Enlisting DJ Danger Mouse—one half of the psychedelic soul group Gnarls Barkley—Beck seemed poised for a return to the madcap sound collages of his landmark albums, Odelay and Mellow Gold. But on Modern Guilt, Beck’s 10th album, Danger Mouse streamlines the meditations on personal stasis and existential dread that have been the core of Beck’s output since the acoustic gloom of Sea Change. The result is Beck’s most satisfying disc in over half a decade.
“I think I’m stranded but I don’t know where,” Beck sings at the outset, with an unease that permeates Modern Guilt’s 10 tracks. Elsewhere, Beck despairs quietly over “warheads stacked in the kitchen” and “lingo coined from the sacrament of a casino.” Surrounded by anomie, Beck pleads for deliverance, but ultimately gives in to his own confusion.
 Gloom you can move to: Beck offers new pollution on the dark, percussive disc, Modern Guilt. |
Beck and Danger Mouse marry the morose vocals to a newly reinvigorated rhythm section, a highlight of this batch of tunes. On “Replica,” the drums sputter and fizz busily underneath stately electric piano chords; the itchy beat is as funky, off-kilter, and forward-looking as any vintage Beck song. Clattering snare drums echo lyrics about train wrecks and disrepair on “Walls,” setting up a clever parallel between the words and music. And “Chemtrails” features Beck’s frequent drummer, Joey Waronker, bombastically rocking and rolling without a whiff of irony.
Although the drums are at the forefront of Modern Guilt, Beck wisely avoids the funk breakbeats of his past work; this record favors lush, ’60s-influenced pop songs over the passé hip-hop postures on Beck’s last two albums, Guero and The Information. “Orphans” is a glistening country song, its wiry guitar leads riding a classic Beatles groove, striking a delightful balance between classic rock swagger and electronic crispness. And on the Blind Willie Johnson-referencing “Soul of a Man,” Beck digitally rearranges dive-bombing guitar leads to resemble the sirens and whistles of dance music, yielding exactly the kind of genre-hopping, man-and-his-sampler tune that is his specialty. These songs should come as relief to longtime fans: Without rehashing his earlier work, Beck is playing to his strengths.
Breezing by in only 33 minutes, Modern Guilt is the first Beck album since Sea Change that manages to avoid outstaying its welcome. By combining concise songwriting with apocalyptic imagery and a rich sonic palette, Beck has potently distilled his last decade’s oeuvre into an album that invites and rewards close listening.
