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The 25 Greatest Beck Songs, Ranked

For all his humor, Beck is consistently thoughtful and earnest in building his checkered monuments.

Beck
Photo: Citizen Kane Wayne

Beck’s breakout hit, “Loser,” represented the sound of the nation’s youth wearing their slackerdom as a badge of honor. It’s a rather dubious fate for the workmanlike track, considering that if Gen X ever “had” a sound, it was the slow, snarling grunge roiling out of the Pacific Northwest, a genre far too self-possessed and clumsily aggressive to match the decidedly goofy appeal of Beck’s patchwork style. If anything, “Loser” was a middle finger to the self-serious headbangers, Beck’s own shrug at the angsty masses before ignoring them altogether and staking his career on offbeat lonerism.

The lonesomeness that results from possessing such an individualist streak is explored rather profoundly on albums like Sea Change and Morning Phase, but regardless of the personal costs, he’s become a folk hero, having built his legacy on championing near-forgotten strains of Americana at every turn. Constructing a list of his best tracks can thus be likened to assembling a mosaic pieced together from several generations of music. The songs themselves aren’t simply attention-starved amalgams strung together randomly though: For all his humor, Beck is consistently thoughtful and earnest in building his checkered monuments, empathetic to the point where his creations often cease to be facsimiles at all, but heartfelt creations born from the same cultural conscious that inspired them. You can’t write if you can’t relate, indeed. Kevin Liedel

Editor’s Note: Listen to our Beck playlist on Spotify.


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25. “Debra”

Midnite Vultures exists largely as satire, but it also serves as an opportunity for the usually cryptic Beck to let his freak flag fly. On the epic, cheesy “Debra,” he hoists it way, way up, further establishing the absurdity of the album’s seedy narcissism by attempting to pick up sisters. The greatest moment here, however, is the supreme elasticity of Beck’s voice, sprinting from husky whispers to erotic falsettos with the kind of joie de vivre worthy of Prince. Liedel


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24. “Soul Suckin’ Jerk”

Beck’s sense of humor has always been prevalent in his music, but what’s less well-established is how his absurd, juvenile setups often dissolve into black-hearted non sequiturs. “Soul Suckin’ Jerk” is one such reversal, a slacker tale that traces Beck’s working stiff from the food court into the edges of civilization just as its verse descends from quiet basslines into raucous drum stomps. “For 14 days I’ve been sleeping in a barn,” Beck’s suburban drone-cum-backwoods anarchist observes, right before a guttural, bottom-heavy font of distortion hammers home the desperation in his wisecracks. Liedel


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23. “Hollywood Freaks”

Beck lays claim to legitimate skills on the mic, and they’ve never been stronger or more precise than on “Hollywood Freaks.” Of course, this being Beck, the rhymes come with a twist, delivered in a lisping, nasal drone that’s part Truman Capote and part Sylvester the Cat. All the better for it, considering the slick, springy track boasts the weirdest combination of allusions Beck’s ever concocted: Ripple, No Doz, Norman Schwarzkopf, tricked-out Hyundais, and the song’s ubiquitous, drunken tagline, “He’s my nun!” Liedel


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22. “Forcefield”

Given Beck’s recent lavish productions, it’s easy to forget that in the early- to mid-’90s he was a lo-fi master. This is nowhere more evident than on 1994’s One Foot in the Grave, a barebones album steeped in folk and blues. Its centerpiece is “Forcefield,” a song built on three simple yet haunting acoustic guitar notes and intertwining vocals by Beck and Sam Jayne of the sadly unheralded post-hardcore band Lync. The lyrics are largely enigmatic, but the chorus poignantly summarizes the necessity of a metaphorical forcefield: “Don’t let it get too near you/Don’t let it get too close/Don’t let it turn you into/The things you hate the most.” Michael Joshua Rowin


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21. “Rowboat”

“Rowboat,” from 1994’s Stereopathetic Soulmanure, is a gently strummed, classically constructed ballad of rejection and loneliness that features Beck’s early penchant for lyrics that alternate between deadpan melancholy (“Rowboat, row me to the shore/She don’t wanna be my friend no more”) and humorous non sequitur (“Dog food on the floor/And I’ve been like this before”). Late Nashville legend Leo Blanc’s stunning steel pedal work provides just the right amount of additional sorrow, and, as if to give it the country stamp of approval, Johnny Cash covered the song in 1996. Rowin


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20. “Blue Moon”

“Blue Moon” enters Beck’s canon as one of his most emotionally humbling tracks. Much like the naked proclamations of Sea Change, the song is a search for penance, only now Beck is a decade older, holed up in a sparse, dark confessional and looking for a way out. “Don’t leave me on my own,” he cries in a tone that suggests the asylum is of his own making, growing more and more desperate as “Blue Moon” waxes with orchestral grandeur. Liedel


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19. “Girl”

Beck has subverted pop aplenty, but Guero’s “Girl” is one of his few attempts at a wide-eyed tribute. Of course, this jaunty track isn’t without its own morbid farce, tracing the usual tale of obsessive romance to its natural, if utterly psychotic, end. The track breaks away from its 8-bit prelude into a shaggy acoustic guitar as Beck’s stalking narrator reveals his murderous plans for the eponymous target. “I know I’m gonna make her die,” he sings, the chorus bouncing along to his honeyed death threats. Liedel


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18. “Defriended”

“Defriended” was the first thing anyone heard from Beck in the five years since Modern Guilt, and quite appropriately, the track is built around what sounds like a box of records dropping out of two-story window. The impact ripples out in electronic pulses, almost drowning Beck’s fatalistic lyrics, but his final call to arms, “Turn it all around!,” comes through crystal clear. Liedel


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17. “Tropicalia”

Cribbing from the eponymous Brazilian art form, “Tropicalia” is bossa nova as filtered through Beck’s dreamlike aesthetic, a clicking, buzzing earworm teeming with cocksure samba beats and enough equatorial style to make even those bored tourists dance in a reptile blaze. Liedel


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16. “Nicotine & Gravy”

Crooning like he’s at a karaoke club in the Gaza Strip, Beck is equally worried about getting shot and ruining his outfit in “Nicotine & Gravy.” Meanwhile, the track sizzles beneath him, twisting with strange laughter, pulsing R&B samples, and the creeping feeling that something really bad and bloody is going on in the streets. Liedel


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15. “Hell Yes”

There are times when Beck seems more interested in irreverent experimentation and nodding to his own influences than actual songwriting, but on the flip “Hell Yes,” he manages to strike a balance between both endeavors. Underneath the looping sonar, random asides, and Christina Ricci voicing a Japanese waitress, the track is Beck’s tribute to old-school DJing, the messy, sweaty, vinyl-based work that eschews “fax machine anthems” for good old plate-switching. Liedel


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14. “Get Real Paid”

After opening with “Sexx Laws,” Midnite Vultures’s parodist takedown of America’s oversexed pop culture turns dark rather quickly. The clinical Kraftwerk delivery belies this track’s sad, disgusting heart, as does its ludicrous aphorisms: “Touch my ass, if you’re qualified.” But beneath the slick exterior, Beck and backing vocalist Valerie Pinkton grieve all the same, observing with an almost zombified terror as their sleazy, disconnected existences slip into a blur of perverse imagery. Liedel


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13. “Hotwax”

Beck solidified his reputation as a genre-masher on Odelay, and this honky-tonk acid jam is one of the reasons why. “Hotwax” is as quilt-like a track as Beck has ever written, stitched together with parts of quiet storm funk, late-night line dancing, and even polka. “I’m the enchanting wizard of rhythm,” goes one sample at song’s end, an understatement of Beck’s ability to turn disparate parts into cohesive sums. Liedel


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12. “It’s All in Your Mind”

A holdover from Beck’s earlier and much rawer folk recordings, the Sea Change version of “It’s All in Your Mind” is a kaleidoscope of slow, gorgeously rendered self-deprecation. As a dusty acoustic guitar and whispering string quartet grow more and more entangled, Beck delivers blow after blow to his own withering pride, until finally pinpointing the rot both within and without: “Well you’re all scared and stiff, a sick stolen gift,” he moans, “and the people you’re with, they’re all scared and stiff.” Liedel


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11. “Blackhole”

It’s easy to forget how dark and fatalistic Mellow Gold plays. The wall of acoustic guitars on “Blackhole” have their strings all tuned to one note, evoking a broken quality, and at times they’re strummed wildly enough to suggest the whole track might come apart at its seams. It’s an appropriate visual considering that, in describing what sounds like an disjointed anecdote of child homelessness, Beck uses “Blackhole” to conclude his debut’s dreamlike vision of outcasts and subculturalists living on society’s most remote fringes. Liedel


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10. “Devils Haircut”

Odelay is an immediate kind of listening experience, opening up with the spiny, octave-leaping guitar riff that chugs through “Devils Haircut” and never looking back. As a preamble to the surreal world of music and imagery that follows, the track finds Beck arriving with his “briefcase blues,” describing guns, orgies, lepers, and devils over the hammer of a ringing chain-gang percussion, clearly establishing himself as our tour guide in this mixed-up wasteland. Liedel


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9. “Beercan”

Rare as they are, some uplifting messages do escape from Mellow Gold, though none as resigned as “Beercan.” Beck is in full-on slacker mode here, a forgotten soul content to simply hang with his friends and dance. Even in his acceptance of mediocrity, however, the wonderfully bizarre reigns: “Don’t be kind, don’t be rude,” he advises, right before the song’s midsection arrives, marrying samples of a mariachi band, heavy-metal screeches, and the Care Bears cartoon. Liedel


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9. “Dark Star”

Beck’s collaborations with producer Nigel Goodrich typically result in rich, multilayered excursions into folk and baroque pop. His 2006 album The Information proved to be an exception, or at least a broadening of that definition, with songs like “Cellphone’s Dead” and “Dark Star” meshing the sample-heavy sound collages of Beck’s work with the Dust Brothers and Goodrich’s more refined, spatial production style and Eno-esque inclinations. The latter track is driven by an ominous, whispered rap—“Loners waste away inside vacant locations/Think tanks empty, international dream bank”—set to turntable scratches, swooning strings, and a measured, reverb-drenched beat that sounds like it was lifted from a Massive Attack album. Sal Cinquemani


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7. “The New Pollution”

Upon first listen, “The New Pollution” plays like a continuation of Beck’s sexual obsessions from “Nitemare Hippy Girl,” only now the crunchy and slightly psychotic crush next door has become an iteration of the manic pixie dream girl. The woman at the center of “The New Pollution” is, however, more likely a personification of Odelay’s surrealism, a dazzling specter accompanied by flourishes of ’60s-style Britpop percussion and soft-filtered saxophones. As always, it’s Beck’s reaction to this deranged but seductive avatar that really carries the song: equal parts astonishment and fear. Liedel


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6. “Jack-Ass”

Strangely enough, Beck is at his sweetest when he’s tired, and “Jack-Ass” is nothing if not exhausted. Yet it’s also completely satisfied, a moment where its creator can look back on his creation with pride. Though he might be stumbling along to the track’s loop of shimmering xylophones and flutes, sounding every bit a man twice his age, Beck’s voice carries an undeniable note of comfort, perhaps fulfilled at having just knitted Odelay together. Liedel


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5. “Think I’m In Love”

Parts of 2006’s The Information are full of Odelay-style playfulness, effusively incorporating samples and down-home acoustics with hip-hop beats. Except Beck’s voice no longer brims with the same blithe indifference. At times, he sounds downright in pain: “What if it’s wrong?/What if it’s wrong/To pray in vain?” he sings on “Think I’m In Love,” a rebound anthem that turns burgeoning romance into a potential wreck. Paul Schrodt


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4. “Lonesome Tears”

On Sea Change, an album almost exclusively composed of heart-on-sleeve ballads of loss, longing, and regret, “Lonesome Tears” may be the darkest and most devastating number, its lyrics so achingly hopeless (“How could this love, ever-turning, never turn its eye on me?/How could this love, ever-changing, never change the way I feel?”) that Beck could have easily toppled into self-pity. Rather than restrain the melodrama, he doubled down by augmenting the song with a spacey, soaring orchestral score written by his father, David Campbell. The gambit works: “Lonesome Tears” is a towering testament to the indestructible echoes of emotional pain, a sentiment reflected in an “I Am the Walrus”-esque coda that endlessly builds to a heaven it can never reach. Rowin


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3. “Loser”

Over 25 years removed from “Loser,” it seems almost ludicrous to suggest that Beck was once in danger of having this raw, rambling single shackle him to one-hit-wonder status. Today it serves not as Beck’s greatest achievement, but a wonderfully strange, folksy, and sitar-drenched introduction to his world, not to mention containing his most quintessential axiom: “In the time of chimpanzees, I was a monkey.” Liedel


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2. “Guess I’m Doing Fine”

For many, the sheer power of Sea Change’s heartbreaking confessions has staked it out as Beck’s most unassailable album. The track “Guess I’m Doing Fine” is itself a dusky narrative of loss, revealing how self-delusion can be its own tragedy. “Now I bade a friend farewell, I can do whatever pleases me,” Beck drawls, his attempts to minimalize his breakup with fiancée Leigh Limon producing a hollow optimism, that, paired with the track’s slow, deliberate guitars, is both desperate and devastating. Liedel


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1. “Where It’s At”

Of many strong contenders, “Where It’s At” claims the top spot because it finds Beck at his most confident, wheeling and dealing his way around the ’70s music scene and post-Vietnam America while beckoning all likeminded desperados to gather in the desert for the party of the century. The track’s wonderfully lazy, liquid guitar riff might be enough of an invite alone, but Beck’s come-hithers are just as smooth, including the most accurate description of his own music ever uttered: “Jig-saw jazz and the get-fresh flow.” Liedel

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