Anybody who loves rock and roll loves Beck. Perhaps it’s presumptuous of me to say so, but there’s a good reason the guy remains a critic’s darling: His records are damn good, and he brings something new to the table every time out. Snot-nosed slacker savant, junk-culture maven, break-dancing B-boy, erstwhile street-corner folkie, pop-art absurdist and master of pastiche: Beck Hansen is or pretends to be all of these things, and one of the reasons “Odelay” remains my favorite album ever is that it synthesizes all of his influences into a proudly imperfect, confoundingly whacked-out whole. On that 1996 album he wasn’t afraid to let the seams show: disjunction and fragmentation were his subjects, not just the means but the ends as well, and he made it all sound weirdly wonderful.

While some might argue to the contrary, his next couple records were a continuation of the winning streak begun with 1994’s “Mellow Gold” and the freak Top 10 hit “Loser.” “Mutations” was a gorgeous venture into jangly neo-psychedelia, and the equally great “Midnite Vultures” a quasi-parodic take on gaudy electro-funk. Both records featured music so compelling that many probably failed to grasp the import of his darkening lyrical perspective: howling at the void, he exhumed the dead and bitterly excoriated the superficial elitism of L.A. jet-set culture, dogged at every turn by the creeping emptiness and loneliness he felt within. One look at the lyrics to a song like “Lazy Flies” or “Get Real Paid” ought to erase anyone’s doubts.

I was more than happy to review “Midnite Vultures” for my high school newspaper almost six years ago. That record was supposed to have been a return to the giddy collage-pop that made Beck famous after the unexpectedly morose “Mutations,” and the eagerly awaited “Guero” finds our hero hooking up once again with the Dust Brothers, the production team that helped launch “Odelay” into the stratosphere almost a decade ago. If you come to the new album looking for the breathless enthusiasm of that pop-culture benchmark, however, you may be gravely disappointed: “Guero” is the work of a man who finds Death lurking at every turn, the devil awaiting his every move. He said as much himself on “Devil’s Haircut” all those years ago: “Something’s wrong ’cause my mind is fading / And everywhere I look there’s a devil waiting”. The difference is that back then he was trying to capture a mood, caught up in the strange poetry of a passing moment; now he can’t think about anything else.

It isn’t all for naught, as the simmering “Earthquake Weather” attests. That song is about what happens when Los Angeles crumbles and falls into the sea; over a mariachi guitar sample, crackling breakbeats and lounge lizard keyboards Beck mulls over his plight: “I push, I pull / The days go slow / Into a void we filled with death / And noise that laughs / Falls off their maps / All cured of pain / And doubts in your little brain.” Reads pretty dour on the page, I know, but the gritty funk soundscape framing such words offsets his dolorous musing. Hell of a lot more fetching than the strings and somnambulant tempos of 2002’s “Sea Change,” I swear. Which is why I wish the rest of “Guero” were half as inspired. Certainly there are interesting moments, such as the stunning skeleton-key dance blues of “Scarecrow” or the deceptively sunny California pop of “Girl,” which may or may not be about a serial killer. But too often the musical interest of “Guero” is left wanting, and when Beck tries to kick out the jams, as on the otherwise enticing “Hell Yes,” it just feels false. Perhaps my expectations are too high for an artist of Beck’s caliber; like I said, small pleasures abound, and any fan should find more than a few things to enjoy here, and all told “Guero” is a pretty good record. But it’s no “Odelay” or “Mutations” or “Midnite Vultures,” and I can’t help but fear that our hero might be losing his way. If this is what he sounds like when he’s winning, I want the “Loser” back.