For most, 38th birthdays come and go with little cause for contemplation. For Beck - alpha loser, fifth Beatle, fourth Beastie Boy - 38 means finding himself knee-deep in a mid-life crisis, contemplating worldly ills and taking stock in a self-destructing society that's making a beeline for the pit of hell.
This aggressive reaction, of course, has as much to do with the nature of aging as it does with grim realities. In some circles, Beck is still a young man, but growing old in postmodern Los Angeles is like maturing in dog years. So in an outwardly conflicting bid to help both procure his prominent standing with Gen-Y flakes and make sense of a collapsed civilization, Beck has enlisted Brian Burton, a.k.a. Danger Mouse - beat extraordinaire and possessor of the coolest 'fro and darkest vision this side of Sly Stone.
The name of the end result says it all. "Modern Guilt" is at once a meditation on a golden age lost and the culmination of the apocalypto-folk festering since "Guero." For all the pay-no-mind slacker posing of yesteryear, Beck now seems fully aware of a devastating revelation: This teetering culture built on apathy and excess is nobody's fault but his own.
Retro leanings intact, the record ostensibly equates noughties doomsday to '60s London, concocting a filler-free cocktail that swirls breathy space pop with mop-top detachment.
Mouse and man devise an effortless street shuffle on the title track, "Gamma Ray," with its go-go bass line, which culls its inspiration from Connery-era spy spoofs. It would make a swingin' party tune so long as the party in question is one to usher in the end of the world.
"Walls" and "Profanity Prayers" likewise feed off of a sense of up tempo urgency. The former attempts to outrun suffocating claustrophobia, while the latter mulls the consequences of over-indulgence. The electro-grinding "Soul of a Man" further reflects a paranoid psyche. His voice floating ghostly over sinister grooves, Beck explores man's innermost being with the inference that sooner than later, the spirit will be the only thing left.
"Modern Guilt" isn't your typical pity party. The album's scant 33 minutes leave little time for wallowing, but rather echo the fleeting nature of now and the uncertainty of tomorrow.
In the atmospheric desperation of "Chemtrails," Beck foresees a nightmarish scenario in which holes in the sky give way to a sea full of drowning bodies. In one of his finest moments, he equally reveals a lone solace and an alarming truth: In this new pollution, he is not alone.
