Word: becks
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...Beck didn’t mind. He gave the third part of the call-and-response section, anyway: “Going on, feeling strong!” Ten years ago, those words had an ironic tone, poking fun at jock jams and new age self-help tapes. But now, oddly enough, they rang true. And that was beautiful...
...like a lazy rehash of Beck’s tried-and-true genre-hopping, the show was a post-post-post-post-modern regurgitation of a regurgitation of a million musical genres, spewed out with equal parts wild abandon and focused control. It was a post-Scientology, ultra-relaxed Beck doing an amazing impression of Beck. And he knew how to rock a body...
Guero’s “Black Tambourine” kicked it all off. Bassist Dan Rothchild thumped with premonition while Beck gently swayed in shaggy clothes and a floppy hat that could have been in some futurist version of the Rolling Thunder Revue. Then Justin Stanley’s guitars galloped in and out-of-control hype-man Ryan Faulkner pranced around like…well, like Beck, circa...
Stage antics abounded as well. Near the end of the set, Beck announced that a dinner party would be taking place on stage, and sure enough, the band sat down at a makeshift table and ate while the man played a lovingly acoustic rendition of the ridiculous sex jam “Debra?...
...even mean?” Eventually the band started clinking their plates and glasses in rhythm, and the dinner party became some mutated version of recent B-side “Clap Hands.” Some of the assembled masses did more than clap their hands, though, as Beck invited at least a dozen random crowd members onstage to dance through “E-Pro” and “Get Real Paid” in the encore...