50 Song Memoir may not be strictly autobiographical, as The Magnetic Fields frontman Stephin Merritt has pointed out several times that there is a difference between autobiographies and the truth. As a peek into his world, it is both fascinating and revealing. Spread over five discs, this hugely ambitious release has a song for each year of his life, each derived from events that shaped the year for him. It is by equal measures inspired and insane, and one of the must-hear albums of 2017.

In bringing the album to life, the show feels more akin to a theatrical event rather than a concert, with the audience seated in front of a stage designed as a child’s bedroom. That feeling seems to transmit across to the crowd, as a respectful hush descends as the lights dim for the arrival of the band. As they take their positions, there is minimal acknowledgement to the crowd from Merritt except for a theatrical ‘ahem’ before breaking into a striking solo version of opener ‘Wonder Where I’m From’, his voice rich, deep and reminiscent of John Grant. With barely a pause for breath except for a scripted introduction each time, the band race through songs of Merritt’s formative years. His famously dry sense of humour comes to the fore from the start, both in those intros and in the lyrics themselves.

The format of the album, plus the short duration of each song (none breaking the 4:30 minute mark) keep the pace up. Most of the band are hidden behind Merritt, but are comprised of a supremely talented group of musicians swapping instruments (sometimes several times within the same song) meaning the rapid shift in genres remains flawlessly executed. At times the flow makes for a breathless approach with its sheer ambition. ’76 – Hustle 76’ is new wave-meets-disco, while ‘77 – Life Ain't All Bad’ is a bitchy verbal assault on a mother’s deceased ex-boyfriend that starts off as a French period piece before becoming a pub singalong at the chorus (only infinitely better and funnier than that sounds). From there, into a lo-fi track played solely on an out-of-tune guitar. And so on with a fluid approach where Merritt’s deep croon is the only constant, continuing until the onset of new wave where more of a consistency settles in. As a London resident during the New Romantic years, Merritt experienced this first hand and it shows in a golden run of tracks culminating in ‘83 – Foxx and I’.

Fatigue does set in at about the 20-song mark, even with an intermission, and a few crowd members drift away before the end of the first night. Merritt remains strangely aloof throughout, with a simple message of “This is our last song of the night. See you tomorrow,” at the end. If there is any criticism of a show as ambitious as this, it would be that reluctance to really engage with the audience. Every interaction is strictly scripted and has no room for improvisation, robbing the crowd of any chance of a real connection.

As the second night begins, there is no special greeting and no acknowledgement of the break, with the show simply picking up where it had left off. There is more of an even flow genre-wise on night two, with particularly beautiful renditions of ‘00 – Ghosts of the Marathon Dancers’ and a moving rendition of ‘01 – Have You Seen It In The Snow?’ – a tribute to his adopted home city of New York, which obviously suffered terribly that year. Where the first night occasionally felt flawed, the second night simply soared. The necessarily more adult themes of love, life and death that affect us more as we get older, strike a powerful note before the wonderfully upbeat (and self-described happy ending) ‘15 – Somebody’s Fetish’.

Taking the two nights as a whole, this is a deeply satisfying way of bringing an album packed with intricacy and ingenuity to life. As the band took a final bow before exiting the stage, even after a mammoth 50 song performance spread over four hours, there was still a clear call from the audience for ‘one more song’. Roll on the next 50 years…

Jamie MacMillan

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