Beck
Midnite Vultures
Beck
Mutations
|
Robots
Making Love:
Deep
Inside Beck's Wax Orgy
By
Jonathan Hastings
----------
January
14, 2000 | Page 1
When I saw Beck live during the summer of 1997 his precise but
disjointed choreographed stage movements made him look as if he
were a living puppet (à la the title character in this year's strangest
film fantasy Being John Malkovich) being controlled by James
Brown. On his new album, Midnite Vultures, Beck has become
the puppeteer, and the puppets are the different personae he takes
on during each of the eleven tracks. Perhaps Beck's greatest triumph
on this album is that he not only makes these characters distinctive,
but he lovingly builds them each a unique musical landscape out
of the remains of his record collection: every song has its own
sound-makes its own sets of references to other rock and soul records-that
illuminates and comments on the tongue-in-cheek sexual role-playing
that makes up the meat of the record. Because, oh yeah, this is
Beck's "sex" album, and he does his damnedest to convince us that
all his parts are in perfect working order (as they weren't in "Bottle
of Blues", the only funny song on his last album, Mutations).
Before the beginning of the fourth track, "Get Real Paid", we hear
effects that are meant to sound like two robots making love, but
most of the sex that Beck describes throughout the album seems as
if it's happening between robots. Despite some of the images in
lyrics, Midnite Vultures isn't a very messy album. Emotionally
it's as remote as Mutations, Beck's exercise in righteous
cynicism. The problem with Beck making an album about sexuality
is that-as is readily apparent from watching him live-Beck performs
as if he's ironically distanced himself from his own body. In the
first track, "Sexx Laws", Beck sings that he wants to "define the
logic of our sex laws," and he spends the rest of the album pursuing
this goal with the diligence of a grad student, with all his sources
carefully laid out and annotated.
However, it's easier to talk about the different allusions Beck
makes to his favorite R&B, soul, hip-hop, synth pop, and glam-rock
records than it is to talk about what he does with all these references.
This is in part because on most of Midnite Vultures Beck
isn't doing much more than arranging these bits and pieces taken
from his record collection into a supremely danceable party album.
It's less an exploration of what Beck feels about his own sexuality
than it is an exploration of his R&B collection, and the album's
unacknowledged theme is that Beck's sexuality is inseparable from
his R&B collection. It's as if Beck has made a hipper, less deeply
felt, version of Bryan Ferry's The Bride Stripped Bare, and
he's tried to cover the emptiness at the center of his album with
a constant barrage of musical inventiveness. Unlike Mutations,
Vultures is a hell of a lot of fun to listen to, but like
the earlier album it never opens itself up the world outside of
Beck's record collection. It's sealed off, and Beck has sealed himself
off.
But Beck opens himself up fully during the last track. "Debra"
not only redeems the entire album, because it might be the best
song he's ever done, it seems to redeem his entire career: it brings
him to the next level up as a pop artist. Beck sings the song-which
describes the attempts of an average guy to actualize his banal
sexual fantasy-with his newly discovered falsetto, and though this
may make his singing here the most artificial on the album, paradoxically,
it's also the most sincere. Beck uses the falsetto to suggest the
heightened, overflowing emotions that reveal themselves in our sexual
fantasies, and he uses it to convey the depth of this anonymous
man's need for sexual fantasy, without ever condescending to or
making fun this need. It's as funny as most of the other songs on
the album, but it's the only song here that transcends its own cleverness.
"Debra" is a triumphant ending to a mixed bag of an album, and if
this song represents where Beck is now, I can't wait to see where
he'll go next.
----------
Jonathan Hastings lives and writes in Burlington, Vermont.
|