What the hell is going on, here? Where’s the bass and the beats and the funky guitar and even funkier synth? No talk of aliens or the devil, or even a whimper resembling a guttural scream into an old broken microphone. Is Beck growing old, laying down his two turntables for a single dusty record player that solely exists to spin Bon Iver in perpetuity?
Beck’s newest full length, Morning Phase, is a yawn, and it really bums me out, both during the 13-song sprawl, and afterwards when I am left with the residual, and perhaps inherent, drowsiness. I mean, come on, qué onda guero?
I get it: We all have to grow up and push forward, but pushing forward has never been an issue for Beck. He has always been a creator without boundaries. On Morning Phase the boundaries actually seem to be the real issue. Boring was the story, and Beck’s sticking to it.