Dad, is that you?
Because this is the exact album my dad's been making for years: a bitter dig at a deserving bullshit world, all in the service of carving out space to rip out a solo or three.
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On to the album at hand:
The lyrics are a little too obviously rhymed, a little underclever, a little South Park-obvious in their targeting. And singer Rosie Bones is ragged and ready, solid enough, but she's reciting someone else's lines and it shows. And while I'm complaining: some of the Big Stuff production, with all its Trent Resnorisms, feels a forced at times.
But it pulls it off often enough, just ripping the roof off your speakers//face, just "how did you make my headphones do that shit just now" - well shit, respect. If you've gotta overproduce, at least make a monster.
And Beck can still play - underneath all those populist trappings there's some muso nuggets. And while the thrust is big-shit modern-adjacent bombast, when all that grasping falls away there's some real pretty little moments. Those slow songs are secret highlights, dig that Little Wing solo on Scared for the Children.
Beck's put on modern clothes, and it's an ill fit - but he's got enough swagger he pulls it off anyway 3.5/5
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