Beck's follow up to Mellow Gold's anti-commercial pop/junk soundscape, One Foot in the Grave. An acoustic anti-pop/junk soundscape recorded at Calvin Johnson's, effectively Peel-Session-ing his songs, or stripping them down and exposing them. I like it because there's no room for Beck's eclectic dada trickery, only his eclectic dada songwriting. Unlike the other eccentric indie pop hipsters he surrounds himself with, he's jaded enough to call the world a Holiday (the cigarette, it transpires), bro enough to drink beer and talk about Satan (sorry Wrens, he makes you sound like emascu-rock), and humble enough to admit that he'll walk around the house loudly when he's lonely so as to break the silence. The arrangements might remind me too much of those he's mimicking in places, but he betters them overall if only because of that admirable mix of post-beat hipster mockery, bro-ish bluntness and relatability, and Jonathan Richman-like sincerity and loserishness. I call it his second best.
A+
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