Picture a New York male - gay, mid-thirties and in a vaudeville state-of-mind. He is engaged in a conversation with himself, an obsessive internal dialogue about the nature of his own production and good old-fashioned love.
We are his audience, here to be drawn into the presentation of a work previously described as "consistently lovable even when stupid or frustrating" and, ultimately, "absolutely breathtaking." Are we here solely as spectators -voyeurs of his quasi-revelatory exposition- or will we be acknowledged, and granted further access into the puzzle that is his mind? Will we be engaged in the sensory experience of interactive performance, or are we, in actuality, here merely to witness an unabashed declaration of the man's defiant solopsism?
These questions, amongst others, may possibly be answered when The Magnetic Fields, led by Stephin Merritt, perform at the 'Sco Saturday night in support of their latest venture, the 3-CD release 69 Love Songs.
Singer/songwriter guitarist Merritt, along with cellist Sam Davol, percussionist/pianist Claudia Gonson, and banjo player/ second guitarist John Woo have come through with their contribution to concept album canon. In the process, they relegate standards such as "Dark Side of the Moon" and The Who's "Tommy" to their rightful place as midnight laser-light show fodder.
This compendium of "love songs," in the broadest sense of the term, is crafted so sharply, so exquisitely, and with such vitality that virtually every song, from the elegiac "Asleep and Dreaming" to the middling genius of "Punk Love," seems perfectly calculated. As has been pointed out by the Village Voice critic James Hannaham, even the "bad" songs seem almost appropriate, when one realizes that their "awfulness is intentional."
Not since the Yes's 1973 magnum opus, Tales From Topographic Oceans has the listening public been presented a work of this magnitude. That Merritt would even attempt a project of popular music the length of 69 Love Songs,/i>, clocking in at just under three hours, is reflective of his interest in emulating the Warholian assembly-line mentality. The album celebrates the pomposity of his megalomania, and the idea that such a grandiose project can even be executed successfully.
69 Love Songs is somewhat of a progression from The Magnetic Fields' earlier work. Their first two CD's - the Phil Spector-inspired "The Wayward Bus" and the electro-pop "Distant Plastic Trees" - were recorded in 1991 and '92 with singer Susan Anway, of the early 80s Boston punk band "V." It featured guest musicians on cello, tuba, and percussion. Anway's pristine, glistening vocal stylings worked in enigmatic exchange with Merritt's synth-laden,experimental, bubblegum compositions. His "exhilarating, soothing melodies" meld with his dark, often brooding, lyrical content.
After Anway's decision to leave the band, Merritt took up vocal duties. The quality of his deep monotone-baritone, together with his "dark and tremulous delivery," transformed the contrast between form and content that defined The Magnetic Fields' sound. Still, Merritt's voice does embody precocious idiosyncrasies and, tempered with a wry consciousness, it satisfies the ironic. The band's new dynamic was to be distinctly manipulated on the albums that came next.
1994's Holiday is a dance-pop record that plays with the themes of escape and vacation. The Charm of the Highway Strip, a highly regarded musical travelogue, also arrived that same year. Featuring ten witty compositions which alternated between all-electronic and Spector-derived styles, the work was essentially a commentary about the writing of the perfect country tune.
Previous to 69 Love Songs, the last contribution by The Magnetic Fields was Get Lost, which gives the impression of being a synth-pop compilation. Since then, he has also released records with his other bands: The 6ths, The Gothic Archies, and Future Bible Heroes, all projects with their own unique sound and flavor.
Even diehard fans admit that Magnetic Fields' shows can be a spotty affair. Merritt himself does not deny this. The quality of the Magnetic Fields' performances hinge on Merritt's mood. At his best, Merritt's performance has single-handedly revived indie-rock. At his worst, his disinterest and flaring hostility can transform the concert into a theatre of pain.
There is an element of chance, some might say risk, in attending a Magnetic Fields show. That two performances rarely invoke the same audience response only heighten the anticipatory allure of the live experience. This seems only fitting.
Ultimately, the question remains: Who, and what, is Stephin Merritt? Is Merritt the Benny and Bjorn of the nineties; the "best songwriter of his generation," or a bitter, cantankerous curmudgeon? Is he a deliberately "cloying", incisive wiseman or simply a whiny misanthrope? A valiant ringleader or shrewd dominatrix? Come to the 'Sco on Saturday and have these questions answered.
The Magnetic Fields play the 'Sco Saturday at 10 p.m. Tickets are $5 O.C.I.D./ $10 others.
Opposites attract: Stephin Merritt poses in another introspective moment. (photo courtesy of Merge Records)
Copyright © 1999, The Oberlin Review.
Volume 128, Number 3, September 17, 1999
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