Beck – Modern Guilt (XL Recordings)

The difficult twelfth album. I don’t think anyone has called it yet that, but how many bands get that far, honestly? Beck Hanson has been making tracks since 1993 and still stands up as an artist of some integrity in an age of bands with the life spans of mayflies and an eye to flog their hits to a mobile phone provider as soon as humanely possible. And to think they called him a ‘one-hit wonder.’

But to go back to the word ‘difficult,’ after such an illustrious career it must get bloody hard to think of new stuff to write (I have a similar problem, but am yet to have an illustrious career). To freshen the brew, Beck has produced this album with mash-up maestro Danger Mouse though the whole affair is less off the wall than you would expect. Or at least, less obviously so.

On the first few listenings, it is easy to dismiss this as a nice little pop acoustic album with psychedelic undertones. True, Beck and his acoustic are the predominant sound throughout, but the details are more interesting. There is a sort of parallel chronology running through this with a definite theme: imagine if we were as aware of global issues in the sixties as we are now. ‘Orphans’ opens with a sting of harsh samples before sliding into an acoustic psychedelic freak out complete with free-association word salad on the theme of the end. ‘Gamma Ray’ also lurks in the summer, a twist and shout in a hurricane with the ghosts of the Beach Boys groaning in despair in the background. A touch of Neu, cut short to flourish into the neo-Pink Floyd epicry of ‘Chemtrails.’ “Where do they go?” inquires Beck of the frequent flyers as unnecessary drum fills pepper and Beatles out-takes salt the track. We get to the root of this issue with ‘Modern Guilt,’ a retro-fitted ‘Lazing On A Sunny Afternoon,’ with an embarrassed shuffling gait, an apology that lapses into ‘da-da-da’ when there is nothing left to say.

This obsession with a 60’s that never happened could get tedious, but fortunately Beck moves things on a bit in the disco flamboyance of ‘Youthless.’ The despair is still evident, but at least it has a pulse now in a Madonna reinventing fashion. Fairly standard, but almost fun, if you forget the line ‘there’s a bottomless pit that we’ve been climbing from.’ Existential disco? Why not. ‘Walls’ is similarly cheery depressing, with a half realised Eastern tea dance sample, but ‘Replica’ comes out fighting with some drum and bass fire in its belly, the beat overwhelming the melody for the first time. We are almost in the present day.

‘Soul of a Man’ is an odd departure for the Beckster – the bass is crunchy and sexy, but the guitar, distorted and bombastic, is more like Muse than anything, though it has elements of Dr John and, erm, techno in there. He loses interest in the track and fades it out prematurely; if it’s one thing that can be said about this album, it’s that the endings are abrupt, either cut or faded in their prime. ‘Profanity Prayers’ owes more to new Radiohead, but you can hear just a touch of the country boy with slide guitars for arms that we knew and loved. “Who’s gonna answer profanity prayers?”; the question remains unanswered and hangs like a sword of Damocles over the proceedings. ‘Volcano’ completes the album apocalyptically but gracefully with a sound familiar to those who’ve heard Beck’s work with Air. The samples are there but in minimus, apart from the choirs that sing us to the afterlife we deserve.

For all it’s maturity, restraint and eclecticism, there is quite an adolescent feel to this album. Preachy. That’s the word. It jars against some of the more fun elements of the album. You also feel that he’s missed an opportunity to use his producer to his full extent. It is by no means a bad album and is cleverly indicative of a time that almost was, but doesn’t have the joie de vivre of other albums. Difficult? Yeah, well things is tough all over.