Magnetic Fields

Magnetic Fields leader Stephin Merritt seldom shies from a conceptual challenge. While toiling before a cult-sized audience, he released a 69-song triple album about unrequited love (1999's 69 Love Songs, now widely regarded as the pièce de résistance in his discography). While Merritt has since kept himself busy with a variety of projects, Distortion marks only the second Magnetic Fields album since that groundbreaking release—and, in some ways, it represents a polar opposite side of Merritt's songwriting. Whereas 69 Love Songs was meticulous and featured an array of unusual instrumentation, Distortion serves as a salute to the steady signature sound of The Jesus and Mary Chain.

Yes, Merritt, who suffers from a medical condition that causes him to be atypically sensitive to loud noise, fell in love with feedback—and not just guitar feedback, but piano feedback. The resulting wall of sound would make Phil Spector nod with approval—and speaking of shady characters, there's a reliable assortment of them on Distortion, including a nun daydreaming of porno stardom ("The Nun's Litany") and a necrophiliac celebrating his "Zombie Boy." The fabulous murder fantasy "California Girls" sounds downright giddy, a vicious and—depending on your sensibilities—quite funny attempt at turning the Brian Wilson template on its head.

With such a brisk run time (13 songs in under 39 minutes), the affected JAMC production style doesn't grate or wear out its welcome, despite sporadic lulls in momentum ("Xavier Says," "Till The Bitter End"). The concept for Distortion involves the imposition of limitations, but part of Merritt's gift as a songwriter involves his success with adventure.

One of his other strengths is the ability to create a memorable turn of phrase, and all the feedback doesn't obscure that. The rollicking "Too Drunk to Dream" is a highlight, its toe-tapping melody and clever contrasts of drunken life with sober life all juxtaposed with Morrissey-sized misery. Of the slower songs, "Old Fools" in particular resonates—it's a gloomy but poignant ballad in which Merritt switches to his surprisingly supple baritone in order to bemoan "old fools that believe that they can dance and sing and fall in love."

—Adam McKibbin
01.18.08

Stephin Merritt celebrates all that is fuzzy, sexy, and drenched in reverb on Distortion, a 13-track rendering of the Jesus and Mary Chain's Psychocandy through the barbed sieve of the Magnetic Fields mastermind's seemingly endless notebook of relationship dos and don'ts and self-effacing cognitive therapy sessions. The unwavering decision to match the production with the album title is admirable, but one that will no doubt filter out the listeners who rely on Merritt's simple, clean melodicism to reel them in. By mirroring the lo-fi sunshine goth aesthetic that the Reid brothers so effortlessly beat into the ground in the mid- to late '80s, Distortion becomes more about style than substance, often burying the lyrics in an avalanche of mud that clings to each instrument (be it cello, Farfisa organ, accordion, or guitar) like pet hair on a pea coat. That said, patience rewards those who stick around for the credits, and acclimation to the pounding (yet still sweet) industrial landscapes comes about eight songs in with the instant classic "Too Drunk to Dream," a vintage Fields rave-up that launches out of a Gregorian-style intro that boldly proclaims "Sober, life is a prison/Shitfaced, it is a blessing/Sober, nobody wants you/Shitfaced, they're all undressing." It's a double-sided hook that clears the murkiness from the remaining five tracks, while simultaneously improving the first half (especially tracks like "California Girls" and "Please Stop Dancing") when spun for a second or third time. As usual, Merritt doles out vocal duties like handbills, making the whole affair feel a little more like a 6ths production rather than a Magnetic Fields event, and Shirley Simms, who lent her lovely pipes to 69 Love Songs and 2006's Showtunes, provides the album with many of its finest moments, specifically the infectious "Drive on, Driver" and the lovely closer, "Courtesans." In the end, though, even Simms' impossibly fluid voice can't cut through all of the noise. In some ways, it feels like a step backward, and even if that was the intention, it's disappointing to climb Distortion's many lovely peaks, only to be obscured by clouds. ~ James Christopher Monger, All Music Guide