The great paradox of being an artist is the reward and the risk that he or she will create and then have to live up to their own masterpiece. A work so great, so perfect, that everything thereafter will be considered a failure or short of the expectations that followed.  As much as the artist aspires to greatness in all of their work, they also fear its greatness and the inevitable risk it entails. 

Beck released his sophomore effort Odelay in 1996, perhaps one of the most definitive musical achievements of our era, and placed his name forever among the most notable names of the American musical landscape.  Most artists never recover from an album as reputable as Odelay.  What is left of their career becomes just a regression of references back to “their best album,” and their live shows are whittled down to a day-in and day-out routine of playing their “greatest hits.”

However, it seems that Beck is different, and his latest musical experiment, Modern Guilt, released on July 8th to fulfill his recording contract with Interscope Records, is no exception.  Produced by the genius of Danger Mouse (or Brian Joseph Burton) of Gnarls Barkley, Modern Guilt shows Beck as the fearless artist who dares to transcend the binding expectations of his past achievements and explore what lies on the other side of even his own musical and artistic terrain.

It is no wonder, then, that this album is quickly gaining a reputation as being Beck’s “psychedelic” album.  Psychedelic music was and still is one of the most progressive and sometimes inaccessible musical forms of modern times, and the lanky, dusty blonde and unassuming “Loser” that we were introduced to with Mellow Gold is now a long-haired, introspective father of two children with very heavy, very philosophical, psychedelic ideas in his head. 

From the opening track “Orphans” (accompanied by Cat Power), Beck has a vision: “If I wake up and see my maker coming / With all his crimson and his iron desire / We’ll drag the streets with the baggage of longing to be loved or destroyed / From a void to a grain of sand in your hand,” to the soundtrack of high-pitched drones and feedback of an electric guitar woven in space somewhere above a heart-beating drum and bass line.  As you can already see, this is a different Beck than the “Dog food stalls with beefcake pantyhose” we were introduced to in the mid-‘90s.

But it is 2008, and these are very different days we are living in now.  Modern Guilt captures both the pressing weight we all feel in these times of war, economic uncertainty, and environmental disaster, as well as the hope that rises from the ashes of doubt and despair.  From the surf tide rhythm of “Gamma Ray” (a reminiscent ode to bands such as The Standells) to the clap-your-hands and stomp-your-foot driving blues riff of “Soul of a Man,” Beck’s latest effort is his own musical gamble that marks a significant progression from Odelay, or the slower, more acoustic explorations of Sea Change, or even the erotic funk of Midnight Vultures. 

Modern Guilt echoes expressions of concern, curiosity, hope, and perhaps a bit of fear from an artist who, by all intents and purposes, has somehow managed to stand just inside and just on the outside of the cultural mainstream.  Beck is one of those rare artists who can continuously evolve and continuously recreate themselves without compromising the essence of who they are and what their art symbolizes.  With Modern Guilt, he pays homage to the diversity of his musical roots and inspirations while simultaneously, yet again, creating a genre unto his own.  This is an album that speaks and plays beyond its point in space and time and beckons “You and me / Watching the sky / In the future / That’s where we can go.”