<< Back 12/11/02 Beck embraces a darker side with ‘Sea Change’ By Hunter Pope All this depression’s starting to cheer me up. Beck Hansen’s seventh offering, “Sea Change,” redefines the limits of dreariness. Derived from the glum Beck felt after breaking up with his girlfriend of nine years, “Sea Change” is a vast departure from his 1999 “party ‘till your numb” album, “Midnite Vultures.” But in all the bleak and gray lies an album that somehow manages to forlornly find its way back into the CD player. The ashen aura that seems to mist around the CD is infectious. Moaning strings, psychedelic echoes and lush twangs shadow this CD with drab greatness. Sure, I could put in some tra-la-la music to lift my spirits, but my psyche keeps begging for the despair. “Sea Change” gives Beck another title — singer-songwriter — in his constant evolution as an artist. Folks who’ve never heard his music before “Sea Change” would conjure an image of a broken little man glued on a three-legged stool, pumping out sad songs on a scratched guitar. Thankfully, that’s not the case. Beck fits the role of a pioneer (some dare to say another Bob Dylan), a lad that looks forever trapped in a high school glamour shot, but a musician who matures with each outing. His first album, 1993’s “Mellow Gold,” contained the MTV hit, “Loser” a mix of hip-hop, Delta Blues, and lyrics that seemed derived from fever dreams. The album as a whole showed an artist who was extremely brave, a willingness to look over the cliff and crack a smile. Legend had it that “Mellow Gold” was made for $300. Beck became notorious for his home sampling, and he created a roughshod studio in his room that MacGyver would have envied. “Gold” became a blasphemous mix of folk, hip-hop, Hank Williams twang, rock-n-roll, and blues that muddied the heart. It also made the music world realize that a beloved bastardized sound had been created from an orgy of numerous genres. A star was born. Of course, anyone who knows the Hansen family lineage would find Beck’s ascent a no-brainer. Born in Los Angeles on July 8, 1970, Beck is the son of actress/musician Bibbe Hansen (who became one of Andy Warhol’s “superstars” at age 13) and bluegrass musician David Campell (who has written string arrangements for top-name bands such as Aerosmith), and the grandson of Al Hansen, an artist who helped found the FluXus movement. Raised in an environment peppered with Bohemian intentions, Beck became interested in folk and blues, and he picked up the acoustic guitar as a teen. He moved to New York City in his late teens to immerse in the anti-folk scene, a blip of a movement that combined folk with a punk landscape. He moved back to L.A. in 1990 and began entertaining bars and parties with his eccentric showmanship. He recorded “Loser” on the independent Bong Load records, and radios began playing the uncanny single nationwide. He then signed with DGC records, which released “Mellow Gold”. 1996 saw the release of the incredibly popular, “Odelay,” an album some believed to be his masterpiece. “Odelay” (produced by the Dust Brothers) furthered the intentions spawned on “Mellow Gold” and continued Beck’s penchant for allowing genres to remain unfaithful to its own kind. Songs like “Devil’s Haircut” (which demonstrated the punk side of Beck), “Where It’s At,” and “Sissyneck” (perhaps the greatest country song not written by Hank Williams senior) revealed an artist who had in-depth conversations with music. It also happened to be catchy. “Odelay” became a model for Beck’s “lofty accessibility.” Although he’s light years ahead of many musicians in his compositional foraging, Hansen never alienates his listeners. Beck could find a new sound but yet make it decipherable to even the blandest of ears. 1998’s “Mutations” comes the closest to the dark ripples on “Sea Change.” Nigel Goodrich, who critics label as the man who put the “Pink Floyd in Radiohead,” produced both albums. “Mutations” became the first indicator that Beck had more in store for the music world than the party music that characterized his previous albums. Without the inception of “Mutations,” fans of Beck may have been sent into cerebral shock with “Sea Change”. It’s like the numbing shot a dentist gives the wary patient before drilling. And, oh, how joyful the pain feels. “Sea Change” opens with “The Golden Age.” The song’s title is misleading, and some will assume that Beck’s breakup has sent him into a peaches and cream netherworld. The light strum of a lonely guitar followed by a voice soaked in tears erases the optimistic hypothesis. “These days I barely get by,” Beck pines, “I don’t even try/It’s a treacherous road with a desolate view ... And the sun don’t shine even when it’s day.” Glum, yes, but the dark sounds are fertile with imagination and musicianship. It’s like walking in a bountiful garden at midnight. “Paper Tiger” (“no more ashes to ashes/no more cinders from the sky”) reeks of somber tones, but it shines with the insert of a stringed orchestra. The title of the third song, “Guess I’m Doing Fine,” is like a downtrodden son who just tells his family he’s OK to ease worry on their part. The internal lyrics (“all the jewels in heaven don’t look the same to me ...it’s only lies that I’m living, it’s only tears that I’m crying, it’s only you that I’m losing) are a different story. Guitars moan with a ghostly penchant, and harmonicas do the wailing for a man who trying his best to look good on the outside. The flourishing electronica that pervades Radiohead’s albums is evident in “Lonesome Tears.” Beck’s father, David Campbell, lends therapy to his son by providing the string arrangements. Beck’s voice slipstreams into the drenching music, and the intertwining creates a tear droplet colored in rainbow. “Lonesome” rectifies the notion that, yes, Beck is still suffering, but the little tufts of light in the song indicate a man who’s nursing his wounds carefully. The same could be said for “Lost Cause.” The acoustic foray is gorgeous, and Beck even brings out the banjo for a farewell ode to his past love. “End of the Day” resurfaces Beck’s penchant for dabbling with numerous sounds and creating an electronic collage that’s both gorgeous and dysfunctional. “Sunday Sun” recalls the days of the Beatles when they were adrift in Indian mysticism. Drums, piano, and organized distortion become bedfellows on this number before dissolving into an emotional meltdown. “Little One” follows, and it’s perhaps the most haunting of all the specters on “Sea Change.” Beck lets the ache flow like a flashflood in the desert. The instruments wisely follow behind him, creating a landscape of turmoil while the voice tries to filter out the inner demons. “Sea Change” can be interpreted as a “concept album.” It focuses on the pain of detaching from (what became) an old habit. It’s his best album since “Odelay,” and one wonders where he can go from here. Pain and suffering is an appendage of the human condition, and each individual deals with it differently. Beck manifested it into a masterpiece. He manipulated his pain and gave the listeners a cause for celebration. Instead of ignoring the plight, Beck embraced it, and he’s given the masses an album manicured on a shredded heart and a trough of tears. It’s an exultation in misery. (Hunter Pope can be reached at w.h.pope@worldnet.att.net)