For over ten years now, Beck has been crafting versatile albums that span the range from indie-flavored hip-hop to spaced out rock. On the eve of his new album, "Guero", Beck has once again changed it up. The album spans familiar Beck phrasing but also incorporates driving guitars, a wide range of impressive collaborations as well as elements of the pathos seen on "Sea Change." The end result is a piece of work varied and introspective, occasionally silly and sometimes poignant, a brilliant reflection of the California singer/songwriter. Sitting with Beck at a small office, we discussed some of the oddities of his songwriting, unexpected influences and his metamorphosis into a Silverlake urban legend.
When looking at the body of Beck's work, I sought to focus on metaphors and unconventional influences not often discussed. In listening to the new album, his oft-used metaphor of the devil comes up yet again. In a brief bit of nerddom, I went through his discography and found that nearly every album of his has some reference to the devil. In regards to the blues, this isn't necessarily an odd metaphor as it was historically viewed as an extension of the idea that rock n' roll and the blues were "devil's music" but I was wondering if that was the same impetus for Beck. He conceded it was,
"Every other blues song I learned growing up referenced the devil or forces of evil. I think there's certain images that I get when I'm trying to describe something or trying to impart some idea of some mood and there's certain images I'm drawn to." He then facetiously adds, "I think the last two records I took a break [from the devil] but on this record, I thought, 'It's ok.'"
When he speaks, Beck's replies are generally straight forward but tinged with a bit of dry wit. He'll then cautiously taper off before making certain points as he tries to articulate what he's saying. It's odd to see his tentativeness and deliberateness. Sometimes when talking to him, it's hard to imagine this is the same guy who'll bust quasi Napoleon Dynamite dance moves while singing about turntables and microphones.
Continuing on the idea of his songwriting process, we spoke about the emphasis placed on dissecting the mix-up style of his songs. He states that his last album was a departure from that on purpose,
"It's become cool now for people who were into indie rock to incorporate Neptunes... that kind of R&B hip hop stuff. That's kind of ["Sea Change"] in a way, going the other direction with it, just doing something completely analog and recorded live. No ProTools, no nothing like that - not as a statement against it but to kind of do something else and see what happens. [I think it's] best when you're forced into a corner a little bit. Even with this record, there [are] certain prescribed limitations."
I ask if he feels that technology has caused a loss of physical interaction in bands or simply made things convenient.
"I think I always used it - we did "Odelay" on ProTools and I did my first record with a really primitive version of a digital machine. It was really just kind of convenient cause I didn't have a band. I couldn't pay musicians to come in and play and we were recording in a room this size so it afforded me the ability to play all the parts and do it really homemade and not in a studio with no money and no budget. So in a way, it's empowering, but I think there is a balance."
That balance, the return to the more organic, analog side of songwriting Beck illustrated on "Sea Change" is also seen on "Guero." A simple love song called "Outerspace" that flows more like a shoegaze anthem than the tricked out funk/rock/blues visible in the rest of "Guero." I comment on the brave choice to include it when it clearly stands apart as different from the rest of the album.
"It was kind of a mysterious song. It was one of the ones that maybe before "Sea Change" I wouldn't have put on the record. It was really important to me to have that element on this record, that it wasn't just a couple of hip hop songs and a couple of songs with break beats and weird sounds that would be typical for me. I was talking to a friend a couple of weeks after I started [recording] and he said, 'You really should try to keep some of that emotion, that heart in there.' It was a real challenge to balance it and make it work when you want to just throw in some goofy rhyme about Michael Bolton..."
With the wide stylistic range illustrated on "Guero," it seemed only logical to delve into Beck's influences. The album creates a panorama as visual as it is aural, so I decided to probe into his non-music related influences. He seemed more than willing to oblige the request,
"I find it a complicated collection where you get your influences. I think most people I'm interviewed by want to know what three songs you supposedly synthesized to make this one song. Sometimes there is a case of having a direct influence absolutely... like take Beatles records and jam along to them then erase the Beatles part, which is an interesting process, there's nothing wrong with that. But as far as influences, I've always looked to art, design, film and just existence, [the] intangible, relationships and all the things that are just so hard to kind of articulate into anything else except, for me, a sound.
He continues, "I think certain filmmakers have been really influential. As the years have gone by, I realize how certain films I saw at a young age gave me a sense of a state of mind or possibility that art could create. Some of the Fellini films, "Giulietta Degli Spiriti", "La Dolce Vita," I saw when I was a teenager. "Giulietta" I saw when I was twelve or thirteen maybe and a lot of what was going on I didn't understand but it burnt a dent... this parallel universe so strange and confusing filled with humor and ghosts and it triggered something. Also, a lot of French films. I think, filmwise, I'm kind of a Europhile. I hit this period a few years ago where I got really into people like Rohmer, really intensely conversational films that are not even cinematic just weird."
"I think another big aspect for me is art. A lot of my friends have different art projects going on, things we're doing constantly. That's a big part of my life, there's always something going on in the kitchen. We'll turn it into some experiment-studio-film project y'know? Something just separate from the music and sometimes it intersects but just purely as an outlet. It's important to stay fluid and creative and keep it raw. Sometimes we'll work on something for the record where there's a certain amount of work or carefulness or craft involved and you just want to shake it off and really be broken. I had a lot of little [art] projects during this record. I got really into taking photos of giant bubbles in random places, they all look like aliens. it's kind of weird, things like that..." He laughs as he talks about queries into his musical influences,
"Nothing is what it seems. I've gotten a lot of influence from Bing Crosby [but] I don't know where that fits into my sound. You do get asked the same thing over and over and it's difficult... you don't want to be a parrot."
Before wrapping up the interview I felt it necessary to ask Beck about a bit of urban L.A. folklore I heard that had sprung up about him. The story suggested that Beck used to live in a hotel on Sunset Boulevard and Benton Avenue in Silverlake. Underneath this hotel is a podiatry office that has a large rotating sign which features a sad foot on one side and a happy foot on the other. The legend passed down to me was that when Beck would wake up in the morning, if he saw the sad foot, he would stay in bed all day. However, if he was greeted by the happy foot, it was going to be a day worth going out. It seemed like the most ridiculous thing on earth to ask and yet strangely enough, not only was he aware of the story but had his own factual version to offer up.
"My brother and a bunch of friends all lived in an old house on Benton and it was one of those situations where it's an old house and there's people in every possible corner of every room living in there. So, I ended up there for awhile. It was right on the corner. It was more along the lines of, 'What should we do tonight? Should we go out somewhere?" Or, should we do whatever it is you do when you don't have money... go to a coffee shop, hang out and loiter somewhere, go to somebody else's apartment. There were a few nights where it was in question and we would walk out to the front porch and if it was a sad foot..." His voice tapers off into a slightly satirical tone, "it was probably best to stay in. We just took it as a sign."
Shocked that the legend I heard is somewhat true and bemused by the coincidence of a rotating foot sign serving as semiotic social predictor, I tell him I'm pleased to debunk the legend. He laughs,
"Yeah, a friend of mine heard that and took it on as superstition... so I don't want to spread the sad foot and happy foot superstition too much."