Along the way, Beck's bottomless stores of hipster irony and wacked-out humor have been largely replaced by dark memory and bleak anticipation. His last album, 2006's "The Information," was a glum, if artful, collection of tech-age fever dreams. "Modern Guilt," as the title of Beck's new album suggests, takes its predecessor's sounds and concerns into the realm of the emotions, douses them with a shimmering dollop of '60s vibes, and voila: another great Beck record.
Out today, "Modern Guilt" was co-produced by Brian "Danger Mouse" Burton, half of Gnarls Barkley, and the collaboration makes all kinds of sense. Both are obsessed with the hybrid possibilities of modern technology and classic songcraft - Beck's pioneering patchworks surely paved the way for Gnarls Barkley's tricked-out psychedelic soul - and for Beck's eighth album, the pair has constructed a dazzling set of collisions that are as heady as they are humane.
The title track is a diseased ditty, jaunty of step and desperate of message. "Misapprehension is turning into convention/ Don't know what I've done, but I feel ashamed," Beck sings over fuzzy beats and saloon-style piano. His anxiety is all-purpose: environmental ("Gamma Ray" and "Chemtrails"), existential ("Soul of a Man," "Volcano"), and social ("Orphans," "Youthless"). Sonic touchstones are equally pointed and vast, from heavy metal and the Beatles to shoegaze and Kraftwerk.
In signature form, Beck fashions a fantastical escape on "Replica," an unmoored song that careens headlong into the ether on a rush of skittering beats, ethereal keyboards, and a massive pile-up of basses and marimbas. "Make a perfect replica of your life," he sings above the din. "Cut the paper with exacto knife/ Tape it up/ Tape it up/ Against the howling wind/ I'm so tired I don't know where to begin."
