CheekyChicago

“Just pretend you’re at a wedding and the sound’s actually pretty impressive!” I shout to my friend, as Beck and his ensemble work their way through a feedback-laden “Missing.” It’s my favorite song off of his Guero album. I’m trying. Granted, we’re standing way in the back of the Aragon’s genre-defying, Morocco-meets-Marriott-with-a-splash-of-Wicker-Man ballroom, but one would think they’d throw some speakers back here. After all, it’s where the beer’s at! Oh Aragon. This was my first show inside your doors and I’d been warned about your sub-par sound issues. I must admit, your magically trippy decor almost compensates for your audio rig of bubble gum and band-aids, but what really kept my mood alive was, well, Beck.

Sure, he sounds like he’s behind a tin wall, but he’s Beck, and the band’s tight, and the energy’s high, and he’s playing a generous chunk of hits as varied and category-defying as his Chicago venue’s interior. The set list lacked pretense of any sort. It’s like this: ‘We’re gonna go ahead and open with “Loser.” OK? And for a couple of hits, we’re all gonna drop our instruments and come down stage to don mic headsets and pick up samplers. Yeah. Everyone gets a sampler. Now go!’ Sometimes Beck is hip-hop, and he gets into it. Sometimes he nails rock-star guitar moments. But, mostly, it’s those underplayed vocals – delivered so calmly, yet conveying so much – that mark his complex instrumentation with a signature sound that can only be described as…Beck. By the time he played his Modern Guilt tracks and they blurred together with my view of the Aragon’s neon “Casabar” sign, I realized I’d stopped worrying about the audio. At the end of the day, it’s hard to obsess about sound when you’ve got the man who only needs two turntables and a microphone standing before you on the set of David Lynch’s Alladin. Oh, it’ll happen.