We’re All Losers, Baby: Beck Played All the Hits at Pitchfork Music Festival

Photo credit: Ellie Pritts

The first day of Pitchfork Music Festival is full of a lot of exciting questions—what clever T-shirt should I wear? Do I have enough product in my hair? Is it socially acceptable to chug an IPA?—but mainly, it’s the day when everybody gets into Chicago, settles in, observes the who’s who of social influencers on Twitter, and sees some great music. Because the fact is that the indie-publication-that-could consistently produces one of the better festivals of the year, curated with a balanced lineup of critical favorites and solid performers—and one that’s not full of an obnoxious amount of douchebags on molly who spill beer on you while waiting for the night’s headliner.

This year, the first night gave us Beck, a figure who’s kind of become the music dad of people who like to wear cardigans over the past two decades (I don’t mean that as an insult, by the way, because I love wearing cardigans). His musical career is one that, regardless if you enjoy his music or not, demands your respect. Since the early 90s, dude has released a dozen records—each one venturing into new territory, flirting with computers and electric guitars and rap rock and partying and acoustic guitars and, of course, broken hearts. Earlier this year, he released his most recent album, Morning Phase, the follow-up to his essay of feeling terrible about life, Sea Change. It’s a great record, one that slipped by internet a little bit, but that’s not surprising because Beck is somewhat like oxygen—always around and giving us life, despite us not really thinking about him too often.

But, that said, Morning Phase is a pretty boring record—as most beautiful records tend to be—and one that wouldn’t translate too well to turning shit up on the first night of a music festival, even if the festival is one that is all about Appreciating The Music. Thankfully, Beck realized this, and rather than delivering a set full of shit that no one really knows, dude busted out songs from across his discography. He opened with “Devil’s Haircut,” which came out in 1996 (which was probably about the time half of the attendees of the festival were born) and didn’t stop there. We got “Get Real Paid,” “Chemtrails,” “Sexx Laws,” and, obviously, “Loser.”

Many people have written this dude off for the past decade because of his artsy bullshit, and coming into the night I wondered if we’d see him project some sheet music while he performed upside down or something, but instead, he was just delivered a badass rock show. Beck was Beck. He wore a Beck hat. He danced a Beck dance. He played a Beck guitar. He wore a Beck shirt. If Beck released his first record today, no one would give a shit. But throughout his career, he’s made himself into something. It’s bizarre because, despite objectively being sort of lame and sort of boring and sort of a Scientologist, he still manages to just be cool as fuck. It’s effortless, yet so perfectly planned. There’s something about his music that’s intangible, something that makes me want to lean back in a bean bag and smoke a joint and kiss a girl and hold someone’s hand and drink a beer and wear a cool shirt and strut down the street and do all of those things again. Like all great artists, Beck has made being Beck the best thing about Beck. And he does it for us.

Setlist:
Devil’s Haircut
Black Tambourine
Soul of a Man
Gamma Ray
I Think I’m in Love / I Feel Love
(Donna Summer cover)
Blue Moon
Lost Cause
Loser
Get Real Paid
Soldier Jane
Chemtrails
Heart Is a Drum
Wave
Waking Light
Girl
E-Pro
Encore:
Sexx Laws
Debra
Where It’s At > One Foot In The Grave > Miss You > Where It’s At

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