In 2002, the usually-lovable, weird, funny funky man Beck Hansen released unto the world Sea Change, an album that would prove to be the complete antithesis of everything anybody had ever thought Beck was.
The twelve tracks were written in 2000 after Beck's then-fiancee, with whom he'd been in a relationship for nine years, left him for some jabroni. Beck let the songs collect dust for a couple years until one day when he came across them and presumably thought, "Oh man, this is gonna fuck
everyone up."
Given its history, it's no shocker that Sea Change is one big Debbie Downer. (Actually, since it's Beck, more like a
Debra Downer, amirite? No? Fine.) It's filled with songs of sadness, isolation, depression, and other words that would make a sane man frown, like "remorse" or "gloom" or "your cat just died in a fire that also killed your parents."
It wasn't until 2019 that I first learned of the record - something I am ashamed to admit, being a fan of Beck. (Midnite Vultures makes my top 10 desert island favorite albums with a bullet.) I suppose it was fate, though - that I would be introduced to the most heartbreaking album known to man while dealing with a bout of my own kinda-sorta heartbreak. But make no mistake - Sea Change isn't here to comfort you during your time of grief. No, it's there to wallow right alongside you, crying in your arms as you cry in its, staring with you out the window at the eternally overcast sky from which raindrops that may as well be hail-sized tears fall.
In case I've yet to make it clear, Sea Change is not a good post-breakup album.
Although, I suppose that depends on just exactly what you're looking for when it comes to post-breakup music. If you want to have your spirits lifted, go give the aforementioned Midnite Vultures a listen, or if you're not in a Beck sort of mood then I don't know, put on "Walking On Sunshine." Whatever. I'm not like that, though. I'm a miserable fuck. A bitter old codger. When I have my heart broken, I want my face rubbed in it. I want someone to stab me in the stomach with the remaining shards of my heart while berating me and screaming, "You like that, you miserable piece of shit!?" That's how I deal with sadness. I want at least five ten-gallon buckets to fill with the tears I will violently force myself to shed. I want all of the whisky in all of the liquor stores in the tri-state area. I want 24/7 darkness and for everyone who dares cross my path to feel at least half as shitty as I do.
Naturally, Sea Change gave my masochistic brand of depression a big fat boner.
The soon-to-be bane of my existence
Upon listening to the album I did a little bit of research into it and came across
this absolute gem of an article wherein the author makes the horrible decision to listen to Sea Change thrice daily for a week. Please read this article in its entirety, as it is wonderful in every possible way. I was so personally moved by it, in fact, that I decided to give myself a similarly self-loathing challenge: to listen to Sea Change as many times as I possibly could (but
at least three times a day) over the course of
a full week.
And then came a minor addendum, in the form of a short question: Why stop there?
Why should I rely solely on Sea Change to indulge my self-destruction? Why not branch out to other equally-depressing albums? Shit, why stop at music? I could watch the most emotionally devastating movies. I could visit local places with tragic histories. I could read essays and letters and short stories that most people recommend staying away from unless you're into things that will ruin your day, week, month, and life.
Yeah. Yeah! What an idea, right? Sea Change will be the preface to my misery, and then I'll top that with something even bleaker, and so on and so forth until I look in the mirror and see some bastardized amalgam of Edgar Allan Poe and Elliott Smith staring back at me. Screw doing this for one measly week - I'm doing this sporadically for the rest of 2019.
God help me.
WEEK ONE!
DAY 1 - WEDNESDAY
It's the first full day after what so many couples call D-Day, although that's admittedly dramatic in my case. While I won't go into detail, the circumstances of my kinda-sorta heartbreak sort of belie the words "breakup" and "couple." But it doesn't matter whether you're actually dating someone - if the two of you have strong feelings for each other and the ugly truth is that it simply was not meant to be, heartbreak is bound to ensue. Maybe not on the same scale as divorce after thirty-odd years, but heartbreak nonetheless. And heartbreak blows. There's no easy way around it. You're going to feel a massive weight in your chest as if an ice giant broke into your house and decided to spend a few weeks sitting on you, crushing your chest cavity with its cold ass just enough that you're still alive, but barely. You won't be able to get a wink of sleep. You're going to want to drink - heavily. And you're going to keep glancing at your phone, hoping that the other party will say something - anything - that'll bring the two of you back together and make it so that none of this has ever happened and you're both going to be alright after all.
Of course, that last bit never actually happens.
But I'm on a tangent. Let's get back to our regularly scheduled misery.
The first track on Sea Change is "The Golden Age," and the first chord will shatter your already shattered heart. God, right from the get-go this record tells you just exactly what it is and just exactly what's in store for you should you continue to subject your ears to such despair. But I'm
going to subject my ears to that despair, because I tend to make bad choices.
"The Golden Age" is a great opening track. It's melancholic, sure, but in a sort of welcoming way, like how a ghost might greet you with a smile as you enter its haunted house, even though said ghost has every intention of spending the next hour scaring the living crap out of you.
As of
8:34 pm it is my sixth time today listening to "The Golden Age," and it's just started raining outside. The weatherman's calling for thunder tonight. A torrential downpour. How fitting.
"These days I barely get by," Beck wails in my ear. "I don't even try." And then it's onto track two: "Paper Tiger."
This one's super catchy - smooth, groovy, with an insane string orchestra and wild bassline - and without its lyrics of sheer anguish, you might think it's not quite as depressing as it really is. Actually, the fact that it's so catchy is almost a curse - the last thing you want to do is sing along while your cheeks are soaked and your already-off-key voice is cracking like you're going through a second puberty. It's a confusing time, for sure. And "Paper Tiger," despite maybe being the best track on Sea Change, certainly isn't helping.
8:57 pm
I'm out of whisky, but the heavy downpour added to the amount of alcohol already coursing through my veins added to the gut-wrenching last line of "Paper Tiger" - "But there's no road back to you" - is making me think twice about taking a trip to the liquor store to refuel.
9:45 pm
I took a trip to the liquor store to refuel.
As if driving in the pouring rain while slightly inebriated wasn't already a pretty bad idea, I opted to play the oh-so-upbeat "Guess I'm Doing Fine" on repeat for the whole drive there. As I paid for 1.75 liters of Black Velvet (no, this is not a plug), the cashier gave me a look both of sympathy and annoyance - the former because it was obvious that I'd been an absolute wreck, and the latter because closing time was right around the corner and, seriously, who's this disheveled jackass coming in so late in the middle of a storm just to get his booze fix?
I feel for the girl. I really do. I hope she gets off early tonight and that during her ride home, she chooses to listen to something peppy. "Walking On Sunshine" maybe. Anything but Sea Change.
And don't it feel bad
DAY 2 - THURSDAY
11:20 am
I awoke around eight this morning but didn't even bother trying to summon the energy to physically get out of bed, so I passed out for three more hours, which were three hours I could've spent listening to Sea Change at least three times. I could have gotten today's challenge out of the way before noon. But last night's plunge into alcoholic hedonism proved to be more sleep-inducing than I had expected - but maybe that's a
good thing...
During these days of misery of mine I am to subject myself to more than just Sea Change, right? Right. I am to make myself feel as horrible as possible. That's the goal, yeah? Yeah.
One of the most awful cocktails in existence is the Prairie Oyster, an ancient alleged hangover cure that will probably make you vomit before it makes you feel better. Actually, maybe that's the point.
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| (not my pic) |
Yikes.
Today I will imbibe my first (and likely last) prairie oyster.
Now, normally I'm not prone to getting excessively hungover, but last night I didn't simply dance with the devil known as whisky - no, we made red hot passionate love complete with all sorts of weird and wild kinks. And now I'm paying for it. This is my punishment for the double-sin of premarital sex with a demon. And such a punishment must be doubly-dealt as well - with both the hangover, and the prairie oyster.
11:39 am
That wasn't so bad.
In true Spike Spiegel fashion, I held my nose while the disgusting concoction went down the hatch, so maybe that's why it didn't taste as goddamned awful as I'm sure it actually was.
7:47 pm
The fact that a song called "Lonesome Tears" follows the painfully bleak "Guess I'm Doing Fine" makes me think that Beck actively and intentionally set out to break his listeners. Is Beck Hansen a robot that runs on human tears? Or is he like the monsters in Monsters Inc. and he can only get his dick up by making people want to slit their wrists?
That's what that movie was about, right? It's been a while.
DAY 3 - FRIDAY
10:03 am
I've awoken to some shocking news.
For the last three days, I have been living a lie. ("It's only lies that I'm living," is actually a direct lyric from "Guess I'm Doing Fine," but I swear that wasn't intentional. Or was it?) I reread the article I had linked earlier - the one that inspired me to do this loathsome charade to begin with - and noticed that the author had mentioned a song called "End of the Day." After perusing the track list of my 100% legally-obtained copy of Sea Change, I noticed that such a track does not appear. Panicking, I went straight to the album's Wikipedia page, only to find that my copy of Sea Change simply had a different track title for "End of the Day."
Phew.
But then, to my horror, I saw that Sea Change has
a thirteenth bonus track.
AAAAAARRRGGGGGRHHHFGHGSHGSHJ
No. This can't be real. A bonus track? How could I have missed this!? I feel like a fraud. Like a schmuck. Like a loser, baby, so why don't you kill me. My head is spinning. I need to remedy this, but can I really? The damage has already been done. For the last three days, I have merely been listening to twelve-thirteenths of an album. That's 92.3%, according to Google. 92.3% of Sea Change. That's it. A full album 92.3% is not.
Should I give up now? Throw in the towel? Call it quits? No. The show must go on. There's only one thing I can do now.
I need to listen to "Ship in the Bottle," track #13 on Sea Change, twenty-seven times in a row.
12:31 pm
I have to admit, these past few days I have learned that there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. Having Sea Change on constant repeat basically all day has taught me this. Look, I love the album, I really do - it's steadily creeping into my top five all-time favorite records, in fact - but it has adequately played the part of Novocaine during these first days of my masochistic months of misery. I am sufficiently numb. I am tragically emotionless. I am rendered a robot, incapable of feeling. I need to move on to the next depressing thing before I go full neutral.
12:45 pm
Okay, strike that. The show must go on. I challenged myself to one full week of Sea Change, and I'll stay true to it. One week. Four more days. Please send help.
1:37 pm
I haven't talked about "Lost Cause" yet. It's the kind of little ditty you'd wanna learn on guitar and play for a weeping coffee house during acoustic open mic Wednesday. That's really all I wanted to say about "Lost Cause."
..........
Okay.
In 2014, the usually-lovable, weird, funny funky man Beck Hansen released unto the world Morning Phase, an album that would prove to be the complete antithesis of everything anybody had ever thought Beck was, apart from that one time twelve years prior when he made the world commit mass suicide with the whole Sea Change thing.
Deja vu, right?
Beck himself would describe Morning Phase as "a companion piece to Sea Change." So it's basically a sequel, right? Or an offshoot at the very least, yeah?
Okay, so, bearing that in mind, it would only make sense for me to spend the second half of the first week of my months of misery listening to Morning Phase, wouldn't it? And I'm totally not just using this as an excuse to stop bathing in my own tears while listening to "Already Dead" on repeat. Definitely not.
Do your worst, Morning Phase.
Morning Phase is a nice change of pace from Sea Change. It's still sad as shit, sure, but it's a
tad more hopeful than its predecessor. Which makes sense, considering Beck was married and had two kids when it came out. Dude wasn't nearly as depressed as he was when he wrote the downtrodden tracks on Sea Change. Plus this album doesn't have a secret fucking bonus track that I wouldn't find out about until halfway through the week. So there's also that.
It kicks off with "Cycle," a beautiful forty-two second instrumental strings arrangement that leads into "Morning," which is basically "The Golden Age" on emotional steroids. But like I said, this album is slightly more hopeful than Sea Change, and "Morning" kind of gives off that vibe. It might make you cry, but they'd be less miserable tears than the ones you shed with Sea Change. Hell, if Sea Change cries with you, Morning Phase pats you on the back and gives you its last cigarette.
Anyway, yeah. I'll let you know when I get sick of this album as the days progress.
7:12 pm
Peep this shit:
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| (Keep in mind that some play counts don't match due to the number of times I listened to the album on my phone, sitting in my car, parked in the driveway, forehead pressed against the steering wheel as the horn blared in my ears and I sort of just let it happen.) |
I know I said that I'd put a pin in Sea Change in favor of Morning Phase, but I just can't get enough of "Paper Tiger," man. I mean, look at that play count. Forty-six times. I said goddamn. My goal is to hit a hundy by midnight. And then I'll get back to Morning Phase. I promise. Scout's honor.
DAY 4 - SATURDAY
1:01 am
I only made it to 65 plays of "Paper Tiger." Oh well. Back to Morning Phase.
9:46 am
I had a cup of coffee this morning (phase) and for the first time in eons I didn't put any sugar or milk in it. I just stared down at the dark, hot, bitter liquid and saw my own unfeeling reflection on its undisturbed surface, and then I downed the worst coffee I've ever had in my life. Plus I bit my tongue. Anyway, I've gone back to Sea Change because I'm as indecisive as I am dead inside.
9:59 am
lol, 69
2:59 papertiger
Paper Tiger paper. paper paper tiger? Tiger paper, paper, tiger. Paper Tiger, Paper. Tiger paper tiger paper; paper tiger. Paper Tiger? Paper Tiger.
3:08 pm
Let's play a game. Not in a weird Jigsaw sort of way; this one's fun, I promise.
Atop one of my speakers I've got three Lego minifigures set up, because I'm a child. They are, from left to right, the Flash, Captain America, and John Wick. Here they are in all of their plastic glory:
I also have googly eyes on my speaker, also because I'm a child
Whenever I play anything too loud, be it a movie or a song or Debbie Does Dallas for the umpteenth time, the speaker vibrates so much that all three 'figs move all over the place, as if dancing to whatever I'm blasting. In today's case, that would be Morning Phase. Weird album to dance to, but you do you, little minifigs.
Anyway. Let's see how long it takes for them to fall to their death.
3:16 pm
Not much happened during "Cycle," but toward the end of "Morning" Captain America made a clean forty-five-degree counter-clockwise turn, which is pretty impressive. Flash rather uncharacteristically looks as if he's slowly easing his way toward the ledge. John Wick, meanwhile, is as stoic and unfaltering as ever.
3:18 pm
RIP Barry Allen. Danced himself to death. What a way to go.
Honestly, I probably should have seen this coming with a loud beat-beat-beating song like "Heart is a Drum." I have nobody but myself to blame.
Also, I guess maybe this is a Jigsaw sort of game.
3:40 pm
Yeesh, the song "Wave" from Morning Phase is more miserable and depressing than all of Sea Change combined. The lyrics literally devolve into nothing but the word "ISOLATION" wailed four times in a drawn-out, somber drone. You could be in Times Square at 11:59 pm on December 31st and this song would make you feel completely alone.
DAY 5 - SUNDAY
4:45 am
Well, it looks like I put that depraved game of Lego Russian Roulette on hold yesterday and made the wise decision to get drunk instead. But there's good news! See that number up there? Right between "DAY" and "SUNDAY"? Yeah. That's the number five. My favorite number. Even more so now, because it means I only have two more days of this nonsense.
3:16 pm
It's a quarter past three and I've yet to listen to a single song off Change or Phase all day. It's the longest I've gone all week without torturing myself. Do I feel good? No. "Good" is not an option at this point. I am beyond "good." I long ago passed the point of no return for "good," like a tired, defunct DeLorean being pushed by a massive steam engine to reach 88 miles per hour and then vanish in a burst of flames and hopelessness.
DAY 6 - MONDAY
3:55 am
Recently it has come to my attention that the song "Little One" has a play count nearly as high as that of "Paper Tiger." I can't even remember the last time I played "Paper Tiger" in full, but I can tell you the last time I listened to "Little One": just a few minutes ago. And then again after that.
What I'm trying to say is...
12:24 pm
This will be the final update of that weird Lego SAW thing I started on Saturday:
Apparently John Wick is invincible in any form he takes
I think we all know where this is going. So long, Cap.
2:58 pm
Since I clearly can't choose between Sea Change and Morning Phase, I've mashed both albums together to make a Beckenstein's monster that I'm calling Mourning Change. It consists of the eighteen most devastating tracks from both records, in the following order:
- Cycle (Morning Phase)
- The Golden Age (Sea Change)
- Say Goodbye (MP)
- Guess I'm Doing Fine (SC)
- Lonesome Tears (SC)
- Blue Moon (MP)
- Lost Cause (SC)
- Paper Tiger (SC)
- Unforgiven (MP)
- Already Dead (SC)
- End of the Day (SC)
- Wave (MP)
- Round the Bend (SC)
- All In Your Mind (SC)
- Side of the Road (SC)
- Don't Let It Go (MP)
- Phase (MP)
- Little One (SC)
- Everybody's Got to Learn Sometime
Oh, I'm sorry, did I say there were eighteen tracks? I totally forgot about the bonus track. How silly of me. I'll sure never let that happen again.
But check out that order. "Cycle" segues perfectly into "The Golden Age," and then the five tunes that follow are pure, organic, grass-fed despair. You'll notice that "Paper Tiger," which was the second track on Sea Change, doesn't make an appearance until eight songs in. That's because you have to work for it. You want "Paper Tiger?" Stupid question; of course you do. Well, guess what buddy? You're gonna have to wade through a thick sea of your own tears and mucus to get to it. Welcome to the real world, bub.
Track 12 is that miserable droning "Wave" I mentioned earlier, because everything between that and "Paper Tiger" was significantly less depressing than you deserved, so now depression's taking the wheel and driving you off a cliff and into the ocean where this Wave will carry you to your watery demise.
And the final song (before the bonus track) is "Little One," because much like "Paper Tiger," you gotta earn it.
Beck's cover of "Everybody's Got to Learn Sometime" from the Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind soundtrack may not be Sea Change or Morning Phase, but it's fitting for two reasons: a) it's Beck, and b) it's sad.
So there you have it. Load up Spotify, compile the Mourning Change playlist, and give this bad boy a listen, you miserable fuck.
Man, look at me. I'm like a professional DJ, constructing a list of songs meticulously placed in just the right order to get the crowd going. Except instead of dancing to Mourning Change, people will probably just want to read The Bell Jar and stain its pages with their tears.
And I'm going to play it over and over and over until midnight tomorrow.
6:16 pm
I take it back. Mourning Change was a bad idea. This whole thing was a bad idea. I want to die, but I think I may already be dead.
9:45 pm
Mourning Change is far more emotionally draining than I thought it would be. It's too powerful. I fear that if the government were to get hold of it, they could use it as a weapon of mass depression and wipe weep out billions in one fell swoop. I feel like the guy who invented the nuke, or how Hitler's parents must have felt.
What have I done? What have I created? And it's too late to stop it. It's self-sustaining now. It's growing, all on its own. Already I see Elliott Smith's "Needle in the Hay" appear on the playlist, but I didn't put it there. "Cat's in the Cradle" has just materialized out of thin air. "Tears in Heaven." "Landslide." Oh, God, no - Sarah McLachlan's "Angel."
I should probably go to bed. This thing will sort itself out.
DAY 7 - TUESDAY
8:56 am
Today is like Christmas, except instead of getting something, I'm getting rid of something. No lonesome tears on this day. Well, okay, probably just a few more.
1:03 pm
I had another prairie oyster. I didn't even drink last night; I just figured it'd be a fitting way to end the week. Feeling ballsy, I didn't hold my nose this time. Feeling extra ballsy, I drank it to "End of the Day." The lyrics "It's nothing that I haven't seen before, but it still kills me like it did before" whimpered in my ear as I swallowed the drink in a single gulp.
Everything I said before about prairie oysters was wrong. They're horrible. That was horrible. That was a horrible and stupid way to end the week.
11:45 pm
Well, only fifteen minutes left 'til freedom. It's been a hell of a ride. Literally, it's been hell.
I guess I ought to close week #1 with a lesson I may or may not have learned over the past seven agonizing days. But the truth is that I have learned nothing. I will continue this marathon of self-mutilation for the remainder of this year and I guarantee I will come out of it having gained nothing at all. But if I have to come up with some kind of lesson I've allegedly learned this week, gun to my head, I suppose it'd be one or all of the following:
1. If you're going to listen to Beck, go with Midnite Vultures.
2. If you want a proper and healthy way to deal with heartbreak, go with heavy drinking.
3. Hold your nose if you're going to drink a prairie oyster, but also, don't drink prairie oysters.
4. Almost every decision you make while in the throes of misery will be bad and dumb.
and finally,
5. When illegally downloading an album, be sure to check if it has any fucking bonus tracks.
Until next time*, au revoir. Kill me now.
*actually, scratch all of this - I'm probably never doing this again. Let's just pretend I spent the next few weeks crying into pillows and then giving up on drying the pillowcases after fifteen unsuccessful cycles in the dryer. That sounds about right.
