Stephin Merritt - Eban and Charley (Soundtrack)
(Merge)
Most people were caught by surprise by size and scope of Stephin Merritt's 69 Love Songs. Caught by surprise? Who are these people? If anything, we should have seen it coming. What with his already outrageous songwriting productivity and his previous dabling in concept albums, the massive-ness of the three disk set—and it's highly respectable 2:1 success ratio—shouldn't have been the surprise of 69 Love Songs. The main surprise should have been that Merritt didn't use synthesizers very much. It is this change in direction started on 69 Love Songs, moving away from synthesizers into a wide array of instruments, that leads us to Eban and Charley, Merritt's first soundtrack and the first album released under his real name.
Merritt even sings odes to two of these instruments he has expanded his repertoire to include. "This Little Ukulele," much in the spirit of 69 Love Songs, is such a great little song; it seems to sum up Merritt's musical career as much as any song could. "I wish I had an orchestra behind me.... Well an orchestra can tell you pretty stories, but this little ukulele tells the truth." Though, in an odd way, perhaps one could say the same thing about "Tiny Flying Player Pianos," played on a tiny plinky toy piano, singing of images of pianos that fly through Merritt's ever busy mind, keeping him from sleep.
One song on Eban and Charley, "Poppyland," is built from synthesizers, its upbeat rhythm seeming like a breath of fresh air to any who've want Merritt to go back to this style of song. The song, however, is just average for Merritt's synth pop; if placed on The Charm of the Highway Strip or Memories of Love, it would be one of the least strong tracks. (In fact, I just spent ten minutes trying to make sure it wasn't one of those least strong tracks on one of those pre-69 albums.) Much better on this album is the guitar-based "Maria Maria Maria," the best track on the album, which is an excellent showcase for Merritt's trademark baritone.
As a soundtrack, Eban and Charley also gives Merritt reason to play with experimental music, the yang to the bubblegum yin in Merritt's musical outlook. This experimental side of Merritt was not truly revealed until 69 Love Songs, and this soundtrack is the first release where experimental music really becomes a focus. Made mostly from toy instruments, these experimental pieces are short bits of texture that, frankly, are quite hard to listen to. "Cricket Problem" sounds like a bunch of wind-up toys wound up and let loose with a broken old drum machine playing in the background. "Drowned Sailors" sounds like funhouse music, with toy xylophones and odd echo effects. "Victorian Robotics" sounds like a Fisher Price drum machine with odd bird-call sounding beats.
To round out the album, Merritt does two covers of traditional songs. A piano rendition of O Tannenbaum seems like album filler, however Merritt's version of "Greensleeves" is interesting. It's also done on a piano, but the trembling, warbling notes make it sound as if it was done on a harpsichord.
As an album, Eban and Charley should only be seen as a stop-gap for Merritt fans. Lyrically it is below average—we get tongue twisters instead of sentiment. Musically it is below average—two covers of traditional songs, six minutes of field recordings of a rain storm, and several interludes of music that qualify more for the other definition of "soundtrack." But, hey, it's still Merritt, right? It's one of his least strong albums, but it still has a few great moments.
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