Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometimes

Beck’s 2026 Valentine’s Day release, Everybody’s Gotta Learn Sometimes, caught me off guard. I had long been a fan of the title track, a cover of The Korgis’ 80's hit that sat alone in my Apple Music library for years, right next to the soundtrack for Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I’d grown familiar with its imagery: Beck slouched on what seemed to be a sofa, dressed in a white suit, a withering flower stuffed in the breast pocket. So when I saw the song reappear in the “new releases” tab, this time as a compilation album instead of a single, it was a pleasant surprise.

The project itself isn’t entirely new, it’s a collection of unreleased demos and covers recorded over the years. However, it does not sound scattered or thrown together. Each track reveals a different facet of Beck’s softer side, a side that seemed to define the evolution of his artistry in the 2000’s. Ramona, for instance, is unexpectedly heavy, emotionally dense, with production that feels almost suffocating, pulling you into the character’s slow descent into melancholy. It’s almost hard to believe this vulnerability comes from the same Beck whose youthful rebellion was a calling card that helped him stand out amonst new artist in the 90's.

Other tracks are far more minimal. His cover of Your Cheatin' Heart by Hank Williams is stripped back and spacious, echoing the tone of Mutations. It feels like a breath of fresh air, especially for longtime fans who’ve followed his more electronic-leaning work in recent years. However, the production still retains a polished warmth. His lower register that has only gotten better with age is lightly polished with little processing and gently layered guitars with a hint of country twang give a modern feel to the classic song.

Over time, Beck has smoothed out the jagged edges that once defined his recordings. Whether that’s a loss or an evolution is up to the listener, but here it works in the album’s favor. The closing track, a cover of a Daniel Johnston song, leans fully into this softness. Beck’s dry, fragile vocals sit over the muted treble of what sounds like a Martin guitar, adding to the subdued tone. It makes for an easy, almost meditative listen.

Honestly, I never thought I would have an entry point into Beck’s catalog. Colors felt too polished and pop-oriented for me, while Loser always came off as more of a novelty than something substantial. But this compilation changed that. It pushed me toward albums like Morning Phase, and reinforced the idea that every artist has a way in for you, you just have to find it.