:: Record Review

The Magnetic Fields

Distortion
(Nonesuch; 2008)

Rating: 61%

Continuing in the vein of Springtime rekindling of old flames, I relent: Stephin Merritt and I are no longer on speaking terms. Well, yeah, I know, but had we been, we wouldn’t be at the moment. We’re not involved anymore the way Isaac Brock and I have put the kibosh on our late night chats since We Were Dead Before The Ship Even Sank (2007) dropped. Disappointment of this magnitude carries stern consequences, and if I have to ruin fictional friendships to get my point across, I’ll do it.

I mean, I had the 81% and the Metacritic quote all teed up: Stephin Merritt submits a dissonance-drenched morsel of pop gold that exudes the brilliance we’ve come to expect from such a clever and engaging artist. Instead I’m left to rack my brain for synonyms of such despicable terms as “disappointing” and “pleasant.” And yes, Distortion is, even as I grit my teeth at the very concept, pleasant. The crackling arrangements are often quite nice, specifically bouncing opener “Three Way,” the majority of which is instrumental, all ascending guitars and mechanical drum hits, and that’s great and all, but this is a Magnetic Fields album, and I’m supposed to be spending my time dissecting Merritt’s deft songwriting, not telling you the first track is kind of pretty.

But I have nothing to analyze. Much of Distortion is devoid of the subtle puns, playful sarcasm, and keen wit so prevalent in Merritt’s other outings. The lyrics aren’t abysmal, aren’t really full of botched attempts at cleverness, they just leave no impression, perched complacently atop the waves of noise. There are mild exceptions, of course, as Merritt is simply too talented to crank out thirteen consecutive snoozers. “California Girls,” sung by the frequently enjoyable Shirley Simms, places America’s distaste for Paris and her ilk into more poetic terms, bemoaning the beautiful people and their tasteless lifestyles. “Please Stop Dancing” succeeds despite its repetitive nature, as Merritt and Simms alternate melancholy rhymes about manipulative lovers. And the only real problem with “Too Drunk To Dream” is the fact that its radiance makes everything else here feel even more lackluster, as Merritt explores the wondrous effects of alcohol, delivering the album’s best lines in his inimitable deadpan: “Sober/ You’re old and ugly/ Shitfaced/ Who needs a mirror?”

Standouts aside, the rest of the album is rendered in monochrome and with no inspired lyricism to save the mildly engaging compositions the songs sour and the distortion-laced production becomes tedious. On an effort lacking in varied compositions and short on length (just under 40 minutes), Merritt would have done well to put forth his best songwriting, concentrating on song-by-song instead of holding the whole thing together by another gimmicky and ultimately pointless conceit; too often he leaves his words to drown in the muddy filth of sputtering guitars and erratic strings. Distortion marks the Fields’ third outing in which they have adhered to an arbitrary motif set forth by Merritt; it’s definitely the worst of the three, coming off as contrived and stale, perhaps suggesting that it would benefit everyone if Merritt simply cut the gimmickry and focused on crafting twelve great pop songs, a feat of which he’s perfectly capable.

Despite its painfully obvious flaws, Distortion isn’t bad in the sense that it lacks gratifying melodies or does not possess a certain nostalgic charm. There are a handful of glee-inducing moments to be had. But what has made Stephen Merritt such a captivating artist has been his impossibly sharp pop sensibilities and his penchant for nimble, biting couplets. On Distortion, both of these essential aspects are in low supply, as drab lyricism combines with unvarying textures to create a very ordinary album. And that’s that.