Magnetic Fields Brings The Book of Love Back to the Stage

This may be a given to all people that are in the know, but it's worth putting on record: Stephin Merritt, in addition to being a songwriter with wit and rhyming skills akin to no less than Cole Porter, is also an amazing crooner. When his deep voice croaks out tunes like "I Shatter," accentuated by some distortion, his pipes might seem novel at first. But when he unfurls one of his beautiful ballads like "The Book of Love," he knows exactly where your heartstring lie and he gives them a gentle tug. Even if he's wearing a faded t-shirt with the band Yes' logo on it, you still might be tempted to slip him your phone number.

The feeling became clear just a few songs into the first of Magnetic Fields' two-night stay at the Carnegie Lecture Hall, the space connected to the Carnegie Library in Pittsburgh's Oakland neighborhood. Last Saturday and Sunday, Merritt and his crew played all 69 of the tunes on their revered 69 Love Songs album, which turned 25 years old last fall.  The magnum opus, which spreads across three CDs (and has appeared on six 10" vinyl records) changes sonically from track to track so playing the whole thing is a bit of a herculean task. But the five-piece lineup of the band arranged the songs in a manner that retained the initial feel of each tune, adding different elements where they were needed. And the played the whole thing in order.

The second picture here shows the stage set-up, taken before Saturday's set. Merritt can be a little particular about things onstage. (Years ago, a friend saw him throw a bottle of water at a chatty couple during a New York show, leaving the room silent for the rest of the set.) So I wasn't sure if snapping a photo mid-set would be tolerated, and if nothing else, a layout of their instrumentation seemed warranted. When the band came out, they consisted of Shirley Simms (ukelele, vocals), Chris Ewen (keyboards), Sam Davol (cello), Anthony Kaczynski (guitar, vocals) and Merritt (who played some sort of sampler/keyboard, in addition to singing).

Surprise re-arrangements came immediately. Opener "Absolutely Cuckoo," normally fast and in a slightly jumpier time signature, felt relaxed in a steady 4/4. When Ewen delivered a banjo sample during the melancholic "All My Little Words," the fear started that the night be more like Magnetic Fields karaoke, but my skepticism was wiped away within a few songs. Merritt added some counterpoint vocals to Simms' lead in "Come Back From San Francisco." "Punk Love," one of the more jokey interludes on the album where the title is repeated as the tempo accelerates, sounded more anthemic in real life. To summarize the less-than-happy feeling about our nation's capital, the usually bouncy "Washington, D.C." was delivered at a slower tempo, with finger snaps that captured the mood.

Merritt, as a front man, has the amazing skill of being deadpan and hilarious at the same time. He dryly noted that the album has several types of songs ("Love is Like..." songs, animal songs, and even dead animal songs). Like Thelonious Monk, he can slay with just a few words. He cut loose during the goofy "Love Is Like Jazz," copping a French beatnik feel and playing with one of those toys that moos like a cow and a spring echo tube. Davol took things further, walking offstage and coming back with toy dinosaurs for each band member to use. (The Natural History Museum is connected to the Lecture Hall, for those out-of-town readers.) Speaking of Monk, I could be wrong but it seemed like Kaczynski quoted the pianist's great "Crepiscule With Nellie" before things were through. Bonus points in my book.

The guitarist also wrapped up Night #1 with a dramatic performance of "Promises of Eternity." Merritt sings it on the album but he deserved a rest after the evening's big workout. It didn't seem like a coincidence that the song playing over the p.a. as we walked out was the Monkees' "Tommorow's Gonna Be Another Day." We still had 34 more songs to hear.

Night #2 put another idea in my head. While there are numerous tracks on 69 Love Songs that play in my head, randomly triggered by things having nothing to do with the band, there are still a wealth of them that I just know in passing. And there are plenty of gems among them. "The Death of Ferdinand de Saissure," with Merritt, Simms and Kaczynski harmonizing together, was one.

69 Love Songs doesn't exactly go out with a band on "Zebra," though it does have a laugh. Merritt prefaced the song with the warning, "After this song, there will be a 25-year intermission," riffing on his announcement of the show's real intermission earlier. But when the final song was done, there was a wave from the band, once again Ewen took a photo from the stage, and they were off.

Yes, it was all we could ask for. They had played 69 songs, with nary a flub throughout both nights. But after my big musical weekend (see the previous post), it was also a bit of a letdown, knowing that reality would be back the following morning.

But that's just me.  

Ida Still Knows About Me, Tsunami Still Mows You Down

Last Friday, March 28, I traveled to Philadelphia, via King of Prussia (where my brother lives) to see Ida and Tsunami, who were in the midst of their Coin Toss tour. Both bands were active in the late '90s/ early '00s. Ida was probably one of my favorite bands around that time, combining indie rock sensibilities with some of the most exquisite harmonies ever heard in that vein of music or any other for that matter. I wasn't the type to go on road trips to see bands back then, but I once journeyed on a Monday night to Cleveland to see them, in a car with my wife and friend Leslie, with whom I was starting the band Up the Sandbox. (We didn't really sound like Ida at all but we probably tried to create a mood similar to their work. But maybe that's idealized revisionism.)

I always wanted to get into Tsunami because they had their own label (Simple Machines) who put out a lot of cool music, which showed greater support for the independent scene in general. Plus they were fronted by two women, and having spent nine years in a band with two women who did a lot of writing and singing, it was clear that they were cool.  But me with my limited record buying funds just never got around to them. They came to Pittsburgh once (at least) and played the upstairs room of the Oakland Beehive, but somehow I missed that show. (A current co-worker of mine recently unearthed some photos of that night.) I was probably working. 

So Friday was a night to catch up and to reminisce. 

The name of the tour comes from the fact that the order of performers is not determined until the show starts. (I had forgotten this timing detail and felt shamed when I asked the merch guy the order, thinking that it was determined during soundcheck. Oops.) Both bands came out onstage as "Also Sprach Zarathustra" played over the p.a. Everyone looked deadly serious, which is funny since they're all pretty charming. Franklin Bruno (did I mention the great songwriter of the Inland Empire was sitting in with Tsunami?) gave someone in Ida the "you're going down" look which was especially hilarious. The coin - which seemed to be designed for this tour - was flipped and Ida went on first. As they took their places, Bruno offered to take three questions. One dealt with the nickname on everyone's jacket, his being "Pudding." He offered that it might not be a term of endearment from his wife, but it would fit. Alas, I forgot my scoop pad, so I didn't scribble down any info about the other two questions, or the music that followed.

Suffice to say, Ida was everything I had hoped. The core lineup of Dan Littleton and Elizabeth Mitchell (guitars, pictured above), bassist Karla Schickele (bass, below) and Michael "Miggy" Littleton (drums) were augmented by violinist Jean Cook, who has played with them before. She also offered between-song banter while everyone returned. As I had suspected, the (relatively) younger woman playing keyboards and guitar with them was Dan and Liz's daughter Storey. 

After all this time, and numerous albums, the big question was what would make it into the setlist. All stuff from their Simple Machines releases? How much from Will You Find Me, their magnum opus? How much later material, when the group was augmented by several more players. (I wore my Malarkies t-shirt that night, in homage to that duo, who appeared on some later Ida albums and with Schickele's band k. My Ida t-shirt is one of the few band shirts that I wore out, it seems.)

"Maybelle," the slow, unfolding piece from Will You Find Me, came early in the set, with Mitchell and Schickele harmonizing together beautifully. Everyone in the room seemed to hang on every note, especially when Littleton joined them on the chorus. "Requator," one of the songs where the band really rocks out and Mitchell really breathes fire, was an exciting surprise in the set.  I was also really happy to hear two of Schickele's songs, "Poor Dumb Bird" and "This Water."

When the group played New York, Mitchell said Thalia Zedek gave them a hard time for not letting Storey have a solo spot, so she had her moment center stage with "At a Diner" an original that shows that she learned some good lessons from Mom and Pop.

Each night of the tour has had special guests and tonight was no exception. Mary Lou Lord joined Ida for a cover of Bevis Frond's "He'd Be a Diamond" and Susie Ulrey came up for the band's "Downtown."

The bands must have figured that their audience does not want to stay out too too late these days, even on a Friday. There was no official break between bands. In fact, as soon as Ida was done, Tsunami's Jenny Toomey joined Dan onstage to play a song that they two had done in their project Liquorice. Being the great storyteller he is, Dan had to preface the song with a long, convoluted tall tale about the cover of the band's album on 4AD. 

Then the rest of Tsunami took the stage. Along with Jenny Toomey (left, above) and Kristen Thomson (right), the group was rounded out by Bruno, Rob Christiansen (bass) and Luther Gray (drums). The rhythm section was new to the fold, with an impressive background. Christiansen had played in a few bands from that era, including Eggs, and Gray also maintains a double-life as a free jazz drummer with people like Joe Morris. Bruno is a personal favorite for his work with Nothing Painted Blue and his more recent band, the Human Hearts. 

The evening made me want to pick up the recently released Tsunami box set to rediscover their whole catalog. Their set was a wide range of sound - rocking out, getting a little more melodic at times and never letting the high energy slow down. Richard Baluyut of the band Versus was their guest toward the end of the set. For encores, members of Ida joined them for covers of Lungfish's "Put Your Halo On" and a rousing version of Mission of Burma's "Academy Fight Song." (A few nights earlier, Clint Conley, who wrote and sang the Burma song, joined the band onstage in Somerville, MA.)

I overheard conversations in the audience where people talked about seeing the bands years ago, or putting one of them up for the night when they came to town. Upon running into one friend who I knew in Pittsburgh, a bit removed from the indie rock scene, I quickly met a friend of hers who had been in a band with Dan Littleton, pre-Ida. "Oh, you were in the hardcore band," I asked, remembering only a fragment of Littleton's past. But I guessed right. 

There was a time when it was easy for me to roll my eyes at 50-something people who seemed so invested in the music of their youth. As time goes on, you get a little more diplomatic about it. (In fact, I wouldn't think twice if I was asked to join a band play 1960s covers.) Now that I'm at this age, going wild at hearing songs live again, I can understand why the past can stir you up. At this same time, bands like Ida and Tsunami staked out their spot by going against the grain, or at the very least, setting their own standards for what they would do. Having hits wasn't the point, doing your own thing was the point. 

When you combine that with the feeling I still have, post-pandemic, that seeing a band live feels even more life-affirming that it did six years ago, it explains the energy that I felt last week. Keep that fire lit.