Despite what he said about singing like an Ozu actor, "just delivering the lines," his voice is far from emotionless. Rather, he uses it in a peculiar way, singing with exactly the same degree and quality of emotion (depression) at all times, regardless of the musical or lyrical content. This style of singing is not unique to Merritt -- the great Scott Walker, for instance, sang in a classic crooner style, emoting fiercely, and with much vibrato, at all times, but with no reference to what was going on in the song (a number of the "American Idol" contestants are, I think, unwittingly following his example). However, Merritt uses it particularly effectively.

His production sound is unmistakable. He favors thin sounds -- ukuleles, plinky synthesizers, tinny, bassless drum machines -- and likes to layer them to form a dense wall of sound. Sometimes it's close to Phil Spector, sometimes it's more electro-pop, but it always has that unmistakable Stephin Merritt plink to it, even when the songs are played on acoustic instruments. The arrangements and production are often ingenious, but if there's a weak link to Merritt's music, this is it. After listening to too much Merritt, you'll find yourself longing for something, anything, with a good, heavy bass line. Put on some James Brown. You'll feel better.

Performance aside, Merritt is most revered, and rightly so, as a songwriter. It's difficult for me not to resort to a string of meaningless superlatives in describing his songs. Suffice it to say that they manage to be both clever and moving, both coherent and poetic. Each of his songs includes at least one turn of phrase so perfect, so jewel-like, it's as if Nabokov had overcome his dislike of music, and returned to write songs. His skill is such that he can turn outlandish ideas into successful songs: one of his best is "The Death of Ferdinand de Saussure," in which the French linguist and father of semiotics begins to deconstruct love, saying that we are unable to understand it, because "you can't use a bulldozer to study orchids." This angers the songwriter, who shoots and kills de Saussure to defend the honor of the Motown songwriting team of Holland-Dozier-Holland.

Where most good songwriters try to avoid clichés, Merritt embraces them as an efficient way of communicating emotions that everyone understands. He mentioned "invitations to dance," a well-worn cliché in pop songwriting, and on this subject alone, he's written a handful of masterly songs, including "Time Enough for Rocking When We're Old," which runs, in its entirety:

There'll be time enough for rocking when we're old
We will rock all day in rocking chairs of gold
But tonight I think I'd rather just go dancing
There'll be time enough for rocking when we're old, my love

There'll be time enough for talking in the nursing home
Darling time enough to write an epic poem
But tonight I think I'd rather just go dancing
There'll be time enough for talking in the home, my love

There'll be time enough for sleeping when we're dead
You will have a velvet pillow for your head
But tonight I think I'd rather just go dancing
There'll be time enough for sleeping when we're dead, my love

There'll be time enough for sex and drugs in heaven
Where our pheromones are turned up to eleven
But tonight I think I'd rather just go dancing
There'll be time enough for sex and drugs in heaven, my love

And time enough for rocking when we're old

So there you have, in a very simplified form, the complete Stephin Merritt package: depressing, deadpan vocal style, slick, plinky production, catchy, often upbeat melodies, and lyrics that combine pathos and melancholy with a laconic, biting wit. "Tragicomic" is a horrid word, but it describes Merritt's aesthetic perfectly.

When the reviews for "69 Love Songs" started to appear, Cole Porter's name was mentioned with astonishing frequency. Rolling Stone said Merritt was "the Cole Porter of his generation," Spin (in a 10 out of 10 review) said he was "the best lyricist since Cole Porter." Other publications made similar statements. It was meant to be a flattering comparison, of course. Highlighting Merritt's debonair wit and technical skill as a songwriter. Cole Porter is, as Merritt pointed out, shorthand for "good lyricist." And it helped that Porter, like Merritt, was gay. The problem is, Merritt isn't all that fond of Cole Porter. If you're determined to look in the Great American Songbook for Merritt's influences, he'd rather point you to Irving Berlin, whom Merritt is sufficiently fond of to have named his pet Chihuahua after, although he has called him an "artistic hack."

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