With all of Stephin Merritt's cleverness and theatricality, it's easy to forget that the Magnetic Fields started out as an indie pop band. Merritt didn't really establish himself as a widely feted songwriter until 1999's 69 Love Songs, a far-flung compendium spanning acoustic ballads and skittery electro pop tracks. Merritt continued his conceptual unification streak with 2004's i, but that album's all-acoustic approach felt at odds with the songs themselves. (Compare the passable album version of "I Don't Believe You" with the vastly more fun single version.) While the overdone thematic focus of i generally seemed flat and frustrating, Distortion's aesthetic conceit-- conveyed by its title-- is worn well, and its blown-out sound breathes life into a collection of songs that brings together many of the best ideas from Merritt's back catalog.
In the four years since i, Merritt has had plenty of opportunities to indulge his interest in all things theatrical, and that impulse is largely played down on Distortion. Instead, Merritt explores his 1960s pop fetish more directly than he has since the early 90s. Distortion is hardly a retread, though-- its fuzzy production substantially alters the focus and nature of Merritt's music. Opener "Three Way" serves as a straightforward statement of purpose; its simple, surf-y riff is almost unimaginable without a distorted guitar tone. Throughout Distortion, the squelching, tight-focus rhythmic interplay of Merritt's music is blown out into loud, distorted drum beats and smeared guitars, introducing a new level of messy, energizing depth to Merritt's characteristically stately and considered songwriting.
These aesthetic changes resonate emotionally as well, often lending Merritt's music a previously unexplored shambolic melancholy. "Old Fools" plods along beautifully, Merritt's lugubrious voice offset beautifully by the loud, squealing guitars behind it. Indeed, while Merritt has gotten more technically adept at singing, Distortion's hazy and reverb-drenched arrangements consistently prevent him from slipping into fey preciousness. At its best, the effect is similar to that of Big Star's Third/Sister Lovers, a wall of disintegrating feedback bringing out the most rough and human tones of Merritt's well-honed voice.
While the sonic treatment of Distortion flatters Merritt's singing, the album's greatest moments belong to Shirley Simms, the finest and most nuanced singer in Merritt's orbit. "Drive On, Driver" brings to mind The Charm of the Highway Strip with its serpentine melody and roadway imagery. "The Nun's Litany" is perhaps the best song on the record, cutting Jesus and Mary Chain guitar feedback and percussion with a striking, clean organ sound. And the audaciously titled "California Girls" is irresistible, bolstered by sly harmonies just peeking out from a sea of distorted guitar fuzz.
For all its boldness, though, "California Girls" is a bit obvious and overstated in its approach. This hardly makes the song less enjoyable, though-- thankfully, cleverness isn't really the point of this record. In fact, the more laid-back and loose feel of Distortion casts its more ostensibly funny moments (see the sing-songy intro to "Too Drunk to Dream") as anomalous and weirdly charming like the goofier tracks on a Robyn Hitchcock record. For the first time since Get Lost, the conceptual conceit of Merritt's work sounds like a well-considered and-- dare I say-- fun, jumping off point for a thoroughly solid album. As such, Distortion isn't a return to form so much as a return to content.
