Wednesday was supposed to be the biggest snowstorm of the winter. I psyched myself up in the morning, telling myself that no matter how much it snowed, nothing was going to stop me from seeing The Magnetic Fields.
The storm never came. But even if it had, the trek from Alewife to the Wilbur Theatre would have still been so worth it.
It was my first time seeing The Magnetic Fields, and it was like going to Heaven, you know, for a few hours. And yeah, in my mind, Heaven is this really awkward place. Awkward but pleasant.
The awkwardness came in spades in Stephin Merritt's and Claudia Gonson's banter across the stage--the kind of exchanges that make you want to say, "I'm sorry, am I interrupting something?" But then some of us thrive off of that kind of stuff. When the two of them weren't playing songs or talking to each other, Merritt lamented the fact that the band's merchandise was on sale in the lobby beside popcorn, which was potentially a more compelling buy. Gonson, for her part, spent much of the show talking about and trying to remove an irritating piece of plastic that had ended up in her bra.
The band has a pretty quiet live set-up with no percussion, so there was very limited rocking out. Thus providing space to focus on the awesomeness of Merritt's poppy melodies and amazing lyrics. It's just great to listen to people who are so brilliant at making music, who have been doing it for decades, and who keep getting better at it.
I thought on my ride home after that the show was definitely worth the three weeks worth of train fare or three meals, or various other quantifications of what I dropped to buy the ticket.
Seeing The Magnetic Fields made me want to fall in love again. How awesome is that?
