Magnetic Fields

Olympia Theatre, Dublin

Fancy a quiet evening in the company of Stephin Merritt, the perennially disgruntled frontman of The Magnetic Fields? I could think of worse ways to spend Saturday night. The Olympia is a hushed refuge from the capital’s fevered nightlife, as fans of the New York troubadours led by Merritt settle in for an evening of wry, woebegone and often wonderful songs of love’s labours lost.

Magnetic Fields have been around for two decades, but it was their 1999 triple album, 69 Love Songs, that brought Merritt’s dry and lonesome lyrics to a wider audience. Merritt’s a past master at nailing a negative feeling with a perfectly formed couplet, and the chance of hearing him bemoan his bad luck in that deep, dejected baritone of his is worth savouring with a certain sense of glee.

Since the success of 69 Love Songs, the band have kept a fairly low profile – not that they’re usually hogging the rock’n’roll limelight – but they’ve resurfaced with a new album, Love at the Bottom of the Sea, another fine collection of concise, witty observations on the cruel, capricious nature of romance, both gay and straight.

Merritt is accompanied as usual by his long-time musical partner Claudia Gonson on piano, guitarist John Woo, cellist Sam Davol and ukulele player Shirley Simms. Merritt plays a dinky-sounding synthesizer and a harmonium, but tonight he’s not in much of a mood for witty between-song banter, leaving most of the talking to the very capable Gonson.

Still, there’s enough wit and wisdom-after-the-fact in such songs as Smoke and Mirrors, The Book of Love and Busby Berkeley Dreams to keep us entertained.

Shirley Simms handles lead vocals and adds Appalachian flavour on Goin’ Back to the Country, Fear of Trains, Boa Constrictor and new song Quick!, nicely contrasting with Merritt’s New York sad state of mind. For his part, Merritt brings a femme fatale air to the very catchy Andrew In Drag, and is a taciturn tour guide on Grand Canyon (“It’s a metaphor,” he deadpans) and Swinging London.

Smile! No One Cares How You Feel is well-received parting advice, while the encore of All My Little Words is a sober reminder that even the cleverest wordplay won’t soften the hardest heart.