Beck the Writer Takes a Bow

There’s a basketball hoop on the garage of Beck’s two-story house in Silver Lake, but he warns against trying to drive hard for a layup. The driveway slants down, which means you’ll end up crashing into the garage door.

Another problem with the hoop, which he had installed shortly after he moved in, is that the garage is so close to the street that the ball can easily bounce off the rim and roll down the hillside avenue.

The restrictions force him to be cautious when acting out any Michael Jordan fantasies, but there’s nothing timid about Beck’s music. In fact, some industry observers feel Beck’s last album, 1999’s “Midnite Vultures,” was a sign that he is a bit too adventurous..

The album, in which the folk/hip-hop wizard behind 1996’s Grammy-winning “Odelay” album switched into the role of a modern-day soul man, was generally cheered by critics. Radio programmers and most of “Odelay’s” fans, however, just shook their heads in confusion.

Was Beck making fun of R&B; (absolutely not) or was he just out of sync with public expectations and taste (possibly)?

Whatever, the frightfully prolific musician has been largely silent since “Vultures,” suggesting his confidence might have been shaken by the experience.

The 32-year-old singer-songwriter did go through a period of uncertainty before returning with a new album. The delay, though, had nothing to do with the reaction to “Vultures,” which, he points out, was far better received in Europe than “Odelay.”

He simply felt the songs on the new “Sea Change” album, due Sept. 24 from Geffen Records, were uncomfortably personal. They dealt with the break-up of a longtime relationship with clothing designer Leigh Limon, and he worried that the sometimes painfully introspective songs might be seen as an exercise in self-pity. It was almost two years before he was ready to commit the music to disc.

“People have been asking for years, ‘Do you ever write things that are more personal?’ and I always said, ‘Yeah, I do,’ but I resisted recording those songs,” Beck says in his living room overlooking the Silver Lake Reservoir.

“When I started out, I had this idea about making music for other people to enjoy. I didn’t want it to be all about me. After writing these songs, I also worried that they would be seen as a plea for sympathy or something. I needed time to make sure I could look at them clearly.”

Beck felt comfortable with the songs by last fall, but his plans to go into the studio were interrupted by Sept. 11. He worried this time that the dark, melancholy themes might be too solemn.

In February, however, Beck went into the studio with producer Nigel Godrich, who had worked with him on 1998’s “Mutations” album and with Radiohead on 1997’s “OK Computer.” Recording at Beck’s 16-hour-a-day pace, they completed the basic tracks in just two weeks.

“I think I saw that the album wouldn’t just be some meaningless ego thing, that the themes were universal,” Beck says. “That’s when the record started to make sense.”

His decision was wise--”Sea Change” may just be the most compelling album so far this year, rivaled only by Eminem’s “The Eminem Show.”

The album arrives at what may be a pivotal time of reappraisal in pop music--a time when rock ‘n’ roll is returning to its passionate roots after years of drab, anonymous sounds and when, ideally, songwriting may be making a comeback in a wider pop arena after so much emphasis on producer-created hits. (See story, Page 9.)

Of all these new singer-songwriter packages, Beck’s may have the greatest influence on the tone of pop music because the Los Angeles native is the kind of artist that others take their cue from. The fact that he hasn’t been primarily associated with the singer-songwriter movement may cause heads to turn even more.

His “Sea Change” album is a work of remarkable power whose best moments speak of such emotions as isolation and disillusionment, with the economy, honesty and beauty of Hank Williams, the great country singer and songwriter who was a key inspiration on the album.

In the opening song, the country-tinged “The Golden Age,” Beck describes being so thrown off stride that you seek anything, even just the cool night air through the car window, to make you feel alive. “These days I barely get by,” he sings in a voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t even try.”

Things get darker from there, but they eventually start brightening. As is so often the case with music, there is something healing and hopeful about hearing someone’s struggle, even if it’s just from marveling at the way a performer can turn anguish into art.

Beck has made other traditional singer-songwriter albums, including “Mutations” and 1994’s “One Foot in the Grave,” but they were presented as career sidesteps and lacked the straightforwardness of the new one. His “official” albums have been the ones with more contemporary settings, from 1994’s “Mellow Gold,” which had his breakthrough hit, “Loser,” to “Vultures.”

Beck may still move in mysterious ways musically. He’s been working on a punk-rock exercise that could surface as an album. At a time when most pop artists seem to have their eyes only on the sales charts, Beck is one of the few major figures with an eye on the long run. Like Neil Young, Tom Waits and Bob Dylan, he doesn’t deny his artistic impulses just because they may momentarily lead him away from the commercial pack.

“Sea Change,” however, is a pure celebration of the singer-songwriter experience, and it’s good that he’s releasing it as a real Beck album, with the accompanying record label promotion.

Fans have always marveled at his ability to mix ‘n’ match styles in ways both soulful and experimental, but his sheer cleverness was often a large part of the process. In “Sea Change,” the lure is his heartfelt honesty and pure craft.

“I know that some artists prefer to go in a straight trajectory and I respect that,” he says, sipping bottled water three days after his solo acoustic tour ended with a concert at the Wadsworth Theatre, where he previewed most of the “Sea Change” songs to an enthusiastic audience. (He returns to the road next month with a tour that includes a Nov. 25 stop at the Universal Amphitheatre with the band Flaming Lips.)

“I think they make it a lot easier on themselves, but there’s a price you pay for it,” he continues. “They sit in one place for so long that they almost become a statue. The way I’ve done it is a lot more work and it’s hard for people not to get confused. Fans came to the acoustic show and they asked where was the horn section. But I think that price you pay is worth keeping the creativity alive.”

Beck has wide-ranging musical tastes--he’s stepped on stage with artists as varied as Brazil’s Caetano Veloso, a leader in the Tropicalia movement, and Jack White, the blues-inspired singer-songwriter of rockers the White Stripes. He can talk with equal enthusiasm of hip-hop pioneer Grandmaster Flash and art-rockers Devo.

So his experimentation with various styles comes naturally. In “Sea Change,” however, Beck focuses solely on his singer-songwriter heritage. The songs’ tones are brightened by stylish instrumental touches, but the spotlight is always on his words and voice.

There’s a three-song sequence early in the album--”Guess I’m Doing Fine,” “Lonesome Tears” and “Lost Cause”--that together make up the sound of a man’s emotions hitting bottom.

In the first, the narrator is so bruised emotionally he can’t even hear the songs a bluebird is singing outside his window--an apparent tip of the hat to Williams’ reference to a lonesome whippoorwill in his influential 1949 composition “I’m So Lonesome I Could Cry.”

“I still go back and listen to Hank Williams and Jimmie Rodgers all the time,” Beck says. “The thing that is so amazing about Williams is simplicity. He was so disciplined and so economical. There was no filter on his emotions.”

In “Lonesome Tears,” Beck conveys those same qualities as a writer, and his singing has never been more convincing:

I can’t cry them anymore

I can’t think of what they’re for

O they ruin me every time.

Beck may finally feel comfortable writing about the end of his relationship, but he’s not about to start talking about the details. He may have tipped off his own anxiety in an interview we did around the time of “Midnite Vultures.”

“There are periods in a musician’s life where you don’t have a day off for months,” he said, discussing the strain his 24/7 musical dedication put on his relationship at the time. “I know that can be frustrating for those around you. I’d like to spend some time with friends who I have been neglecting for the last year and a half.”

He sighs when I read the quote back to him, but he’s clearly not going any further into the breakup.

“I don’t talk about my personal life much, never did,” he says. “I guess maybe it was just the way I was raised. I don’t ever want to become fodder for the world’s tabloid satisfaction.

“Besides, I don’t think it’s necessary for anybody to know my story to understand the album. This kind of stuff happens to everybody. I never thought there was anything special about what I was going through. I was always focused on the music.”

Another reason Beck doesn’t want to talk about the past is that he’s in a good place now in his life. He was just 24 when “Loser” made him a pop-culture sensation--overnight, it seemed, he was the media’s favorite Gen-X subject. His blank, boyish look even fit the role, although there was nothing else about him that met the definition of slacker. Rather than aimless and apathetic, he worked with an obsession rarely seen in pop.

Today, the waif-like innocence has been replaced by a more confident and outgoing demeanor. His face has started to take on more mature, expressive features.

“I think I am very comfortable these days, both with the way my career is going and my life,” he says. “I think it takes time to adjust to this kind of life. Nobody ever hands you the textbook on how to act. I see a lot of young bands out trying to burn the candle, trying to sample everything, and I understand what that’s about.

“But you gradually see what’s important and what excites you and that is far more satisfying. That’s another reason that made me feel comfortable with these songs. At the end of the album, I think you can sense that you can find strength even though the floor just came out from under you.”

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Robert Hilburn, The Times’ pop music critic, can be reached at robert.hilburn@latimes.com.