Beck – The Information

For starters, a confession. If Beck were to release an album of crooned Lighthouse Family covers over the brays of particularly amorous rutting stags, I’d be the first to hail it a masterpiece. (Incidentally, why don’t more bands intentionally release dire albums at the height of their fame? It would have been interesting to see what the fall-out would have been if The Beatles had followed up Revolver with a real shocker. Of course it was this unrequited desire that drove much of McCartney’s creative output from 1971-. I digress.) However, please overlook the fact I have completely compromised my standing as an impartial judge of Beck’s work when I assure that The Information IS a masterpiece.

After the worldwide acclaim of Odelay (1996), Beck was hailed in many quarters as a musical genius with an ability to fuse popular song-writing with real innovative experimentation. In an age sadly bereft of truly original musical mavericks (unless one counts the still sporadically brilliant likes of Bowie, Kate Bush and Prince, though it would be hard to argue they were truly contemporary) Beck was critically acclaimed as a shining light. However, the critical adulation has been somewhat tempered since. It is only through listening to The Information that I can begin to understand some of the lukewarm reviews Sea Change (2002) and Guero (2005) received. Good as those albums are, Beck can simply be more scintillating, and this album is the proof of what most would deem a ‘return to form’.

Like Odelay, the genius in this album lies in its genre-splicing, idiosyncratic eccentricity. However, overall it is a far more understated affair than Beck’s seminal work. Many reviews have argued that The Information represents a return to the funk fun guy as showcased on 1999's Midnite Vultures, and there is no doubt there are some real flash-bang wallop incendiaries scattered through the piece. The single Cellphone’s Dead is an infectious affair, a squelching electronica riff driving the song (and undoubtedly the b-boys to the dance floor) whilst Beck delivers his trademark laconic rap amidst defiant spoken samples (“One by one I’ll knock you out”) and furious scratching. Nausea is another crowd-pleaser, a bluegrass stomp with an infuriatingly catchy chorus. However, for the most part the album has a dream-like quality, with barely perceptible but insistent bass, shuffling rhythm and gorgeous soaring fade-outs.

This is perhaps best highlighted by New Round. Beck’s vocals repeat and swirl round one another to create an otherworldly soundscape, whilst all manner of bleeps, insect noises, Spanish guitar and Kid A electronica beats add to the at once pleasurable and disquieting ambience. Another stand-out track is Soldier Jane. A wandering bass line runs under a complicated little drum beat and keyboard licks in a seemingly lo-fi filler. Suddenly a shimmering interjection punctuates the hypnotic cadence, perhaps a harp put through some diabolical sound torture. Whatever it is it sounds bloody lovely, and has that same unearthly nature that both soothes and slightly terrifies the listener. Let’s face it, listening to this album under the influence would be an intense experience, and probably not a wholly enjoyable one.

The bizarre samples and fantastical harmonising that so enamour this reviewer must be accredited to producer Nigel Godrich as much as they are to our eclectic hero. Well known for his work with Radiohead, Godrich is a much sought after doyen of indie production. He seems to share Beck’s enthusiasm for the weird and wonderful (he produced the Make Poverty History remake of Do They Know Its Christmas and insisted on the clanging crescendo of noise that ends the otherwise syrupy charity single. It was rarely played in its entirety on radio for some reason.) Usually he steps in to give Beck a helping hand when an acoustic album is on the way, hence you’ll see his name on Mutations (1998) and Sea Change, whilst it’s the Dust Brothers who turn up for the ‘party’ records. This time however, it appears the two of them have said to each other, ‘Let’s go completely proper mental and release all that crazy stuff we get up to at three in the morning’. Or words to that affect (I’m paraphrasing a much more eloquent interview Beck gave to that ugly bloke on the Album Chart Show). The results are wonderful. My favourite little moment is the whistling sample on the chugging No Complaints. A cop-out I know, but you really have to hear it.

Lyrically, Beck is akin to the first time you read a classic novel you just can’t get to grips with. You’re sure something important is going on, you’ve been told there is by people more intelligent than you, but you’re really not sure what. The man has allegedly admitted some of his lyrical output is just nonsensical surrealistic nothings, but has said of this album that the troubled times and technology of the modern world was an inspiration. The albums least enjoyable song, the EL-P like smack to the face that is 1000 BPM, is perhaps the most accessible lyrically; he’s angry about something. The title track too has been (sort of) explained by the man himself as a pondering upon the myriad of freely accessible and often contradictory information that surrounds us in the ‘digital age’. I gave up trying to decipher what is worth noting in his musings a long time ago, and for once regrettably relinquish to that famous Spice Girls axiom on the poetical inspiration behind ‘Wannabe’; you decide what it all means.(For those who still don’t know, “Zig a zig ahhhh referred to the girls’ collective latent craving to once again be placed under the yoke of masculine oppression, as they still laboured under the false memory that they were somehow inferior to their male counterparts despite their obvious ‘girl power’.)

The album should end on the hallucinatory space mission of The Horrible Fanfare/Landslide/Exoskeleton, a dub odyssey reminiscent of Primal Scream circa Vanishing Point, which contains a conversation between author Dave Eggers and someone else on intergalactic travel. It’s as weird as it sounds. However, being a UK release, there are a couple of bonus tracks. This particular trapping of modern music usually grates with me, as it leaves the listener with a different impression of the album than was originally intended (something especially true of reissues). However, jarring musical styles are of course what Beck is all about, so when the album ends not with the creepy and ominous fade of Exoskeleton, but the riotous Sly and The Family Stone funk workout of This Girl That I Know, it just feels right. It also means you can leave your house with a grin on your face, and not an anxious look up at the incomprehensible heavens and that can only be a good thing.

By Paul Ashby

Copyright October 2006