In the same Spin interview where he raged against the toaster, he remembered the communal warmth he felt as a teenager riding the bus on L.A., hearing Grandmaster Flash playing on some kids’ boombox from the back, how people from all different parts of the city seemed to absorb the sound, some even getting up to dance. After all, he liked rap-the immediacy, the beat, the sense of performance. But he had a mischievous sense of creativity and no attachments to his own artistic self-image, and when Stephenson-alongside co-producers Rob Schnapf and Tom Rothrock, who ran the small Bong Load label-suggested they pair his rudimentary folk songs with Stephenson’s loops and grooves, Beck went with it. The way Stephenson remembers it, Beck Hansen was a street busker with a bad haircut. He soon moved to Los Angeles, where he struggled to plant his homey, psychedelic productions in an increasingly gangsta market.
He loved watching DJ Ready Red strip samples from old funk and soul records, but he was uncomfortable with the violence and misogyny of the material. Rap-A-Lot was hardcore Stephenson was not. Stephenson had grown up playing in youth symphonies around Olympia, Washington, before quitting his grocery-store job and moving to Houston to work at Rap-A-Lot Records, then home to the Geto Boys. By “home studio,” I mean a tape recorder set up in such a way that Beck later remembered having to finish vocal takes before Stephenson’s girlfriend wanted to get in and cook dinner. Much of Mellow Gold was recorded in the home studio of a guy named Carl Stephenson.
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The toast is burning, and you just gotta rip it out and free it before it fills the house with smoke.” For Vedder, hearing “Loser” lap you on the radio must’ve felt like getting hit in the face by trash thrown from a passing car. When, in July, 1994, an interviewer from Spin magazine suggested that Beck’s backstory-poverty, an 8th-grade education, bouts of borderline homelessness-felt like fodder for darker sentiments, Beck, 23 and blindsided by his own new fame, pitched his voice up and whined, “You just gotta rage against the appliance, man. Or maybe you, like me, heard it on MTV, where it seemed like a cool breeze blowing through the abstract pain of mainstream alternative music.
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