Beck
Sea Change
(Interscope)
Beck’s last album, Midnite Vultures, an ironic trumpet-blaring parade of sex-funk and Prince send ups, wasn’t just another surprise milestone for America’s greatest sonic scientist—it was a worthy document of late 90s exuberance. Beck’s new album, Sea Change, is also telling of its time, fueled as it is by the kind of regretful, sober sensations that come after the big party has ended. But having reportedly broken up with his long-time girlfriend last year, the man has his personal reasons to sing the folk-country blues that fill Sea Change. It’s heavy and heady stuff for Beck, whose past aversion to sticking to a single genre has often verged on goofy musical schizophrenia. Sanity and focus may be unexpected on a Beck album, but it makes for the most heartfelt and satisfying music he has ever done.
The album’s lo-fi AM radio feel is nothing new to Beck, who showed his folk muscle previously on 1994’s One Foot in the Grave and on 1997’s more eclectic Mutations, which up until now were his quietest and most beautiful records. But where the folky Beck of yore lamented empty mining towns, the new Beck wails over empty Kleenex boxes. “You got to drive all night / just to feel like you’re ok,” he sings, with the wrinkled voice and lyrics of a hitchhiking Gordon Lightfoot on his last trip.
Since coming-to-terms is the album’s theme, the Indian wail that filled the Mutations love dirge “Nobody’s Fault But My Own” has been replaced by an array of similarly gorgeous string arrangements that are less dejected and more bittersweet. Within these also lies evidence of Beck’s own musical preferences: the near-funky bass lines and lazy drums of “Paper Tiger” are decorated in a dazzling orchestral swell a la Serge Gainsbourg. Later on, the Milky Way voyage of “Round the Bend” swings on lethargic cellos that vividly recall Sigur Ros and Nick Drake’s “River Man.” While this is surely the album’s most dejected song, the contented shimmer of slide guitars on “Guess I’m Doing Fine” is not much of an improvement: “It’s only lies that I’m livin’ / It’s only tears that I’m cryin’ / It’s only you that I’m losin’,” is Beck’s heartbreaking mantra. It makes you want to reach through the stereo for a good old hug, not just for his sake but maybe for yours, too.
The operative instrument here is not the guitar or piano but the love-torn heart, which is what makes all the talk of loss and resurrection actually believable. His campfire blues on “Lonesome Tears” are exactly that, simple and honest—“How could this love ever-changing / Never change the way I feel?”
While the album’s touching closer “Side of the Road” is evidence of a healthy, newfound perspective on life, it remains to be seen whether Beck has found a musical groove with which he can finally live. With his ingenuity and boyish looks, certainly more sounds and more lovers are on the way. But for now he sounds pretty comfortable with only his guitar at his side. And you can bet those two will never break up.
Dropkick Murphys
Live on St. Patrick’s Day from Boston, MA
(Hellcat/Epitaph)
“Look for flyers, check the Phoenix,” the Dropkick Murphys once sang about Lansdowne Street, “are there any decent shows?” Live on St. Patrick’s Day from Boston, MA, the fruit of three nights at Avalon, doesn’t just answer “yes”—it obliterates any doubt to the contrary. Taking the stage to chants of “let’s go, Murphys,” Boston’s reigning kings of blue-collar punk barrel through 74 blistering minutes of music, delivering old favorites (“Boys on the Docks,” “Skinhead on the MBTA”) and punk-infused Irish folk songs (“Finnegan’s Wake,” “Wild Rover”) with equal fervor. And while the Murphys don’t stray too far from the all-things-Boston-and-Irish formula, they throw in a few welcome surprises, including raucous covers of Creedence Clearwater Revival’s “Fortunate Son” and Gang Green’s “Alcohol.”
But most of all, the album simply avoids the usual pitfalls of live albums—poor sound quality, tone-deaf guitar work, inane stage banter, etc. James Lynch and Marc Orrell’s guitars roar without overpowering the songs; indeed, two of the Murphys’ most rousing offerings (“For Boston” and a strangely moving “Amazing Grace”) feature enigmatic bagpiper Spicy McHaggis. Even the audience comes through in the clutch, shouting lyrics word-for-word when charismatic frontman Al Barr’s voice drops out. Of course, nothing can truly replace being there, but Live on St. Patrick’s Day from Boston, MA provides a startlingly close approximation. All the green beer in Boston can’t make your St. Patrick’s Day celebration rock like an hour with the Murphys can.
OK Go
OK Go
(Capitol)
As the garage-rock movement continues to slather its greasy mixture of hipster apathy and commercial aspiration all over mainstream radio and magazine covers, another movement is bubbling just below a neon Spandex surface. It has finally arrived, with refreshing intelligence and flair, in the form of OK Go. The Chicago-based group’s eponymous disc meshes its tweaked guitars with rebel yells, resulting in one of the year’s best debuts.
The disc’s leading track, “Get Over It,” is a rollicking hand-clapper, an anthem worthy of any Queen album. Other highlights are the sparkling, soft-spoken ballad “Hello, My Treacherous Friends” and “What to Do,” in which lead singer Damian Kulash chides a girl whose “bets favor headbands and cassettes.” Gentle pokes at their ’80s influences merely represent a fraction of the band’s wit, which lend the album a healthy, playful glow.
Perhaps the album’s most striking feature is Kulash’s ability to make songwriting appear effortless. He breezes through the album’s 12 tracks, perfectly complementing its carefree charms with lyrical craftsmanship. One gets the sense that OK Go could sit down and record a dozen more albums without a moment’s hesitation or writer’s block. OK Go is a true delight to listen to, making a good case that the recent ’80s revival can induce good art as powerfully as it can general nostalgia or nausea.
