Beck

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He “grabs a microphone like a utility man” and “throws his thoughts like a juggernaut walks”. A genre bender, Beck has his own groove for better or worse, and if you're already a fan you're probably familiar with it: signature distorted vocals, layers upon layers of dubs and sound effects, and obscure rappenings. This album is a dream of every young punk doing the Daniel Johnston in the basement trying to make it big with goof-off lyrics that keep their buddies laughing. That’s Beck, and it sounds like he’s having fun.
 
Only a few songs like Think I’m in Love and We Dance Alone are saved from his musical dyslexia, and even those songs are a trip. For this album, I'd advise pulling out your fattest pair of headphones that can mute the outside world and delve into the acoustic landscape of Beck’s imagination (weed would help as well). In Elevator Music you can hear elevator gears, and in New Round there is a cricket, a parakeet, a banjo, a xylophone, and an organ. I appreciate those elements, and yet find it frustrating at the same time.
 
He doesn’t like genres, he doesn’t like predictability, he doesn’t like normal. Every song is eclectic and irregular. Constant rhythm changes, songs ending abruptly, the lyrics are tangible, then distorted, then abstract. Sometimes you hear honest expression but the next line is a joke or unintelligible. He starts No Complaints with “we are aimless / and the target is an empty wall”, which I think sums up the album quite nicely.

Overall, this album fits quite nicely within the shuffle feature of your iPod; Beck always adds something atypical, foot tapping and thought provoking in a world of over formulated pop music. Just don’t start singing the chorus on the bus you’ll freak people out.

Rating: 3.5/5

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