So I’m waiting for a bus last night, and I have like 20 minutes to spare. The bus stop is right in front of one my favorite CD stores. I am to unemployed what the WTC is to not there anymore, so I haven’t bought any CDs in a while. I honestly had no intention of buying any last night, I just thought I’d skim through their buck-apiece bins to see if there were any holy-grail rarities, like Mary Margaret O’Hara’s album or Ingrid Karklins or anything. So I browse my 17 minutes or so, and head toward the door, triumphant in my self discipline, having passed up the Soul Coughing disk I don’t have, at $8, and the latest Lupine Howl at $7. As I effectuate my egress, something on a rack near the door catches my eye: a new Stephin Merritt album. I didn’t know there was a new Stephin Merritt album.
Now, I won’t say that Stephin Merritt is god, but I’m not really prepared to deny it either. As the author of the only really *true *lyric about modern relationships-- You won’t be happy with me,
But give me one more chance
You won’t be happy anyway.
–and the greatest meta-country song imaginable–
Papa was a rodeo, Mama was a rock’n’roll band
I could play guitar and rope a steer before I learned to stand
Home was anywhere with diesel gas, love was a trucker’s hand
Never stuck around long enough for a one night stand
Before you kiss me you should know: Papa was a rodeo
–La Merritt has been the unwitting recipient of some of the geekiest artist worship I’m ever likely to indulge. He is so prolific that he needs, what, four different acts to pour his songs into. And unlike most artists, the volume of his output in no way dilutes the quality of his work: there are very few songwriters, now or ever, who can think themselves his peers.
So I pick up the disc, Showtunes, and a thrill runnels down my spine. What a great cover! More pomo serio-farce from the greatest, yet funniest, songwriter out there. “Showtunes!” Fabulous! If anyone coule create an album of brilliant faux “showtunes” for imaginary “shows,” it would be–it should be–Stephin Merritt. This is gonna be fantastic! A whole nother layer of pomo prankster exploration! On the bus, all the way home, I tried to imagine the imaginary shows he’d written songs for. Many of his songs are funny and brilliant little stories; what a perfect approach for him to take! This was gonna be just awesome! The kitschy showstoppers, the boy-loses-girl laments, the ensemble denouements, man! I might have actually drooled. I rip open the package on the bus and take out the booklet. Oh man, this is better than I thought! The titles of the “shows” are brilliant, hilarious, perfect! *The Orphan of Zao! Peach Blossom Fan! My Life as a Fairy Tale! * The song titles: MORE perfect! “It’s Hard to Be the Emperor”! “What a Fucking Lovely Day”! “The Ugly Little Duck”! Oh man, this is gonna be amazing! Prediction: new favorite album of all time!
So I race home, put the disc in, hit play, and sit down to listen and continue reading the liner notes. Wait a minute–a non-Stephin Merritt voice comes, uh oh, *lamely *out of the speakers–this sounds *too *much like lame show music. Where’s the funny? Where’s the irony? I continue reading. Hey wait a sec–“performed at Lincoln Center”?!? These are *real *shows? I flip to the back: this disc is on Nonesuch? This is a “classical” release?
There’s no prank here? no pastiche? no Merrittriciousness? no fun?
Well. I did listen to the rest of the album, I did read the lyrics. I never would have thought it, but yes, even Stephin Merritt can be sucked dry of all humor, even Stephin can be made to sound bland and boring and lame by the restrictions of writing for a Lincoln Center production of a play in, I’m not making this up, 1330 AD.
I still think he should write his own musical–I think it will be beyond brilliant–but until then, he owes me $15, because *Showtunes *sucks ass.
