THE GREAT GADFLY:

It's Only Beck & Folk, But I Like It

It's taken me a while to scrape up the motivation to purchase "Sea Change", and for several reasons. My broke ass would rate up there around the top, to be sure, but that's never stopped me from haunting the ol' wrecka stow in the past. Considering my current job-free status, the fact that I could be coasting on fumes any day ought to keep me far away from the sales counter - unless, of course, I'm selling CDs. But, welp, sometimes ya gotta treat yourself, hey?

I think another reason I've taken my time swooping down on "Sea Change" has a lot to do with the rhythm in which El Becko plans his releases. He tends to release a wacked-out dadaist pop album followed by a pensive/folksy troubadour indulgence on the side, then a couple of years later, another insane-genius slice of sci-fi funk, then another strummy down-low drawler, and so on.

Now, I'm not a big fan of folk music - I loves me some lo-fi, anti-folk action now and then, but that's about as grainy as I get - but a droney woe-is-me Beck album is a lot more fun than lots of the singer-songwriter fare I hear. I much prefer when he's rockin' out P-funk style with a side order of Black Sabbath, but hey - what can ya do. For every "Mellow Gold", there'll be a "One Foot In The Grave" (acquired taste); for every "Odelay", there'll be a "Mutations" (better than average); and for every "Midnite Vultures", there'll be a "Sea Change" (pretty amazing, really).

I think that when this album came out, though, I wasn't in the right headspace for another collection of mellow mumblings of loves lost with minimal studio tweakery and squeaking acoustic strings. For me, this year's musical salad bar started off with a bit of low-end electro, ambled into geezer-rawk comeback territory over the summer, stage-dived into old skool avant-punk in the fall, and slid into a freakadelic partyland best summed up with last year's image of Missy Elliott getting her freak on in a Motorhead t-shirt in this year's "Under Construction", and the purple paisley party dwarf himself finally gracing the world with a live album without bootleggers involved.

But after hearing so many friends squawking about it, after reading so many live reviews that read like love letters to our favorite musical surrealist, and after passing on said live showcase, complete with backing band The Flaming Lips (I know, I should be knifed), I finally decided to splurge out yesterday and indulge in Beck's latest "serious" offering. And, wow, I'm glad I did. It's some yum.

I'm impressed with the marriage of Beck's signature studio tweakery with his detours into folk, and I'm very happy with the Scott Walker-ish, Nick Drake-y results. Sure. I think I'm most impressed with the amazing range of his voice on this album, which ranges from Springsteenish rasp to cavernous stray cat yowlp to strangely palatable Vedder-like croon. Whether the answer is in studio trickery or a blessed set of pipes, it's hard for me to believe so many voices can come out of one skinny little Beck. Anyone who remembers the dead-on falsetto on Midnite Vultures' "Debra" knows he can belt out a tune, but this album takes his vocals to a new level of tasty. Nice.

It's been a strange year for my leanings in music. Who'da thunk that I'd be more excited about the new Snoop Dogg album than the newest slab of purr from Saint Etienne? It's been a year where a desire to put bubblegum pop overkill to bed has thrust equally manufactured "legit rawk" down our throats with a parade of snot-nosed, smirky clones of The Knack and The Buzzcocks. It's been a year where someone seemingly disposable as Pink has gone from bad girl Lesley Gore to Joan Jett in a prom gown, and where Kelly Osbourne flopped out of the gate in her five-minutes-ago boy-band backlash crusade, proving that all the Ozzy cred in the world can't make up for a lack of genuine scruffy, hungry ambition. It's been a hell of a ride. In a time of either/or sensibilities, I guess it's nice to see Strokes trumping Spears, but the thoughtful explorations of "Sea Change" offers a nice third-party alternative to the so-called "alternative". Not to say that Beck has anything to do with the word "hungry", mind you - but you wouldn't know any better from digesting the ambition in his latest music.

Next year promises to kick some radio-friendly ass. In rock, hopefully the "The" bands (Hines, Vives, White Strokes) will outlive the "Rock Is Back!" hype and get permission to color outside their own carefully blurred lines. Meanwhile, I'm a little afraid of what the next Madonna album is going to do to the already-precious world of electroclash, though I'm sure nothing can faze the grotesque-glam DIY energy of gals like Chicks On Speed and Tracy + The Plastics, no matter how Madonnified their scene becomes. And after a few good sounds have creeped up through the cracks of bling-bling pavement, we might even be in for some kick-ass genre-bending hip-hop in the wake of a renewed interest in old skool hip-hop. At the very least, the Beasties are due for a new album, which is - well, you know - always good for a cute video and a catchy tune or two at the very least.

Oh, but you know. I'm talking 100% out of my ass. I make no claim to have any idea what I'm talking about, and certainly there will always be new crappy music to be endured in department stores, elevators and supermarkets, and it will always come first. Still, looking at what was big and hyped this year (and what wasn't), I can't help but think that we're in a transitory phase where, after the ennui of teenybopper hysteria, mid-tempo gangsta odes to Cristal, and new "talent" seemingly developed in petri dishes, the music buying public is chanting that all-too-famous line, "here we are now, entertain us."

Or not.