Realism

Longtime fans will appreciate that Realism sounds more like classic Magnetic Fields than anything Merritt has done lately, but they’ll especially enjoy the pithy bleakness of songs like “Seduced And Abandoned” (with its built-in explanation: “and baby makes two”) or the gleefully smart-aleck Facebook references in “We Are Having A Hootenanny” (in which a chorus of voices urges listeners to “take our personality quiz”).

Ultimately, the electronic-free approach on the closer of the trilogy results in the Magnetic Fields' most organic effort to date--and it doesn't stray too far from Merritt's pop-leaning background, making it the most successful of its synth-free siblings.

After a decade of contrarian, even petulant repudiations of the music that made the Magnetic Fields famous, Realism is capitulation, contrition, and celebration at once. It’s back to basics in the best way.

Who knows what's real and what's not, but The Magnetic Fields write Great Pop songs, and this means a lot.

Realism showcases how effective it can be when it is allied to a dry sense of humour, a flair for melody and an ability to engage with more than a narcissistic world view.

More A-grade angst from one of our cleverest songwriters.

Realism strikes a compelling balance between cringing honesty and organic chemistry that comes through in its crystalline composition as well as its more rugged manifestations. Complete reinvention isn’t necessarily reached, but isn’t quite the ultimate goal either.

Realism [is] an unexpected surprise. Merritt seems to have abandoned the overarching concepts, allowing him to concentrate on the actual writing and his enviable ability to wrong-foot the listener with emotional handbrake turns.

Realism is a reminder that pop music is about perceived meaning, about using song-forms as vessels of perception.

Stunningly blending American country, English folk, and Victorian pomp, the album documents a life resigned to sadness amid a world brimming with beauty both real and fake.

Banjo, flugelhorn, tuba, cajón, accordion and tablas all prop up Stephin Merritt’s distinctive bass and dry-humoured lyrics, which, fans will be glad to know, remain in top form.

What Realism does best is preserve Merritt at his most real, a blend of Cole Porter, Morrissey and Eeyore, a master of what he labels as "cosy, charming, subtle" gestures, which on several occasions (especially You Must Be Out Of Your Mind and I Don't Know What To Say) reach a level of miserablist perfection. [Feb 2010, p. 95]

Realism is yet another solid gold deposit in one o the truly briliant pop music discographies of the past 20 years. [Winter 2010, p.69]

The Magnetic Fields’ eighth album, provides yet another example of why Merritt belongs on the shortlist of America’s greatest songsmiths.

Old-school fans may roll their eyes at this forward throwback, yet whatever conspicuous mode he chooses to work in, Merritt's songwriting remains conspicuously remarkable.

Realism is a significant departure from the bands previous outing, Distortion, which was quite a departure from its predecessor, "i." And although the group continues to change sounds, Merritt's enthralling voice and songwriting dexterity continue to shine.

Merritt’s songs are, as ever, as lugubrious yet playful as his voice.

This week the prolific tunesmith’s flagship group, the Magnetic Fields, delivers Realism, the folk-inspired companion piece to 2008’s “Distortion,’’ a fuzzed-out homage to the Jesus and Mary Chain.

By far his most listenable and fully realized work since 1999’s mammoth 69 Love Songs, Realism feels slight because it is. It’s hard to hear someone so adept with a poison pen preen instead of brood, but it’s also rewarding.

The experiment of the Fields' ninth record sometimes rewards, but too often struggles for urgency and warmth.

Merritt's songs are as delicate and meticulous as porcelain miniatures. Unfortunately, Realism holds more tchotchkes than museum pieces.

Ultimately, Realism neither impresses nor disappoints.

The acoustic-only, antique-sounding folks songs of Realism are superficially less abrasive than 2008's Distortion, but beneath they still articulate black-humoured romanticism. [Feb 2010, p. 111]

Merritt's singularity just feels awkward, and Realism is another album in a catalog more concerned with quantity than quality.

His songs succeed when they balance on the knife-edge of banality and pathos, and when they succeed in making formula redeem itself and regain a kind of innocent power. For most of Realism, unfortunately, Merritt fails to even remotely strike this balance, abandoning any emotional power as he falls victim his penchant for formula and banality.

Realism is conceptually closer to "69 Love Songs" than anything he's done since, opting for a "variety folk" sound somewhere between Kurt Weill and Sufjan Stevens, but its ratio of heart-felt-to-hokey is out of whack. [Feb 2010, p.93]