The Magnetic Fields
69 Love Songs
Merge

When The Magnetic Fields came out with "I Don't Believe You" b/w "When I'm Looking, You're Not There" earlier this year, it seemingly sounded the death knell for a wonderfully quirky electropop unit that's stood at the cusp of greatness for the better part of the last decade.

Here were two songs that sounded tired, flat and listless. What's more, they followed up 1995's Get Lost, by far the group's flattest effort.

Then, when later this year, the group announced plans to release a three-CD, 69-song musical revue about love, the stage seemed set for a colossal flop.

Note the use of the word seemed.

Stephin Merritt (principle songwriter and only founding member), Claudia Gonson and co. tackle nearly every genre known to man: Rock, jazz, country, blues, a capella, lounge, folk and pop. And there's even a showtune and a rah! rah! rah!-style cheer called "Washington, D.C."

But in the way a classically-trained pianist can pick out a Chopin piece from a mile away or a film scholar can spot a Hitchcock flick while wearing the worst pair of glasses ever made, those familiar with Merritt's oeuvre will undoubtedly recognize at least 60 of these songs as bearing Merritt's unmistakable artistic stamp. Namely carefully thought-out lyrics (we'll get to that later), plays upon gender and sexual orientation (having a woman sing what some would call a "guy's song" and vice versa), widely varied instrumentation and synths, synths, synths!

In many ways, though, 69 Love Songs marks a maturation process for Stephin Merritt. This is the first Magnetic Fields album that sounds like it was made by a band, not a man (Charm of the Highway Strip, Holiday) or a duo (The Wayward Bus, Distant Plastic Trees and Get Lost). The album features five different vocalists, including Merritt, and it's far better for it. Previous efforts waned after 10 songs or so as you grew tired of the vocal monotony. 69 Love Songs doesn't just blend its vocal styles, it throws them into a mixing bowl and sets the dial to "puree."

The number one reason to buy this album isn't its ambitious scope, widely varied instrumentation or its unusually successful schizophrenic genre-hopping. It's not Merritt's Johnny Cash-like baritone, Gonson's plaintive, lonely cooing or the efforts of any of the "guest musicians." It's the lyrics, e.g.,

"My girl is the queen of the savages/ She don't know the modern world and its ravages/ Instead of money, she's got yams and cabbages..."

from "Queen of the Savages." Or

"I know you're a recluse/ You know that's no excuse, Reno/ To not play fast and loose/ with my heart..."

from "Reno, Dakota." The couplets just keep on coming. Some critic from Spin gave this album a 10 out of 10 and said that Stephin Merritt is the greatest lyricist since Cole Porter. While that's probably something only a music critic would say, it echoes a sentiment nearly everyone who's heard this album shares: There are some great tunes, here.

Oh, and you can buy each disc separately or you can buy the whole set. How cool is that?

— Eric Wittmershaus (ericw at flakmag dot com)