The Magnetic Fields are an odd little band. Once considered indie rock heavyweights, a status arguably culminating with the release of 1999’s three-disc opus, 69 Love Songs, Stephen Merritt’s band has undergone a marginalization that’s left them mostly an old curio, a relic for already-established zealous fans. A lot changed between 1999 and 2004, and taking five years to follow up that behemoth of an album with the underwhelming i was decidedly not a good way to keep up with the ever-increasingly skittish world of ‘independent’ music. Four more years pass and Merritt decides to release what is essentially Magnetic Fields crossed with Psychocandy (2008’s Distortion). To be fair, that album was actually pretty good; but alas, the bizarre sonics were probably too much for Magnetic Fields fans, and the fact that it was the Magnetic Fields likely scared everybody else off.
Where does that leave us in 2010, with the impending release of their tenth album? What would it sound like? Merritt has called it his ‘folk album’ and that might not be too far off the mark — one thing’s for sure, Realism sounds nothing like Distortion. Except for the fact that these are unmistakably Stephen Merritt songs. What we have here is a gorgeously produced record of highly idiosyncratic music — the precious songs are as precious as ever, and at times Merritt sounds unusually apathetic even by his own standards. Realism makes an immediate, positive first impression with “You Must Be Out Of Your Mind,” a sardonic but beautifully arranged song glowing with gorgeous strings and group vocals. It’s a majestic (and, in typical fashion, humourous) start to the album, but unfortunately it sets the bar a little too high. Immediately following is the trifle “Interlude,” a track so airy you can see stick your hands right through it, and with vocals so polished that your teeth’ll start to hurt. When it’s finally over, “We Are Having A Hootenanny” should have you about ready to give up entirely. Featuring cheesy faux-Western instrumentation and a dime-a-dozen melody with little of the nuance or wit often associated with Merritt, it wouldn’t be entirely inexcusable to think he had lost his touch.
Thankfully, faithful listener, you have the patience to listen to more than just three songs (or read past two paragraphs), and you’re immediately rewarded with “I Don’t Know What To Say.” It’s a repetitive, kitschy song with ornate production, vocals warmly soaked in reverb and heart-tugging plucked strings strewn about its wide open spaces. The rest of the album isn’t bad by any means; “The Dolls’ Tea Party” and “Painted Flower” do the ultra-precious thing quite well, succeeding where “Interlude” failed miserably. For a supposed folk album, the production is intricate, a folk orchestra; not only the opener but “Walk A Lonely Road” are huge-sounding songs, and “Seduced and Abandoned” is a cheeky baroque shuffle complete with harpsichord. Of course, there are the inexplicable eccentricities, like a Christmas song (half of it sung in German, natch) and “Dada Polka” (not actually a polka), which is not only bizarre for its subject matter but also because it sounds, production-wise, like it could be on Distortion, atonal guitar ‘solo’ and all. “From A Sinking Boat” ends things nicely, strings, accordion and piano providing a tastefully maudlin (hah!) background behind Merritt’s baritone.
Realism is not likely to be a particularly well-received album nor one that will attract any new fans, but is that even what Merritt intended? What the hell did he intend, anyway? It’s hard to construe from this 33-minute album consisting of brief songs about tea parties with dolls, Christmas trees, hootenannies and anthropomorphic flowers, sung in extraordinarily high-pitched timbres by what sounds like robots or in Merritt’s equally extraordinarily low, bone-dry baritone. It’s an unfriendly album despite its inviting sound, as Merritt makes no concessions away from his own style for better or for worse. What more could we ask for than that, though? Well, maybe something that feels a little more definitive, something with a little more weight. Realism sounds like it’s made of unfinished scraps from the cutting room floor, and as tasty as they can occasionally be, they don’t make for a meal.
