Every Loser wins

TO THIS day, Beck Hansen’s debut appearance on Top Of The Pops in early 1994 with Loser remains one of the most memorable interludes in the history of that much-missed flagship music programme.

Traditionally, bands and artistes who have wanted to cause a televisual sensation on the programme in question have gone down the glammed-up or dressed-down route – ie, glitter, sequins and explosions, or acres of naked flesh – but Beck’s decision to usher on a backing band composed entirely of decrepit, extravagantly bearded old men was something of a masterstroke.

Furthermore, as an image it seemed to dovetail perfectly with the song’s broken, off-kilter dustbowl shuffle.

At that time, Beck’s expanded vocabulary of rustic (or positively rusted) Americana, Dylanesque surrealism, hardcore punk, cracked and cynical hip-hop beats and bendy psychedelia seemed altogether new, refreshing and daring.

We’ve become used to such mix ‘n’ match eclecticism in the intervening years of course, and some would argue that Loser’s influence on the burgeoning ‘slacker’ culture was nothing but pernicious, but this fails to take into account Beck’s old-fashioned work ethic and the sheer amount of craft and graft which went into sounding so random, louche and lazy.

Thinking about it, there’s a whole bunch of Beck singles which I probably prefer to Loser in the bigger picture – the pulverising Devil’s Haircut with its canny sample of the riff from I Can Only Give You Everything, the sleazy, sinuous Where It’s At, the sunny and loping Tropicalia – but Loser scampers off with the garlands because it resounds with all the thrilling inital promise of frontiers opening and boundaries being pushed back.

For my money, Beck remains one of the most interesting figures out there chipping away at the coal face: a lyricist with few credible peers, a restless spirit with a chimerical, ever-evolving style and an offhand pioneer who made the whole notion of marching to the beat of a different drum seem cool and persuasive.