Critiquing is a form of trying to understand a work. That being said, pouring over the meanings of the words 'morning' and 'phase' could come across as scrutiny, but I couldn't resist. Dawn and daybreak in its general insinuation is a metaphor for epiphany. A slap in the face that you have things to do, people to see, album reviews to write. Our society stresses early rising--"early bird gets the worm!" Morning can also refer to reaching a state of readiness for the days activities, whatever time that may be. Juxtaposed next to the word "phase" the two meanings blend together quite nicely. Phase takes on two meanings--a distinct period, or process of change, forming one's development, or, in physics, when one state of matter is ready to transfer to another.
Understanding more fully these two meanings, Morning Phase captures the essence of Beck's return from an album-making hiatus and also the nature of the melodies, lyrics, and pacing. His words are focused on the philosophical nature of relationships, attempting to reconfigure their meanings in the afterglow. Melodically, it's meditative, and when listened to in full, the album leaves an ambient residue. So these tracks do suggest the return from a longer slumber, a slow awakening and realization to the space around us.
Introducing the album is the song "Cycle" that clocks in under a minute long. It's a delicious violin breath before the music dives into slow acoustic strums in the foreground with synth whirls in the back on the second track "Morning." Beck sings, "bury me underneath the wave." The words are sung in his wistful, droll way, but come across as a calm, willing confrontation. Let's go into the subconscious, let's hold our breath before rising again. "Heart Is A Drum" harnesses a more tribal-esque sentiment. Amid the layers of acoustics and reverberated echoing cries is a soft, consistent drum that mimics a heartbeat.
Others have suggested the lyrics on this album are like "zen koans." Sure, there are some phrases within the lyrics that are confusing enough to ponder, but none of them are going to be used to reach enlightenment. The poetry feels transcendental, but it's more like he's trying to describe a sense of spirituality. Take the phrases "follow the drum, keeping time with everyone" and "turn away from the sound of your own voice calling no one." The former instructs us to center our attention to the music, the importance of rhythm. It feels ancient. The latter instructs us to seek approval from within, not without. Then, with songs like "Wave," he repeats the words "isolation" and "wave" that seem like they're meant to take hold in your own brain and create your own experience of the sensation. He stretches his voice to sound like a Neptunian god of the sea. It's trance-like, involved.
Most of the songs build up this sedative way, minus the few tracks like "Blue Moon" and "Unforgiven" that are more pensive and achingly discordant and bouncy in the piano chords. "Blackbird Chain" and "Country Down" play with spacious plucking and half-step rhythms. If all of the tracks on Morning Phase were people, and if you were a nurse taking their temperature, you'd find they all run at about the same degree. That's the only downside to this work, as the songs bleed together in one stream of consciousness. Best way to use Morning Phase: rinse lightly, put on some sweatpants, and let your nerves from the day ease away into the night.
Grade: B-
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