Syd
Beard
FREE LUNCH/WARNER
The most unsettling thing about Beard isn’t what Syd reveals, but how unmoved she seems by her confessions. Although the innovative producer and songwriter’s third solo album is presented as her most authentic full-length, there are only a few moments of striking clarity among its baseline sense of unbothered warmth that feels frustratingly one-note. A certain tension between emotional extremes and vocal restraint is introduced on the remarkable tenderness of dreamy opener “Walls,” where Syd’s voice feels soft and exposed as she calmly coaxes her way past a lover’s emotional barriers. From there, the album unfolds like a slow-burning romance, tracing infatuation as it deepens into desire before settling into an all-consuming kind of love.
That emotional progression is most engaging on the understated bossa nova groove of “My Love.” Without raising her voice or sacrificing her composure, Syd matter-of-factly confesses that she’d kill or give up her own life for the bond she’s found. It took me several listens to even catch it; it’s the kind of lyric that would sound melodramatic in someone else’s hands, but Syd’s gift has always been her repose, delivering her most unhinged thoughts with such serenity that they become strangely believable. Later, “Bad Guys” complicates the album’s otherwise straightforward love story with a sense of moral ambiguity: “All bad guys were once good / All good guys have gone where they never should / We’re all on the wrong side to someone,” she sings in a high register over a fiddling melody. The beat stays basic until the end of the track, when she lets her vocal coos get lost in the ether and the production leans blissfully into the realm of 2000s-era Timbaland.
That sense of restraint extends across the record, with the production feeling as inviting as satin sheets, often tactile enough to touch. “Jasmin 17” is a standout, its lush instrumentation almost evoking the fragrance referenced in its title. A vibrant exercise in blurring the line between sound and sensation, Syd’s vocals are wispy on the track, making it easy to imagine flower buds blossoming as the beat bounces. Yet if her composure is the album’s greatest strength, several other tracks drift by without leaving a lasting impression, making the case that another of Beard’s biggest weaknesses is that its confidence occasionally outshines its songwriting. The atmosphere is consistently beautiful and the honesty Syd delivers is undeniable, yet not every song has the staying power to match the conviction in her performances.
Still, Beard is mostly a serene listen, allowing Syd to express grand emotions quietly. It’s an album that trusts subtlety over spectacle, allowing Syd’s quiet confidence and her uncanny ability to make extreme declarations sound effortless, to carry the emotional weight. Few artists can make obsession or intrigue sound this gentle.
