Fields of glory

Realism, the title of the new album by the Magnetic Fields, is a bit of a red herring. The implication is that at long last, nine albums into their career, we've earned a glimpse beneath the façade of these cult heroes – or at least a sneak peek into the psyche of Stephin Merritt, the group's enigmatic founder and songwriter. But as with most things related to the Magnetic Fields, first impressions can be misleading.

'In the ideal world, I'd stop singing, k.d. lang would stop writing songs and we would work together only — k.d. lang being the best famous singer in the world ever.' — Stephin Merritt of Magnetic Fields

The third in a trilogy of albums on which Merritt banned the use of synthesizers — the other two are i (2004) and Distortion (2008) — Realism is being promoted as the group's "folk album." Traditionally, folk music has carried the connotation of authenticity: it's the songs of the people, a musical conduit for folklore and real-life narratives. But Merritt, who has said, "I don't believe in sincerity in music," refuses to take that connotation at face value. He delights in twisting truisms inside out.

Merritt tends to write lyrics that distill complex concepts in a single mordant metaphor. Merritt's songs have introduced listeners to notions like "love is a like a bottle of gin" and "a pretty girl is like a violent crime." On Realism, he proclaims that "everything is one big Christmas tree."

As Merritt explains during a recent phone interview from New York, he is fascinated by the universal appeal of clichés.

"There's the sweeping-generalizations genre, where you sum up the entire universe in one pithy phrase: 'All you need is love' or 'Everybody is a star.' These things appeal to me because they imply a mood immediately.

"If you say 'Everything is crap'." Merritt continues, "you've instantly gotten across the mood you're trying to convey. Not 'My ex-girlfriend is crap' but everything. I'm big on shorthand, and clichés can be used as shorthand. Once you get them out of the way, it opens up much more room for detail."

Musically, Merritt mines the conventions of popular music, only to turn them on their heads. On Distortion, he borrowed the reverb-drenched noise of 20^th-century shoegazer groups like the Jesus and Mary Chain to write songs from the perspective of nuns, courtesans and "old fools." For 69 Love Songs (1999), the Magnetic Fields' three-disc magnum opus, Merritt challenged himself to explore the tropes of romantic balladry in 100 different ways. (He ended up settling on the cheeky total of 69.)

Realism was conceived as a contemporary version of the orchestral folk albums produced by Judy Collins and performer/arranger Joshua Rifkin, such as In My Life (1967) and Wildflowers (1968). Amid the ukuleles and plunking banjos of You Must Be Out of Your Mind, Merritt grumbles, in his resonant, nasal baritone, "I want you crawling back to me / Down on your knees, yeah / Like an appendectomy / Sans anesthesia." Drawing on the folk tradition, Merritt says, allowed him to indulge his penchant for high drama.

"Most folk songs are dramatic. I can't think of any folk song right now that's the equivalent of Sugar Sugar. There's far more drama in folk lyrics than in typical pop lyrics. They don't tend to be love songs in the first place – or if they are, they're very personal. At the very least, there's usually some difficulty or challenge to overcome… or someone gets killed or is lost at sea."

Realism ends in precisely that way, with Merritt voicing a tragic figure cast adrift on a ship. "The mast is twisted, the hull is breached," he croons, surrounded by wheezing accordion and trebly piano. "But know that I love you / Know that I wrote / My last words to you / From a sinking boat."

It's a rather ominous conclusion for a tune that's presented as a love song, but then, Merritt takes glee in reflecting on the darker side of romance. Realism introduces us to one character (voiced plaintively by Shirley Simms) as she sighs over a lover who's Always Already Gone. (The title of that track, in typical Magnetic Fields fashion, is a nod to the literary theorist Jacques Derrida). On the regal Seduced and Abandoned, Merritt imagines himself as a spurned waif in a "one-ply negligee," left to weep and drown her sorrows with her bastard child.

Merritt crafts wry ruminations on matters of the heart, but the subtleties of his wit are lost on some listeners. For example, the song The Book of Love, off 69 Love Songs, has become a favourite among newlyweds.

"It always shocks me when people think The Book Of Love is a sweet, romantic song," says Merritt. (Sample lyric: "The book of love is long and boring / No one can lift the damn thing.") "There was one celebrity couple that I read about in People Magazine or US … I assume they were getting married to the Peter Gabriel cover of it, which is beautiful and sweeping and majestic and has strings and organ. Still, it's very strange. But maybe they have such complicated lives, and everyone in the room knows that and gets it." (The celebrity pair, for those readers keeping track at home, was Tony Parker and Desperate Housewife Eva Longoria.)

Given Merritt's gift for wordplay and his appreciation of musical theatre, it was a natural shift when, earlier this decade, he began to collaborate on work for the stage. With New York-based director Chen Shi-Zheng, Merritt wrote three pieces inspired by Chinese opera: Orphan of Zhao, Peach Blossom Fan and My Life as a Fairy Tale. Last year, Merritt put his love of dark, twisted humour to use when he wrote the music and lyrics for an off-Broadway production based on Neil Gaiman's graphic novel Coraline.

During the run of Coraline, Merritt sat in the audience for almost every performance. "People were howling with laughter," he says, something he found tremendously validating. "They rarely do that in Magnetic Fields shows. But then again, we're not dressed up in elaborate costumes and speaking with strange British accents."

The Magnetic Fields's somewhat rare live performances usually include the same cast of characters (Merritt, cellist Sam Davol, guitarist John Woo and percussionist Claudia Gonson). But over the years, the band's recordings have featured a range of singers (including Gonson and Shirley Simms), primarily because Merritt hasn't always enjoyed the sound of his own voice.

"I think in the ideal world, I'd stop singing, k.d. lang would stop writing songs and we would work together only — k.d. lang  being the best famous singer in the world ever. She sure is fantastic, and I would love to write for her."

And what style of song does he have in mind for his implausible diva — Gothic bubblegum? Chamber folk? Chinese opera?

"I would never want to write two songs from the same genre in a row," he sighs. "I guess I should write a wedding song that would actually work – maybe I would write a song suitable for marriages where the sarcasm was so deeply veiled that people could use it without the attendants scratching their heads in bewilderment."

Realism is in stores now. The Magnetic Fields perform in Montreal on Feb. 6 and Toronto on Feb. 8.

Sarah Liss writes about the arts for CBC News.