album from a normally playful artist, Sea Change can be a painful listen. Inspired by the ugly end of Beck's nine-year relationship with his then-fiancée, it isn't the thinly veiled vitriol of pop kiss-offs from the likes of Taylor Swift or Justin Timberlake, but it doesn't nibble around the edges either. Beck makes sadness interesting by refusing to write straight-up weepies and instead adorns the songs with little synth whorls and his groaning baritone. Even his pain has an evolved sense of musicality.





"Little One" threatens 'In the sea change/Nothing is safe' and portends a creative revolution, if not personal ruin, so it's fitting that Beck's next move was to bring it all back home with Guero.

Coming of age after "Loser" and Odelay, it is somewhat inevitable that I consider Guero Beck's finest album. Reunited with the Dust Brothers, he throws together all the styles and influences he's played with to create one whopper of a record packed with wit, nostalgia, and just plain cool ideas. It has astounding replayability despite its overexposure (the Guerolito remix album, the 8-bit Hell Yes EP) and having perhaps a few tracks too many - still, you can go 11 deep and pick any one of them as a fan favorite.

Los Angeles is the songwriter's foil to New York City, with the latter inspiring decades of songs of praise and pride and the former relegated mostly to tunes describing its anxiety and malaise and disappointment or reveling in its superficiality. But Guero finds Beck celebrating his hometown in "Qué Onda Guero," an affirmation of the LA beyond Sunset and Santa Monica Boulevards. Easily overlooked since it is sandwiched between the record's two big singles ("E-Pro" and "Girl"), "Qué Onda Guero" is one of Beck's most effortless and densely mythological performances. Behold the origin story of the archetypal American whiteboy.