Beck and the Blues
30 years ago, the slacker icon took a sideways turn with One Foot in the Grave
Back in 2001, Beck was called “a musician-poet, who transcends genres, even as he reinvents them.”
Appropriately enough, this praise came out of the mouth of a cartoon robot. Even as the incisive animated series Futurama meant it as an over-the-top joke, there was some truth to it. Taking a cue from 80’s-era Neil Young, Beck is a restless folkie/rocker who loves to dabble in styles and confuse fans. And just as he broke into mainstream fame with what seemed like a flukish slacker hit that even he didn’t expect, his past was about to roll up beside him.
But the release of One Foot in the Grave in June 1994, three months after Mellow Gold, was no embarrassment for him but rather a useful reminder of his twisted roots.
K Records head Calvin Johnson was already well-adept at the lo-fi aesthetic that Beck cherished as he bounced around indie labels until he landed at Geffen. Johnson recorded with the soon-to-be-star before Mellow Gold and who could blame him for putting out the results once “Loser” was all over the radio and MTV? For most people, Beck seemed to come out of nowhere and was purposely hard to pin down. Johnson was providing a somewhat helpful roadmap, but the singer/songwriter would quickly push ahead and keep confounding expectations.
Many Mellow Gold fans might have been disappointed that the weird, psychedelic, unpredictable sound they fell in love with wasn’t rampant on One Foot in the Grave. But if they were real fans, they would have picked up on how the earlier record gave hints into where Beck was soon going. It must have been a little confusing to hear him do a reverse of early Dylan, going from rock seemingly back to folk, when in fact it was the other way around.
Much like the Rolling Stones and Led Zeppelin in the previous decades, Beck paid tribute to his roots but like them, he did it in a way that should have been more generous. Though the UK groups would literally claim old blues songs as their own until lawsuits straightened them out, Beck did credit Delta bluesman Skip James and early country music giants the Carter Family for their songs, though a comparison of the originals and covers makes you wonder why Beck’s name should be on the songwriting credits too.
“He’s A Mighty Good Leader” is a nice solo folkie take on James’ “Jesus Is a Mighty Good Leader” but only differs from the original by taking the Son O’ God’s name out of the mix and that James’ high, reedy voice is much more expressive than Beck’s laconic, though effective, timbre. For the Carter Family’s “Lover’s Lane,” Beck has a little more credibility by transforming it into “Girl Dreams,” as he reconfigures two lines about birds, once to add them into the lovesick theme and another time to write them out of the picture but keeping the words pretty intact, though musically, he puts it in a more droning space that’s in line that you’d hear from him otherwise (hat tip to Whiskey Clone site for nailing the comparison).
Again, Calvin Johnson was important here to not only egg Beck into doing rootsy covers like these, but also getting him on board with an aesthetic that was not only first-take-best-take but also flubbed-take-best-take. Where most professional producers would have nixed a version of a song that included a loud cough (“Outcome”) or backing vocals that didn’t come close to synching with the lead vocal (“I’ve Seen the Land Beyond”), Johnson saw those as plusses and part of a more authentic, raw experience. Also, he may have encouraged the artist to keep things brief, topping most of the songs off at around two minutes, leaving many of the tunes as cryptic brief vignettes and making you wonder what else could have been added to complete the stories there.
Even with that, there was still one more crucial way that Johnson shaped the proceedings here. With Beat Happening, Johnson’s deep, booming croaking voice remains distinctive, and maybe even off-putting at first. Here on “I Get Lonesome,” he harmonizes along, providing what seems like a scary inner voice for Beck’s slack aesthetic, while on the closer, “Atmospheric Condition” (which he co-wrote), he and Beck alternate vocals, occasionally coming together and falling part on a tale of that goes back and forth between hopelessness and determination.
Elsewhere, followers from Beck’s mainstream days might miss the kaleidoscopic nature that producers Carl Stephenson and the Dust Brothers provided within the songs themselves. But that dizzying, unpredictable style can be found from song to song here as well. In between the folkie strums, he adds in the Fall-like fuzzed out rocker “Burnt Orange Peel,” the eerie, haunting minimal indie rock of “Forefield” (written/sung with the late Sam Jayne of Love as Laughter) and the creepy, crawly No Wave scrawl of “Ziplock Bag.”
Still, what makes the album such an instructive look at Beck’s early work is how he also injects into some seemingly-straightforward songs an oddball mentality that even at this stage set him way apart from your average folkie or even the then-nascent freak folk set. On one hand, he delivers up simple but potent tuneage such as the sweet, sad Byrds-like “See Water” (as opposed to “Sea Water”), the yearning “Hollow Log” (which would work great in a reflective scene in an indie movie) and the stern, religious sermon “I’ve Seen the Land Beyond” which sounds like a Carter Family-era song. But on the other hand, he loves tossing curveballs around and reminds us why we enjoy his warped perspectives otherwise. Your typical folkie probably wouldn’t offer up the unexpected wordplay on “Sleeping Bag,” the Fellini meets Bosch imagery of “Cyanide Breath Mint” and “Outcome,” the horrible, toxic love affair of “Asshole” (which foreshadows “Loser” in a way), the regretful country-blues of “Fourteen Rivers Fourteen Floods” that leaves out vital parts of the disaster there or the apocalyptic imagery mixed with pop/country close harmonies of “Painted Eyelids,” which recalls early Flying Burrito Brothers.
As for the 2009 reissue bonus material, which included mostly unreleased tracks, the torrent of 16 other songs there seems like a more-is-less situation where the original record was a compact, complete-as-it-is tracking of Beck’s mindset then in comparison. Other than the lovely sorrow of “It’s All In Your Mind,” the DIY folk-punk of “Piss On the Door” and the graphic solo stomp “Sweet Satan,” nothing else really adds to the record for anyone except for completists.
Considering Beck’s odd musical history, having this out-of-place indie release come after his initial major success is keeping in line with his strange trajectory, and serves as a useful piece of the puzzle to understanding him. Makes you wish that he and Johnson would work together again at some point.
It would make sense, as such a reunion would be as unexpected as the many twists/turns in Beck’s musical career otherwise.
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