Fields bring sophisticate pop

Have you ever been to a fine restaurant and been confronted with a domineering, moody waiter? The hyper-opinionated, passive-aggressive type who practically orders for you?

This absurd scenario can be employed as a metaphor to describe the complex dynamic between the spectators attending last Saturday's Magnetic Field is show the 'Sco and Stephin Merritt, the band is enigmatic front-man. He knows exactly what we desire, and how we desire it, but is not about to give it up without attitude.

There are certain connotations which the music of The Magnetic Fields summons forth in the minds of fans familiar with this history. The band's sound evokes nostalgia for a certain indie-rock "purity," of the days when the almost utopian nation of early 90's disaffected adolescents united against the big, bad homogenized world. The lyrical content extols the virtues of fetishized misery, the art of cleverly orchestrated deception. The live show supplies us with an embittered, world-weary, though elegant, figure, not-so-discreetly slipping orders to his bandmates- occasionally sneering, chiding his audience.

Obviously, our perceptions of the sound, the lyrics, and the live presentation clash, dramatically so. It may be tempting to address the discrepancy and by analyzing the psychological aspects of Merritt's performances, searching for the moments of earnest, self-deprecation, and then seeking out the potential points of empathy. Finding the charm in his aloof stance, the seductiveness in his solipsism, the grace in his manipulation- the reconciliation of Merritt's sweet, soothing melodies with his caustic, condescending, acidic disposition- this is half the fun of being a Magnetic Fields fan.

His characteristic hostility notwithstanding, Merritt, along with the rest of the band, did sincerely seem to enjoy the effusive Oberlin audience. Despite a long, tiring drive that same day, they appeared sharp, rough and ready for their only Ohio appearance. Throughout the hour-and-a-half amplified acoustic set, he displayed the understanding that the crowd was his friend, that we were on his team so to speak, and thus his alienation from the crowd was not quite as profound as it can typically be.

The band smoothly made their way through songs about moons, cosmopolitanism, and the open road; tunes celebrating the simulation of emotion that occurs once love has been made a public discourse. Playing old favorites as well as material off the recent 3-CD box set release 69 Love Songs, particular crowd pleasers included "The Saddest Story Ever Told" off 1991's The Wayward Bus and "All the Umbrellas In London" off 1995's Get Lost.

Singer-songwriter and guitarist Merritt was supported by the crystal-clear, backing vocals of percussionist/pianist Claudia Gonson, whose presence often serves as a stabilizing, normalizing factor in Merritt's live performances. The beauty of Sam Davol's cello and John Woo's banjo added a crisp, somber quality to The Magnetic Fields' sound, and what these supporting members lack in stage antics, they more than make up for in skill.

Regardless of whether Merritt's starkly nervous energy casts him into the mold of a distant, over-controlling dictator, it is difficult to imagine how one could fail to be moved, in some fashion, by a Magnetic Fields performance. The sheer delicacy of his haunting lullabies, his infectious melodies stand on their own. And ultimately, without fail, his song craft, like that of a self-absorbed pre-millennial Cole-Porter, interacts with his prima donna stage antics to provide an immensely entertaining show. And that's exactly what Merritt wants it to be: a show.