#stephen becker

The album opens with its most immediately gratifying songs. “Bad Idea” has a sunny, flowing melodicism that eases the listener into Gravity Blanket’s dense, detailed soundworld. “Careless” chugs along with fuzzy, palm-muted guitar that bursts forth into strident lead lines. “Mt Olive” offers similar catharsis, breaking out of its gentle, see-sawing acoustic guitars into a cacophony of saxophone and electric guitar. At their core, many of the songs are accessible and easy on the ear. Elsewhere, “I’ll See You Around” expands Becker’s palette into queasy, King Krule-style jazz, with some delicious, Thundercat-esque bass flourishes. To counterbalance the lush production on many of the other songs, “Midair” is pared back to guitar and voice, “Sinking” to synth and voice. “Nerve” climaxes with distorted vocals that contrast markedly with the calming coo Becker deploys elsewhere.

One criticism of Becker’s approach is that he tends to generate interest via his colorful, dynamic arrangements, while vocally he can get stuck in a rut, resorting to a word-dense rhythmic delivery that doesn’t offer much in the way of memorable vocal melodies. Nevertheless, there’s plenty of ear-candy across Gravity Blanket’s tracklist to keep the pop-hungry listener sated.

Middle Child Syndrome holds a similar appeal to 2022’s A Calm That Shifts — which I praised for “how subtly it insinuates its way into your consciousness” — but this one feels more elusive, fidgety, and uncertain. “Pause and Reason” opens the album with a sharp intake of breath, the sound of a record button being pressed, and a count-in. But rather than launching straight in, there’s a twinkling cloud of hesitant synthesizer tones. When the song does kick off with its forcefully strummed acoustic and fuzz guitars, there’s already uncertainty behind the bravado.

The tellingly titled “Waste Away” is a brisk, cut-time country strut with an existential crisis woven into the words. Likewise, though “Spray Paint” has an undeniably jaunty bounce to the music, on the chorus Becker sings, “I’m not sure if anyone is listening / Does it even count if no one’s there to be a witness?” At the end of side A, “Range” gives Becker a more sparse and pensive musical environment to reflect upon his anxieties, with some lovely vocal harmonies from Alena Spranger: “I’m not lost, I’m just outside my range / I’m not lost, I’m just a little spaced.” It’s a welcome change of pace, punctuated by some surprising production details, such as string swells and whirring effects.

On side B, “I Held An Echo” see-saws delicately between lonely minor-key verses and heartening major-key choruses backed by Katie Von Schleicher. “Picturing Cosmos” feels like a country cousin of “Waste Away,” but more down-tempo and lo-fi, with aching cries of pedal steel to counterbalance the rhythm section’s reluctant trudge. “Signal” strips things right back to guitar and voice, the vocal melody tightly following the guitar as the edges of the mix are troubled by percussive details, piano stabs, and atmospheric rumbling. The song builds, trying to break out of its entropy, only to fall back into its original form, followed by a curious vaporwave outro. “Ought” echoes the fuzzy, driving sway of “Pause and Reason,” with more self-doubt and personal dissection in the chorus: “I’m thinking I’m not who I ought to be.”

The closing track, “Fury,” offers a neat summation of the album’s themes and charms. Lonely descending electric guitar lines and Becker’s voice are buoyed along by melancholy woodwinds, but only for so long. “It’s OK you didn’t graduate,” Becker coos, “You just had other plans.” A final relieved outbreath, and it’s over. For 37 minutes Becker has a captive listener. Sounds like he could use one.

Though A Calm That Shifts is his solo debut, Becker’s involved in a long list of other bands, including Market, who put out the very fine The Consistent Brutal Bullshit Gong earlier in the year. Becker makes explicit reference to his involvement in other people’s projects on “Secondary Player” (“Let me play bass!”), while his lyrics play with the idea of blending into scenarios and patiently allowing situations to unfold rather than forcing matters. It gives the impression of a creative force both formidable and humble. 

Take “Unspoken,” for instance. It’s built around a deceptively simple see-sawing pair of acoustic guitar chords: a gorgeous, open major-seventh and its relative minor. Becker occasionally throws in some subtle passing chords to spice up the recipe, then when the song feels like it’s wrapping up, a drum machine fades into the picture. The song then takes a surprising left turn into a rhythmically complex coda, chock full of instrumental counterpoint, including piano and chugging bass. On an album full of wonderfully constructed instrumental parts, it’s perhaps A Calm That Shift’s finest moment. “Unspoken” is also a telling title given that Becker leads most of his songs from the front. Vocal melodies are afforded prominence, so when there’s an instrumental break, such as the blaringly loud electric guitar at the end of “Water In My Eyes,” it really stands out. Crisp drum parts also make a welcome addition to serpentine single “Disappearing Hand,” and finale “Home Isn’t Home” clearly doffs its cap to Phil Selway’s distinctive drum part from Radiohead’s “Weird Fishes/Arpeggi.”   

A Calm That Shifts’ greatest strength is how subtly it insinuates its way into your consciousness. Gently expansive and modestly understated, these songs are both familiar and addictively unconventional.