Beak>’s fourth studio album is a return to the dogma of the first, where overdubs are for squares and playing for the sake of it is prioritised over too much spit and polish. The trio of Invada stalwarts – with a little help from Geoff Barrow’s much missed dog Alfie firing lasers from his eyes on the cover – have released an album of “head music” (according to the press release) with nine songs that should be listened to “as an album, not as individual songs”. In line with this thinking, there were no previous singles or advanced promos or videos, meaning >>>> free falls from the sky on a random Tuesday with no fanfare.
That lack of fussiness fits in with the ethos of the self-titled debut that came out in 2009, even if by releasing a surprise album it draws attention to itself like a passive aggressive child might. The Beak debut also went by the more cumbersome name of Recordings 05/01/09 > 17/01/09 to give the listener an authentic sense of the labour that went into it, and much of the press at the time focused on the group being the antithesis of Portishead, especially in regards to the level of care that went into the production on Dummy.
Despite this mooted return to basics, >>>> is a more accomplished record than its feted cult predecessor, mainly by virtue of the fact that these men have a certain telepathy now from playing together for so many years. For an album with apparently no frills, their fourth isn’t half proggy in places, especially the Pink Floyd-esque ‘Hungry Are We’. There’s certainly nothing wrong with that, and making a statement about the sanctity of the album as a monolith is to be applauded in the pervading, invidious culture of streaming, though there’s a risk that a) their insistence on capturing the sound in the room begins to look like plain old showing off when the playing itself is executed with such adroitness, despite the austere limitations, and that b) the didacticism will incite accusations of them being grumpy old men. You suspect they can take it.
On the other hand, the evenly-weighted importance placed on each track with no favourites demonstrates a confidence in the material, and it’s a confidence that is warranted. Beak> will be playing this album as a complete set when they hit the road in November, the first time they’ve performed an album in full. While they would prefer not to break these songs up, the job of any reviewer is to identify strengths and weaknesses, so here goes.
Musically, >>>> is as strong throughout as the vocals are characteristically for the birds. Opener ‘Strawberry Line’ is a sobering start with a funereal organ existing in its own space for a minute and a half before the lamentations commence. Even arpeggiated synths arrive before Barrow’s Lieberzeitian drumming, coming in half way into an eight minute track. It continues to build with the listener’s excitement, ramping up tension in the same way that, say, ‘Five Years’ by Bowie sets everything up, letting you know that that is less a pop album and more an opera.
‘The Seal’ that follows is so beholden to Can that you keep expecting Damo Suzuki to put in a posthumous appearance somehow. Later on comes some pleasingly disarming wonk, with synths threatening to unravel and fall completely out of tune on the dolorous ‘Denim’, while the tubular and fuzzy ‘Secrets’ feels like it might melt into a large gloop somewhere in the mid-frequency. >>>> arrives out of nowhere and it’s a fine addition to the canon, made all the more amenable by the cleverly engineered surprise of it all. And seeing the whole album played live in November might be even better. Just don’t expect them to wear capes.
