Jacob Beck’s “Norwegia” includes a rich and immense pallet of lo-fi tones. The grit of these tones is derived from but are not limited to: sand, ash, swarf and sediment. Lacking proper facilities, I don’t know what else it’s cut with. But the landscape painted by this constitution feels truly immense, originating only from a modest handful of well-textured elements.
Sun and surf drenched vocals couple with rattling instrumentation, alchemically sprouting complimentary crystalline percussive structures. It is a neatly crafted and coarse set of molecules.
Everything wraps and warps in the subsequent reverberations, disintegrating almost as quickly as it was formed. Gliding and careening, all coherent pop forms are quickly and agreeably broken into smithereens, the detritus of which produce a fine metallic mist. After a brisk 2 minutes and 46 seconds, should everything go to plan, the form evaporates before your very eyes.
With lead guitar-strings like filament for refracted light, load up the track with your woes rattling around your head and shortly thereafter you’ll have them promptly sorted; less by way of a wash and more a sort of grind and polish. Well forged, “Norwegia” is a real fine track that brings Beck’s First Collection to a close.
Plainly & Painfully 