Albums and Abominations: Morning Phase [C]

By Benjamin Huber-Rodriguez     2/26/14 9:23am

When it comes to music made by Los Angeles songwriting veteran Beck Hansen, aka Beck, I think Bender from Futurama said it best: “I always dreamed of being a musician-poet who transcends genres even as he reinvents them, just like you!” 

When it comes to music made by Los Angeles songwriting veteran Beck Hansen, aka Beck, I think Bender from Futurama said it best: “I always dreamed of being a musician-poet who transcends genres even as he reinvents them, just like you!” Indeed, Beck has enjoyed a shifting, unpredictable career, spanning 20 years and 12 LPs. Morning Phase marks his first album in six years, the longest dry spell of his career. Billed as a creative counterpart to his landmark 2002 album Sea Change, which featured slow, somber songwriting accompanied by crystal clear production, Morning Phase is a gorgeous listen but embodies one trait that has never aptly described Beck’s music before — boring.

While Sea Change was about breakups and isolation, wholly suggesting a feeling of detachment from society, Morning Phase acts as a rebirth: an album of observations, newfound ideas, stances and appreciations. Proper opener “Morning” begins with an expansive and beautiful orchestration of instruments that perfectly captures the feeling of waking up to the sunrise. Beck’s distant, spectral vocals dance around the realization of new feelings, but at over five minutes, the charm eventually wears off, and the production grows stale. By failing to evolve sonically or lyrically and being void of the obscure references, strange metaphors and semi-made-up language found on Beck albums of yesteryear, the song serves as a harbinger of the listless things to come out of Morning Phase.

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On tracks like “Heart is a Drum” and “Unforgiven,” the spacious environments created by the arrangements fail to expand or collapse, while the lyrics drown in cliches and are ultimately forgettable. “Your heart is a drum, keeping time with everyone,” Beck sighs on “Unforgiven,” a rather lazy and generalized statement lacking the idiosyncratic heart he once poured into expressing similar sentiments. Where are the random yelps, the fuzzed-out solos, the tempo shifts or bizarre fingerpicking patterns? Even as a return to Beck’s more minimalistic songwriting, Morning Phase is devoid of the personality that made his more subtle statements memorable and resonant. In fact, the only hiccup thrown into the formula throughout the entirety of the album’s first half are the tribal drums, juxtaposed dynamics and lilting guitar solo on “Blue Moon.” The rest of the tracks are deeply mired in ambient string sections and

uninspired lyrics.

The second half of the record makes a slight turn for the better, specifically on “Blackbird Chain,” where Beck resumes his folksy, upbeat style for a brief couple of minutes until it too is drowned in vast overproduction. On the penultimate track, “Country Down,” Beck finally brings back his signature harmonica, along with the most resonant lyrics of the entire album, describing the feelings associated with the landscapes of small-town life.

Alas, these bright spots are few and far between, and the record, while stunning at times, comes off more like a symphonic soundtrack over which a double- or triple-dubbed vocalist, barely recognizable as an anti-folk hero, croons vague, pedestrian words. The record will forever be described as Beck’s prettiest, most meticulously arranged work, but those traits alone will never make an album truly great. For an artist who made his name on being indescribable and unpredictable, Morning Phase is exceedingly both. Where has our musician-

poet gone? 

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