In the 10 years since the Magnetic Fields released 69 Love Songs, Stephin Merritt's ornate orchestrations and wry, referential lyrics have gone from indie rock anomalies to NPR staples. And while countless artists have successfully tempered the emotional gratification of "rock" with self-aware sophistication, Merritt continues to defiantly withhold the former. Merritt embraces artifice where other musicians disavow it, willfully avoiding (or outright mocking) gestures at "sincerity" and presenting his songs as stylized works of fiction. Even Merritt's earliest work with the Magnetic Fields found its most devastating moments via lyrical irony and musical footnotes. The Magnetic Fields will never release an "arty indie rock" record, even though they were instrumental in making such records de rigeur.
For the second album in a row, Merritt is placing an aesthetic conceit front-and-center. While 2008's Distortion was a foray into Jesus and Mary Chain-style squalls of feedback, new LP Realism is Merritt's characteristically self-aware play at a "folk" record. This approach is not entirely new territory for Merritt; 2004's i casts a broadly similar sonic footprint to Realism. The difference largely comes down to arrangement; on i, the Magnetic Fields often sounded like a small ensemble playing together in a room. Here, Merritt's approach is more wide-ranging; gang vocals abound, as do bevies of non-traditional string instruments. Of course, Merritt would not be so gauche as to turn in an "acoustic guitar and vocals" record, and those hoping to find anything even remotely autobiographical or directly emotive on Realism will be sorely disappointed; if anything, Realism is Merritt's most cold and distant-sounding record to date.
This contrast, or course, is not lost on Merritt. Sure enough, Realism is not a "documentary" recording but rather a collection of elaborate, immaculately constructed songs, each encapsulating its own (distorted) "reality." There's even a note of operational irony here, as the compression necessary to bring Realism to a marketable volume makes it as loud as Distortion. But while Distortion saw Merritt gleefully twisting streams of feedback into palp [#script:http://pitchfork.com/media/backend/js/tiny_mce/themes/advanced/langs/en.js]|||||| able melancholy, Realism comes off just a little too dry, too straightforward. Merritt's formalism paired excellently with unexpected genres like synth-pop and distorted rock, but such a stately approach to such a stately sound yields frustratingly sterile results.
Opener "You Must Be Out of Your Mind" is both promising and portentous. Within 10 seconds, Merritt's songwriting strengths are on full display: strong melodies given room to breathe, thoughtful and funny lyrics, concise and elegant structure. But "You Must Be Out of Your Mind" sounds suspiciously like a drum-less rehash of i standout "I Don't Believe You". The "Interlude" that follows all but derails the album mere minutes in, and cries out for a more flattering context; it's a narrative song sans narrative, cultivating a flighty and groundless mood (hence the title) with no real lead-up or comedown. The opening bars of "I Don't Know What to Say" constitute the loveliest moment on the record, but like far too much of Realism, the song seems frozen in suspended animation and put behind glass.
This heightened sense of artifice is not accidental; on songs like "The Dolls' Tea Party" and "Painted Flower", Merritt is more or less explicitly painting still-lifes. These, along with "We Are Having a Hootenanny" and the surprisingly re-listenable "The Dada Polka" fall broadly under the "kitsch/novelty" category of Merritt's work, but these songs are really no better or worse then the rest of Realism. The variety show approach Merritt takes to his records is part and parcel of the Magnetic Fields' M.O.; I'm not even sure what it would sound like if Merritt attempted to create a "masterpiece" in the traditional sense. As a result, even the weakest songs on Realism aren't simple throwaways. "Always Already Gone" will be right at home on the next mix you send to your favorite critical theory major (alongside "The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure" from 69 Love Songs). Looking for some music to play at your next holiday party? Allow me to recommend "Everything Is One Big Christmas Tree".
As rock music listeners, we are generally given to degrading music that seems so rooted in a specific theme or purpose. Realism is not a sit-down-and-listen-to-it-all-the-way-through record, but neither is any Magnetic Fields release. The problem with Realism isn't that it is too clever or too campy, but rather that these qualities are merely reflected in its finely polished exterior. At his best and at his worst, Merritt is smart, thorough, and unerringly precise; the distinction lies in which songs simply display these qualities, and which songs channel them into moving, memorable and/or hilarious works of art. Here, Merritt's songs are as delicate and meticulous as porcelain miniatures. Unfortunately, Realism holds more tchotchkes than museum pieces.
