Virtuoso, eclectic, pop’s man of many faces — how do you best describe the enigmatic artist that is Beck?
Throughout his eighth album, Guero, and his 11-year career, the 34-year-old has been able to shun stereotypes as one of the few contemporary musicians who push creative borders with every successive release (Modest Mouse, Wilco and Radiohead also come to mind). But separating Beck from the other musicians on this short list of boundary-pushers is his ability to avoid the occasional dud while accumulating equal parts critical accolade and commercial success.
Beck’s Guero is another installment in the growing line of his praiseworthy full-length albums. Upbeat, energetic and more rewarding with each listen, it is a welcome follow-up to 2002’s melancholy Sea Change. But unlike his past jaunts, Guero is Beck’s first album to forgo experimentation and rely on a mixture of previous successes, creating what sounds like a collection of singles rather than a cohesive product.
The return of production duo The Dust Brothers is the most obvious element of Beck’s past to come back to life on Guero. Their signature crunch and bombast helped put Beck’s name on the map with 1996’s Odelay and is again laid over Guero’s 13 cuts.
The album’s first single, “E-Pro,” is a rollicking good time: three and a half minutes of colorful wordplay (“talking trash to the garbage around you”), anthemic choruses and guitar drone. The Dust Brothers’ hands are all over the song’s fuzzy chords and muddy vocals.
“Qué Onda Guero,” slang for “What’s up, whitey?” is immediately catchy and distinctly reminiscent of early Beck. The guero himself quasi-raps in a mix of Spanish and English over traffic-jam honks and a hip-hop beat.
White Stripe Jack White lends a hand to “Go It Alone,” playing bass on the spare, bluesy track. Handclaps, snaps and a little kick drum give the song an intimate but cocky feel while Beck sings “Jingling a wish coin/That I stole from a fountain/That was drownin’/All the cares in the world” with a hint of sass.” (Note: This should not be the last collaboration from the pair.)
The dazed tropicalia of “Missing” would fit nicely on a jet set to the islands circa 1973. Chunky Spanish guitar and spacey percussion are a perfect substitute for rocking hammocks, empty bottles and thick Caribbean air. “I prayed to heaven today/To bring its hammer down on me/And pound you out of my head” never sounded so calming.
The lackluster “Black Tambourine” is the album’s weakest link, never quite taking off from its tick-tock opening.
Lyrically, Beck is up to his old tricks on Guero. Although he is often abstract, goofy and sometimes just plain weird, his playful philosophizing is no doubt part of his boyish charm. With off-the-cuff banter (“Andale, Joto, your Popsicle is melting”) and creative imagery (“Something’s coming/Sky is purple/Dogs are hounding to themselves”) littered throughout the album, even reflective subjects can sound lighthearted.
Guero is not Beck’s best work. He isn’t crunkifying soul like he did on Midnite Vultures. He isn’t writing a new guide for alternative rock like he did on Odelay. But he is making another unpredictable move in a string of surprises from this idol-in-the-making. And despite merely tinkering with past excursions, it’s still a fascinating album. It’s not bad for Beck. It’s damn good for pop music.
