The Magnetic Fields’ “69 Love Songs,” the Herculean three-disc box set released in 1999, is easily among my favorite albums of all-time—a voluminous display of singer-songwriter Stephin Merritt’s peerless talent, and an indie artifact that exists outside of popular music trends, then and now and probably in the future. So why didn’t I love Night One of the band’s two-evening performance of the unabridged album at Adrienne Arsht Center this past weekend, a show I’d been waiting more than 20 years to see? It’s a question I’m still wrestling with even as I write these words.
The Magnetic Fields last played Florida in 2004, in a performance I attended and still cherish to this day. But at Saturday night’s highly anticipated return—the last time the band says it will ever play “69 Love Songs” in its gargantuan entirety—the group seemed, if not off, then perhaps a bit low-energy, and visibly ready to retire a work it’s been touring since the album’s 25th anniversary jaunt began in March of 2024. Or perhaps it’s the group’s truncated membership and slimmed-down arrangements I found lacking. Claudia Gonson, a fundamental member of the Magnetic Fields going back to its lo-fi synthpop classics of the early ‘90s, has not been touring with the group as of late, and her voice and presence were deeply missed. In fact, the septet that first presented “69 Love Songs” in full is now a quintet, with only four de facto instrumentalists—Shirley Simms on ukulele, Sam Davol on cello, Anthony Kaczynski on acoustic guitar and Chris Ewan on keyboards and synths—plus Merritt handling most of the vocal duties.
Every player had moments of glory or zeal or humor. Kaczynski skillfully performed the long-held vocal note at the end of “The Luckiest Guy on the Lower East Side.” Simms delivered a lovely “Reno, Dakota” backed only by Kaczynski’s spartan coffeehouse guitar. Ewan went to town on the keys for an appropriately anarchic solo on “Fido, Your Leash is Too Long,” and Davol’s pizzicato plucking helped sell a moving and economical “The Book of Love.” “Grand Canyon” slapped all around.
But the general impression was subdued and same-y, and lacking in instrumental color—especially considering that 100 instruments were deployed in the making of the album. Ewan’s synths, in particular, did a lot of heavy lifting in lieu of live percussion, and the most upbeat numbers from the first two discs—“I Don’t Want to Get Over You,” “I Think I Need a New Heart” among them—did not retain their infectious bounce.
Merritt, sporting his traditional cap and a brown Alice Cooper T-shirt, seemed like he was fighting a cold all night, sneezing into Kleenex and coughing between some songs. In a bit of stage banter, he advised the audience to consider investing in Ricola stock, because as long as there are singers, cough drops will remain essential.
But judging from previous Magnetic Fields reviews, the frontman is often congested during shows. My issue is more with the sedentary nature of the concert’s presentation, with all players seated for the majority, and only standing for a couple of pointed occasions. This, combined with the lack of additional instrumentation, lent to the feeling of watching a string trio rather than an indie band. I’m sure many loved it; I often found the show static, at times even inert.
Ironically, and this is a genuine testament to the band’s live presence when fully inspired, it was the near-throwaway tunes—the generic japes—on “69 Love Songs” that most soared in this arrangement. “Punk Love,” as skippable a tune as any on the album, came across as creative, hypercaffeinated comedy. As it sped up toward a delirious crescendo, the effect was not unlike playing a 33 1/3 record on 45 rpm. “Love is Like Jazz” also broke with the show’s conventional presentation, with Merritt wandering around and joining Simms in playing with noisemakers, including castanets and tambourine, while Davol walked offstage and returned with an African drum—not to play but as a surface for a sandwich he opened and began eating. It was a cheeky parody of atonal, navel-gazing free jazz that might have brought a smile to the genre’s serious pioneers, a la John Zorn and the Art Ensemble of Chicago.
But the show just as soon lost me as Night One petered to an end with “Promises of Eternity,” usually a new wave-evoking staple worthy of Erasure or Heaven 17. But with Kaczynski, finally on his feet to perform this heroic number solo, supported only by a low-volume synth track and all the other players sitting down watching him, I felt like I was at a karaoke bar with a professional singer.
“69 Love Songs” will always be a favorite in my record collection, but at least in this live iteration, it deserved more.
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