Beck - Idol of Generation X

Beck is the artist who, more than anyone else, pushed the boundaries of rock in the 90s. He's the man who took folk, blues, rock, rap, bossa nova, funk, Caribbean music and a thousand other ingredients, blending them at top speed to produce a cocktail never heard before. He's the classic anti-star, skinny, reserved, almost shy and awkward in interviews, who became a youthful idol of "Generation X" and then managed, over the years, to maintain - if not increase - the admiration of just about everyone, from the "indie" kids of later generations to mainstream listeners. Beck the character, Beck the inventor, Beck from whom miracles are expected with every release - indeed, with every song.

Let's start from the beginning. Beck Hansen was born in 1970 in Los Angeles, and music runs in the family: his father is a bluegrass musician, his mother was an actress in Andy Warhol's Factory circle, and his maternal grandfather Al Hansen was one of the leading figures of the Fluxus movement. So young Beck, from the moment he learned to talk, grew up steeped in music and curious about the avant-garde. The multiethnic makeup and show-business-saturated environment of Los Angeles did the rest.
We find the teenage Beck tossed between blues and folk, which would mark his creative starting point. At 18 he moved to New York, like a new Dylan, playing in Lower East Side clubs and becoming part of the so-called anti-folk scene of those years.

In 1990, satisfied and clearly enriched by that experience, he returned to Los Angeles and began, at just twenty years old, churning out home recording after home recording, helped by friends and playing almost all the instruments himself. There were no genre boundaries, no mental blocks of any kind. Everything was permitted, starting from blues and moving through the folk of his adolescence, truly anything and everything got pulled in.
After self-produced tapes, he released an EP, "A Western Harvest Field By Moonlight", and two albums, Golden Feelings and his real underground breakthrough, Stereopathetic Soulmanoure.
Many of these recordings were hits the moment they were born, churned out the way a baker bakes bread in the morning or the way one drinks a glass of water: as if it were the most natural thing in the world. From those kitchen-and-bedroom sessions came "Mtv Makes Me Want To Smoke Crack", a single with a programmatic title that put him on the radar of the independent scenes, which in those years were showing powerful signs of life.

But before he could even be seen emerging as an underground phenomenon, another one of those recordings - made half in earnest and mostly for fun, titled "Loser" - exploded in the world's face, suddenly becoming one of the biggest, if not the biggest, single of the 90s and catapulting him straight into superstardom.
That "Loser" is one of the biggest singles of the decade becomes clear the instant you hear it in 1993 (though the recording dates back to '91). We already know there will be singles to listen to all the way to the start of the new millennium, but none will have quite the same almost physical impact, the same innovative scope, the same dance/hip-hop-and-rock-at-once driving force, managing to avoid banality for even a single instant.
After "Loser", nothing in pop was ever the same again. The marker denoting the limit of "what's possible" was shifted a good stretch forward by a kid who was just twenty-one years old when he recorded this song.

Geffen immediately signed him on the recommendation of his friend Karl Stephenson (who took part in those sessions and also co-wrote some songs in terms of sound effects), who had been hired by the label as a producer. Stephenson, taking those recordings with minimal retouching, helped him put together his long-awaited major-label debut, titled Mellow Gold.
"Loser" opens the album with a sampled slide-guitar blues backing, a lazy drumbeat, a lyric rapped just "out of his mind" enough, and a chorus as contagious as measles, celebrating the pride of being a loser. The rest is no less remarkable - commercial and anti-commercial have never married so well. Between folk numbers clearly rooted in Dylan but relocated to the suburban wastelands where the American Dream goes to die, as in "Pay No Mind (Snoozer)", and blues contaminated by every kind of sample and sound effect, as in "Whiskeyclone, Hotel City 1997" and "Truckdrivin' Neighbors Downstairs", utterly deranged dancefloor material like "Beercan" and "Loser" itself, Indian music, rock and hip-hop scattered across a thousand tributaries - this album collects practically everything popular music had produced over the previous thirty years. All wonderfully clear and visible, yet broken apart and reassembled into ever-new shapes, at once unrecognizable and familiar.
Influences? Dylan above all, obviously, but also Devo (Beck has said he admires these two sources equally), Dinosaur Jr., noise-rock and lo-fi, Public Enemy and the lucid - amused - madness of Beastie Boys, Rolling Stones and Captain Beefheart, electronic and Indian music, but in general tons of blues and hip-hop of every stripe. Everything is filtered through the omnivorous lesson of Frank Zappa, perhaps the real common denominator/deus ex machina. Anything goes, because Beck manages to use it all as if it had always been "his" own language, having fun reassembling it in a new way every time, with the same spontaneity as a child playing with building blocks.

Generation X, straddling the 80s and 90s, also found a symbol in Beck: he's practically a nerd (or something very close to it), with his scruffy look and his (fake) shyness, mixing genres and styles with no regard for convention to create something non-mainstream that is, at the same time, mainstream but manages to hide it extremely well; his lyrics are cryptic (some would simply say clever) and just ironic enough to sing the pride of losers for a generation that was itself confused and felt like a loser. In short, he had exactly the look and the words that generation needed. The right man in the right place at the right time.
So success arrived, and thanks also to his oddball, unpredictable videos - as unpredictable as his music - Beck also became a hero of the very MTV that had once made him "want to smoke crack".

Everyone thought this artist's debut was impressive enough already, but he managed to catch everyone off guard in 1996 with his new album, Odelay. New, unexpected languages entered Beck's Esperanto, such as Latin music, 60s and 70s party music, and even more overt punk and electronics, which in his hands slotted in with unexpected naturalness alongside the pre-existing elements. Odelay is, in the opinion of many, Beck's best record, helped along by a hugely successful production collaboration with the Dust Brothers, and it's the album that definitively opened the doors of the star system to him - and listening to it, it's easy to understand why.
Aside from the fact that it manages to outdo in quality the already revolutionary debut, there's something for everyone here. "Devil's Haircut", the hit that opens the record, is a strange mix of seventies lounge-music influences, blues, samples-that-aren't-really-samples (on this album Beck doesn't sample repetitive guitar parts but - as he's said in various interviews - actually plays them that way), and analogue-sounding keyboards, always played by him in a style somewhere between lazy and jazzy.
The result is captivating and hard to forget. The next two songs, "Hotwax" and "Where It's At" [sic], lean more openly on the blues, though with the usual paradoxical flourishes constantly popping up - country, lo-fi, hip-hop, in turn. "The New Pollution", which follows, is the best track on the album, made of pure old-time party music, clearly of Brazilian derivation (that bossa nova which would shortly become the artist's new love), jazz saxophones, a simply captivating low-toned voice, and the usual hip-hop influence in the repetitiveness of the bass-and-drums rhythm section.
There's no shortage of slow, hallucinated mantras either, one of Beck's many trademarks, as in "Derelict" and in the aching folk of "Jack-Ass" and "Ramshackle". Simply unforgettable, meanwhile, are "Novacane" and "Where It's At" (which would spawn an untold number of imitations). The first is hip-hop meeting lo-fi and electronic music. The second is the perfect live-show rap anthem, complete with handclaps and warm, analogue keyboard sounds of exceptional character, like everything else on the album, with a perfect chorus in which Beck calls out "the demon" that drives him irrepressibly toward musical bulimia: "Gotta ten thousand devils in my microphone". This album even has the punk of "Minus" and the clearly Beastie Boys-derived rap of "High 5 (Rock The Catskills)", complete with bossa nova (!), electronic, noise and disco flourishes.
All of this could simply be called pop, but it's certainly unconventional pop, a thousand miles from the flat productions made for hormonal teenagers, and unlike those, it doesn't fade from memory so easily. Digesting thirty years of prior music and regurgitating it in a new, perfectly coherent form (that's the incredible part) with the apparent ease Beck brings to his first two albums - it's easy to see how that could prove captivating, to say the least, for an entire generation of "unconventional" listeners who, musically, had found themselves lost in mainstream emptiness around the turn of the 90s, finding their outlet in so-called indie-rock or in the hot-blooded verve of hardcore, in hip-hop, or in the past of the 70s and 60s - all elements of which Beck now became the bearer and revealer to the masses, who had only caught distant echoes of them until then.

The following year (1997) Beck wrote three songs for a small independent film titled "Deadweight". The title track reveals Beck's new love, namely the bossa nova that had already peeked through on Odelay, and it's an excellent end result. The work seems a natural continuation of the previous album: the 70s party keyboards are the same, but the comb-and-maracas rhythm, the flute, the Brazilian backing vocals, and the classical guitar thick with "saudade" leave no doubt as to what was occupying the artist at that moment. The video made to promote the single is visionary and surreal, showing a shadow rebelling against its owner, a sad office worker, and taking his place to fulfill his hidden desires and escape daily frustration. "Erase The Sun" is a hallucinated, dark, out-of-tune blues-folk piece, swaying and aching, while "SA-5" closes the triptych with a short, stripped-down folk piece, featuring a fun, hammering electronic rhythm and even some Beatles-esque influences.

These were years of intense creativity and musical productivity. With Mutations (1998), Beck tended to pare down that potpourri of genres that had characterized his earlier work, offering instead a series of variations on the theme of country, gradually tinged with echoes of "space age pop", Barrett-esque psychedelia, and even Brazilian undertones (the single "Tropicalia"). All of it under the banner of a futuristic "space-age folk-rock", as the artist himself called it, which finds its perfect calibration in the exotic, lysergic pastiche of "Diamond Bollocks", the album's true tour de force.
The melodies above all are sharply focused, lighting up moments like the opening "Cold Brains", with a pop hook that sticks and won't let go, "Dead Melodies", a synthetic ballad steeped in Kinks-like aromas, and "Sing It Again", an aching campfire song fit for endless prairies. And while "Nobody's Fault But My Own" brings the psychedelic lesson of the Sixties back to the forefront, "Lazy Flies" moves decisively into folk territory, chiseling out harmonies and choruses of great elegance, backed by ad hoc instrumentation: viola, cello, pianola and sitar. Even the sound becomes cleaner and more polished, giving up the typical handmade "four-track" imprint of his previous work, while the arrangements bear the signature of producer Nigel Godrich.
Less innovative and overwhelming than its predecessors, but sustained by writing that's as fluid and brilliant as ever, Mutations looks to the past (the American tradition) with the prescient gaze of someone already thinking about their next move to get ahead of the history of rock.

In 1999 Beck produced yet another "mutation" of his sound and songwriting method with Midnite Vultures. The idea was to make an album that was partly more dance-oriented than its predecessors and more pop-ular, lyrically leaning on the calmer theme of love and physical attraction, with greater funk influences and more properly disco or soul, less rap, less folk, fewer intellectual-musical "provocations". The artist brings in a quality band (the drums in particular tear it up throughout the record), with a newly abundant horn section, and illustrious guests including the returning Dust Brothers. The result is an album of uneven quality, where you find the excellent, the good, and moments where things are dragged out a bit too long.
The thoroughly engaging "Sexx Laws", the first single with its usual devastatingly immediate chorus, "Nicotine & Gravy" and "Mixed Bizness", where our man tries his hand at James Brown, are followed by slightly less successful electronic parts such as "Get Real Paid", which would have worked better had it been trimmed to two minutes, and the equally overlong hip-hop lounge effort "Hollywood Freaks".
Similarly, "Peaches & Cream" doesn't seem to have all the inspiration it needs and feels like a slog to get through. "Broken Train" decisively brings back the good vibrations of Odelay, while "Milk & Honey" is a fine mix of rock and electrofunk with a distinctly 80s flavour, helped along by the presence of Johnny Marr on guitar. The piano-based ballad "Beautiful Way" is also captivating.
The album closes with the rock-leaning "Pressure Zone" and another smouldering ballad, "Debra", which sounds as though it was stolen from Prince's drawer - best listened to as a couple by the fireside in the evening - and is once again a collaboration with the Dust Brothers from the Odelay sessions. Plenty of good-looking young soul singers could learn a thing or two from it here. Worth mentioning is the final ghost track, which appears after more than ten minutes of silence, a sort of dense, tribal Afro-electronic piece, as electrifying as a hardcore outburst.
Beck made Midnite Vultures because he's never satisfied - he wants to try everything, and is therefore willing to risk stumbling only to pick himself back up, which in popular music, too often held hostage by people resting on their laurels or born already pre-packaged for the "bizness", is in itself already a merit.

On Sea Change (2002), the ideal follow-up to Mutations, Beck smooths out the rough edges and remaining oddities of that record, completing an artistic arc that led him toward almost "classic"-style songwriting. Thanks in part to Nigel Godrich's production, the dressing of these songs is meticulously crafted, and the balance between melody, electronics and strings (the orchestra conducted by his father, David Campbell) is nearly perfect. Having left behind the games of quotation, sampling and mocking irony, Beck now confirms himself as a mature singer-songwriter in the most classic sense of the term, and references to the great masters are inevitable, from Neil Young ("The Golden Age") to Scott Walker ("Lonesome Tears"), via Nick Drake ("Already Dead"). Between one leap and another, though, there's also a slip-up: the near-plagiarism of "Paper Tiger", which strikingly recalls Serge Gainsbourg's "Melody", a song Beck has in any case admitted was an inspiration.
If melody is now king, the casualty of this shift is rhythm: no more funk of the old days, but slow, melancholy ballads where the tempo rarely rises.
This isn't a matter of ageing, as some fear, but of a creative phase Beck consciously went through; if this were creative senility, Sea Change would hardly be the album to prove it.

After three years of silence comes Guero, presented as the summa of everything sown over a decade: 14 tracks in which the Beck-ian universe is chopped up, processed, blended, exemplified (with liberal use of choruses and hand claps) and served in small doses. Unfortunately, though, the inspiration needed to sustain such an ambitious operation is lacking.
The limitation of tracks that are, while enjoyable, like the single "E-pro" (a fast pop-rock number) or the country-rock "Girl", is that they sound like b-sides. Others, like "Black Tambourine" (essentially a repeating bass line jolted by drum and tambourine hits) or the lengthy country gallop "Farewell Ride", simply sound flat.
There's no shortage, however, of decent episodes, from the nursery-rhyme feel of "Que Onda Guero", jabbed by trumpet inserts, to "Broken Drum", where a dreamy melody, a cutting guitar, drops of piano and an electronic pulse sketch an ethereal atmosphere, right up to "Hell Yes", almost an Eminem cover. If anything, it's "Rental Car" that captures the sense of regret, finding a good guitar line to hold on to and some good arrangement touches, but it sounds watered down, slipping into yet another sing-along chorus.
In short, Guero represents, besides Beck's first moment of reflection, his first misstep.

Released less than a year later, Guerolito (2006) follows the same tracklist as Guero, offering a remix of every track from the original. Not all the material is unreleased, though: some had already appeared on the Deluxe Edition of Guero. That's the case with the Octet's "Girl", with a deconstruction that forms its interlude and the bold choice to do without the chorus. It's above all a shame that even the standout classic of this collection had already come out before. That would be the miraculous "Broken Drum", stamped with the Boards Of Canada signature, with its backward tapes, its melancholy psychedelia that fits the lyrics perfectly, and production that's nothing short of flawless. Meanwhile, the excellent "Missing" remixed by Röyksopp is gone. The replacement, though, is up to the task: the new "Missing", renamed "Heaven Hammer", is a reconstruction by Air, who opt for an almost dark atmosphere, with synths imitating strings, piano, and a sense of looming catastrophe.
There are then other unreleased remixes worth mentioning. The slightly fiddled-with "E-Pro" by Homelife, for instance, or the playful mix of "Qué Onda Guero" offered by the Islands. And Dust Brother John King turns a track as off-kilter as "Rental Car" into a genuine electro-frenzy. The hip-hop names involved also do good work. Ad Rock, one third of the Beastie Boys, works on "Black Tambourine", while El-P exceeds even the rosiest expectations on "Scarecrow".

In 2006 came Beck's new record, titled The Information. It's an album certainly well above his latest work, whose laborious production, again with Nigel Godrich at the helm, began before the recording of Guero.
The Information is very long but full of fine compositions, simple and above all playful as in the old days. If on "Guero" he'd apparently tried, without success, to find the path deliberately left after "Deadweight", the natural evolution of his masterpiece Odelay, with The Information that path is found again and followed toward another possible evolution beyond the one already travelled. The return of the disorienting Beck is a welcome surprise. Blues, folk, rap and electronics - the same starting bases as in the past - are handled here with a more "singer-songwriterly" and intimate touch. From the opening "Elevator Music" and "Nausea", where shredded blues and devastatingly immediate choruses once again make you want to move no matter the circumstances, through unconventional pop/folk such as "Strange Apparition", "Soldier Jane" and "Dark Star", to "Movie Theme", which starts like a joke with a toy-organ-like sound before turning into a poignant ballad, to the bare-bones electronics of "Cellphone's Dead" and "We Dance Alone" (complete with a Game Boy used to produce postmodern sounds), ending with the disco-meets-anti-disco of "Inside Out", a literally contagious track, among the album's best but included only as a bonus track on the edition with the DVD featuring all the songs' videos. Once again there's something for everyone. Beck even allows himself to risk a ten-minute-plus suite, which nonetheless is the most pretentious and tedious point of the album.
Critical reception, although generally positive, is not unanimous regarding The Information: while many appreciate the result after almost three years of work, some remain cooler, always expecting maximum risk from this artist. On that front, though, he has already given plenty - having revolutionised whatever could be revolutionised - and so, after a career of nearly fifteen years, it is perhaps fairer to ask the most of his ability to synthesise the sonic puzzle of the last forty years and of his own artistic life, something this record achieves brilliantly.

Two years later, however, Modern Guilt (2008) falls flat. By this point the formula is always the same: Beck repeats his master class without finding that surprising spark.
The opening "Orphans" ranges between his usual acoustic forays and a continuation of the previous album's seventies atmospheres. The brisk "Gamma Ray" is a pleasant piece of auteur pop, but nothing more.
His still-potent blues and funk instincts emerge on the title track "Modern Guilt", the album's most danceable song, with nice guitar phrases and a killer piano underpinning it. "Youthless" would have sounded perfect right on The Information, so much so that it seems lifted wholesale from there - a perfect counterpart to the closing bonus track "Inside-Out". Still, one has to wonder whether leaning on the previous record's templates is really a virtue. All things considered, "Profanity Prayers" also holds up well, thanks to a decent guitar riff in the chorus that props up the structure and a nice acoustic blues interlude. The rest of the album, however, passes by without leaving a mark.
Flat, out of focus, muddled, Modern Guilt is one of the few missteps of Mr. Hansen's career.

After going through a difficult period of personal and artistic crisis, Beck returns six years later with Morning Phase (2014).
An explicit part II to Sea Change, with relaxed, morning-tinged atmospheres, the album lines up 47 minutes of entirely acoustic, slow-paced songs, with only the rarest electric inserts. It's a folk record whose arrangements often bring in strings for support, made of rarefied, intimate atmospheres captured in just a few sonic brushstrokes. You can almost hear the insects buzzing in the mid-morning quiet, right from the opening pairing of "Cycle/Morning", with the former actually just a string intro to the latter, and the album's 13 tracks whisper in our ears, flowing one after another like a spring stream. The following "Heart Is A Drum" invites you to step out into the sun, stretching lazily, followed by the pained vocal and banjo of "Say Goodbye", which, especially vocally, is perhaps the track closest to this artist's typical style. Right after comes the languid "Blue Moon" - one of the teasers already released via streaming some time before - which invites you to shake off the melancholy.
Morning Phase is, in various passages, an album for meditation, letting the mind wander. This happens above all in the middle section. Among the highlights to point out are certainly "Don't Let It Go" and "Blackbird Chain", before the closing, engaging and almost moving "Waking Light", with which we return to the theme of waking up, closing the cycle.
How much his adherence to Scientology or his recent physical ailments influenced the album remains an open question; what's certain is that at times it even recalls the acoustic Pink Floyd of the period immediately following Barrett's departure, but also Neil Young, explicitly cited in an interview as one of the influences on this work, as well as the atmospheres of Delta blues. Whether this is a memorable album, only time will tell; what can certainly be said is that it's a pleasant listen, suited even to those who aren't diehard Beck fans but love acoustic folk and shy away from clutter.

It's precisely from some outtakes originally left off Morning Phase that the follow-up Colors emerged in 2017, faithful however to a fundamentally different intention in approach - that of writing (in the author's own words) "songs that make you happy to be alive".
The long gestation partly reflects the difficulty of naturally handling those very feelings. The quest for positivity is achieved thanks to the collaboration with producer Greg Kurstin (also a co-writer), but, despite the best of intentions, it remains somewhat confined within the perimeter of a project designed on paper. Beck distils, in homeopathic doses, all the sonic imagery he has accustomed his audience to over nearly twenty-five years of career, and bets on a radio-friendly pop groove (with echoes of his old partner Danger Mouse, MGMT-like atmospheres and Coldplay-style choruses) that ends up alluring but never truly sexy.
His long-standing penchant for change is intact, even if probably not enough to justify the whole operation, whose best tracks include the singles "Dreams", "Dear Life" and the more introspective "Fix me".
An album that's supposed to reflect Mr. Hansen's 2017 mood but seems more designed for the charts, "Colors" tries to prove that Beck can still stay plugged into the present without worrying too much about how iconic his past has been.

At the end of 2019, after years of courtship, Beck manages to collaborate with a mainstream heavyweight like Pharrell Williams on the album Hyperspace.
A full 7 of the 11 tracks are produced by the Virginia Beach native, but what's surprising this time is the total absence of the surefire smash hits one might reasonably have expected - or feared, depending on taste. The r'n'b Midas touch is mostly perceptible in the minimalist, martial approach of the beats used, but on the album's best tracks the aesthetic and musical affinities between the two seem, curiously, reduced to the bone. Hyperspace feels almost like a transitional album, rather over-ambitious across its 34 minutes and propped up by a creativity that at times seems all too dormant. This is confirmed above all by a central block that's never sounded so bland, marked by neo-psychedelic, r'n'b-flavoured temptations that pervade the skeletal "See Through", the saccharine flourishes of "Chemicals", and a "Die Waiting" that clumsily chases contemporaneity by aping the latest Taylor Swift. Certainly sharper is the opening section, with a sly "Uneventful Days" that sounds roughly like the nocturnal version of "WOW" and lodges itself, languidly, in the memory, along with the one track capable of fusing typically Pharrell-ish beats with the most buoyant Beck's electro-country flashbacks (the dusty harmonica of "Saw Lightning").
It's above all in the closing stretch that the album gets back on track: "Everlasting Nothing", excessive gospel saturation aside, is a twilit electronic pop song that grants the listener some comforting echoes à la Morning Phase, while "Dark Places" is an equally romantic track that floats through its intimate pace via synthesisers redolent of Alan Parsons. But it's the cadence of the excellent "Stratosphere", recalling the sidereal distances covered by the most Gilmour-esque Pink Floyd, that removes - with a touch of regret - any doubt about which musical path would have been better to take in this delicate sonic hyperspace.

It probably wasn't all planned out when Beck, back in the now-distant 2002, released Sea Change, his first foray into orthodox singer-songwriter territory, albeit suspended within Nigel Godrich's postmodern production. Maybe he started thinking about it twelve years later, in 2014's Morning Phase, a second embrace of folk, this time with chamber-music overtones. Into a trilogy. Because it can hardly be a coincidence that Beck's third singer-songwriter album - moreover the most classic of the three, as if completing the trickster's transformation into bard - arrives exactly twelve years later again.
Of course, not even Beck could have foreseen the themes, colours and tones of Ride Lonesome (2026), marked by his recent divorce from wife Marissa Ribisi, the resulting solitude, the difficulty of facing it, and ageing, observed through the eyes of a now fifty-six-year-old man. Out of these cues, translated into melancholy imagery, comes a solitary ride mixed by Godrich, letting acoustic country and folk guitars soar through an existential canyon, with Beck's voice - never in better shape, lightly weathered by the passing years - drifting between dust and memory. The title track opens the record and builds its imagery; the following "Run Away" enriches it with harp, piano and flickers of synth that make it a ballad aimed at the dreams of War On Drugs. Streaked with dramatic strings, hammering piano interjections and sensual guitar touches à la Chris Isaak, tracks like "Disappearing Act", "In The Night" and "Failed Words" dwell further on themes of absence and isolation, sketching out the record's more nocturnal half; while the hugely extended coda of slide guitar and harmonica makes "If You Don't Know What Love Is" one of the album's most magical moments. There's a touch of formula peeking through in songs that feel less necessary or urgent than the others ("Slow Canyon", "Bleed") - we are, in short, far from the gripping perfection of the trilogy's progenitor, "Sea Change". Still, maybe it's a matter of age, but Beck seems far more at ease in this classic form than in the highly synthetic experiments of 2019's Hyperspace, which worked brilliantly for a handful of songs and far less so across a whole album.
Perhaps it's time to stop waiting another twelve years and wear these clothes a little more often.

Contributions by Claudio Fabretti ("Mutations"), Paolo Sforza ("Sea Change"), Ciro Frattini ("Guero"), Nicola Minucci ("Guerolito"), Paolo Ciro ("Colors"), Stefano Fiori ("Hyperspace"), Matteo Trapasso ("Hyperspace"), Michele Corrado ("Ride Lonesome")

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