The Church of Magnetism

Photo by ismaSan

Cadogan Hall, the venue where The Magnetic Fields played the three last nights of their European tour, resembles a 70's religious cult gathering hall. The seats are plush, the floors carpeted, but underneath the comfort is something oppressive, perhaps clinging to the heavy brown curtains that circle the hall and rise beyond the church-like pews on the second floor. Light fixtures swirl patters on the walls that are either meant to hypnotise or encourage sing-a-longs to the "cumbaya" soundtrack (probably an obscure Quebecois band that never made it into the 80s) pumped out while the audience arrives. Cadogan Hall usually hosts classical music concerts, but on this particular night it opened its doors to a combination of oddballs, shy-types and queers that love Stephin Merritt's songs.

The opening act is an unprepossessing Australian called Darren Hanlon who has been supporting The Fields during this tour. He plays bitter sweet songs on his guitar with the voice of Paul Simon. What starts out as somewhat charmingly twee soon becomes grating when Darren forgets lines to his songs, or starts laughing mid-song because someone on the second floor has a view of his profile.

After a brief brake, The Magnetic Fields enter stage and take their positions. Some brief chit chat between Claudia Gonson and the audience is cut short by Stephin Merritt, who is not in the mood for being charming or friendly. They play the new album almost entirely, but also songs from "69 Love Songs", The 6ths and The Gothic Archies. They play a long set, including an interval for the audience to visit their merchandise stand, and for the band to refill their tea cups.

Stephin spends the whole night ignoring Claudia's nagging, playing the role of a grumpy husband. She's one of his oldest friends and collaborators, and they seem to have an old couple's relationship that keeps the rest of the band, and the audience, entertained. It all comes to head when Claudia stands up from the piano, wraps herself with her microphone's cord, and breaks into "Yeah! Oh, Yeah!", which I now realize is the ultimate soundtrack to bad housemate relationships (she lived with Stephin at the start of their careers):

Are you out of love with me?
Are you longing to be free?
Do I drive you up a tree?
[and Stephin replies]Yeah! Oh, Yeah!

The audience laughed often through out the night; even if you know The Fields' lyrics well, you can't help giggling when they are sung with such melodramatic sincerity. They are not meant to be taken so seriously.

After the show had started, a couple ran down the aisle and found some empty seats beside us. He was a man in his late 50s, thick glasses and bald; she was thin, probably his age, straw-like blond hair. She made a big fuss as she went through her purse, hacked her lungs out on the aisle, sniffed some powder through a circular contraption, drank bottled water, flicked her hair left and right, popped various pills into her mouth - all the while laughing loudly at everything sung on stage. Everyone began to turn their heads and throw curious glances at this woman. To me, it was as if the couple had wandered in off the street; I couldn't imagine either one of them owning a Magnetic Fields' CD. Perhaps they were members of Cadogan Hall and had received discount tickets. Soon, she leapt off her seat and ran outside for a cigarette, leaving her husband behind. He tapped his knees to the songs, then grew quiet and contemplative when "Old Fools" was played.

When she returned, she immediately sucked away attention from the stage with her loud laugh, her fidgeting and rustling around. A girl in front of us shushed her. The woman stopped on her tracks, shocked. The girl smiled and shushed her again. Suddenly, the woman sprang across the aisle, pointed her finger at the girl and said "I've got six months to live!" The girl smiled, as you do when dealing with someone slightly unhinged. The woman joined her husband, returned to her laughing, but occasionaly stared at the girl with big, black eyes, or waved her finger in the air during "The Nun's Litany" as if those lyrics about prostitution and pornography were in reference to her censorious enemy.

Then she was off again for another cigarette break and we didn't see her again until the concert was over: she had cornered some young boy who was also smoking outside and she had to be gently extricated and guided home by her silent husband.