Drawn to the Magnetic Fields

There is hope for pop-rock in the new millenium, friends. His name is Stephin Merritt, and he fronts the Magnetic Fields. Their newest, and best, release on Merge Records is called '69 Love Songs'. The record is in fact 3 separate works, each with 23 of the finest pop songs written in the 90s and perhaps ever. Available as a set or individually, I don't believe that any of the records from '69 Love Songs' stands out as better or worse than the others. If you too wax nostalgic for the beautifully insightful 80s works of the Cure, New Order and Smiths, the price of these albums will pale in comparison to the hours of toe-tapping joyful introspection they provide. The songs borrow style from a strange assortment of musical genre, including Appalachian gospel, country, Broadway musical, techno and indie rock. To wit, Merritt achieves the seemingly impossible by interjecting a high-school style cheer into 'Washington D.C.', an upbeat ode to long-distant relationships. This work manages to juxtapose songs that detail that indescribable glee that accompanies newfound love with songs that make you ache with the pain left behind after love has moved on. The variety of influences heard on this record serve to keep it from sounding repetitive (a tough hurdle to leap with 69 songs, each about love) but also render it disjointed at times. However, Merritt ultimately leaves us with the reminder that, for all the trouble it causes, love is what provides us our highest highs and our lowest lows, and that each condition serves to contrast the other in making life worth living and people worth loving.

Homophobes, beware. Merritt sees little need to apologize for his homosexuality, and his work highlights one good reason why: The joys and sorrows of romance cross gender, age, culture and all the other convenient dividing lines we've developed. In fact, Merritt seems to deliberately mince pronouns (he, she, his, her, etc.) to prevent gender and orientation from clouding the true messages of his work.