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[Beck Delivers His 15th Album "Ride Lonesome" After Seven Years — A Night Where the Scent of Back-Alley Loneliness and Blues Makes a Weary Reporter's Throat Hum] On a night when the chilly autumn wind sinks deep into your bones, cheap bourbon and a slightly dusty record are the best company. As I tilted my glass and drifted into a melancholic reverie—wondering, "When was the last time I heard music that truly knocked me flat?"—an absolute bombshell of a news report landed in my lap. That wandering trickster, Beck, has unleashed his 15th studio album, "Ride Lonesome," upon the world, his first in seven years. Seven years, people. Seven years. That is enough time for a newborn baby to strap on a school backpack and start memorizing multiplication tables. During that span, the only changes in my own life are that my annual medical checkup results are increasingly stained in glaring red ink, and every time I climb a set of stairs, my knees let out a mournful squeak reminiscent of a blues harp. Chewing on the bitter sorrows of existence with every ounce of my being, I pressed the play button with a trembling finger. …