Why won’t Beck have my babies? Maybe it’s because I’m a guy, but this guy! Actually, he’s kind of a pussy now, but look at what he was! Witty, clever, lovable, and poor. Perfect for inclusion in my new porn film. Oh, Beck, what you don’t bring to the dictionary you have surely brought to the Becktionary.
This 23-minute album (technically a 10″ record – who makes 10″ records?) has a couple actually great actual songs – the slightly country, probably completely insincere “Totally Confused”, with that “I waaaant you so much” moment being one of the best in Beck’s entire career (but what the hell’s with that “ten foot man eating my lunch” line in there delivered like it was heartbreaking or something? Is a giant stealing Beck’s food somehow related to the girl who’s fucking with him?) and a remake of the somehow-original blues song (how could this chord progression possibly be original? ah well, i guess if he wrote it…) “Gettin’ Home” from Golden Feelings, and now it really does sound like it was recorded in 1930 or so, with Beck wearing his most affected grubby white bluesman voice. There are also a couple acoustic blues pickers that aren’t so good: the generic, boring one with the long harmonica solo “Lampshade” and the one with the slowed-down voice and clonky drums “Mango (Vader Rocks!)” that I really hope isn’t making a Star Wars reference because…Just say no to Star Wars references. Then there are a couple loud weird-ass guitar-noise experiment songs (“Mayonaise Salad” and “Styrofoam Chicken (Quality Time)”), three songs called “Feel Like A Piece Of Shit”, the lyrics of which are all “I (title)” accompanied by a Casio drumbeat (“Cheetos Time” is particularly hilarious), a song called “She Is All (Give Me Something To Eat)” which illustrates the dichotomies involved in being poor, yet in love (yeah…), the aptly named acoustic strummer “Pine Fresh”, and tape recorder playback funtime “Blackfire Choked Our Death”. Odd but abstractly great lyrics abound – “Stolen car stereo/snowman all in flames/Deluxe cockroach/telling me what’s real” or “When I snap my fingers/When I walk the line/When I get my money/I’ll be killin’ time”, and fit the strange sounds like I fit into you. When I can keep it up, that is!
Well, that was uncalled for. Most of this is like found sound. If you like found in audio form then you’ll like it. Actually, if you have taste you’ll like it, as long as the model of taste is me. Which it, you know, is. Sexy death soda indeed.