Generally speaking, collaboration is a good thing. When musicians share ideas, not only do they get to take advantage of the very best that each of them has to offer, but the added perspective generally prevents them from falling into blind, self-obsessed egotism. Generally speaking, Stephin Merritt of the Magnetic Fields, the Gothic Archies, and the Future Bible Heroes, is one of those rare, wonderful musicians who's at his best when he's unapologetically being himself. But it wasn't until the release of the brilliantly executed 69 Love Songs, on which Merritt opened himself up to the contributions of his touring band and guest vocalists, that his unique musical vision was fully realized.

And Merritt is, without question, a true original-- a character falling somewhere between Cole Porter and Droopy who's as likely to cite ABBA as a musical influence as he is to bring up Harry Partch. Over the course of his career, Merritt has proven that he's one of the most adept, versatile songwriters working today, capable of cranking out synth-pop gems and downcast piano ballads alike, all dripping with a unique kind of theatrical, semi-satirical melancholy.

While many artists struggle to create something that buries its influences under the guise of innovation, Merritt's strength has always rested partially in the limits he imposes on himself. While trying to incorporate such a wide range of influences could result in an utter mess, trying to incorporate these influences into, say, a three-minute pop song with a ukulele yields much more contained, interesting results.

This, the soundtrack to the independent film Eban and Charley, is the first thing to be recorded by Merritt under his birthname. And appropriately, it's in some ways the loosest, most unfiltered thing Merritt has ever recorded. Working outside of the framework of the pop song, Merritt is left to explore more exotic sound sources and song structures. Unfortunately, without that framework, these elements often fail to amount to anything significant, providing somewhat interesting, meandering background music, but little more.

Eban and Charley's 40-second, piano-only introductory piece, "Mother," seems promising enough. Simple, stark, and vaguely melodic, the greatest strength of "Mother" lies in its brevity. Sadly, the same can't be said for the plodding "Cricket Problem," a sound collage of bicycles, slurping straws, and music box chimes that fails both as a proper song and as an abstract piece of mechanical music.

Things pick up with "Some Summer Day," one of the few songs on Eban and Charley to play host to Merritt's haunting baritone. Whimsical and melancholy without being too heavy-handed, the track is a lovely, albeit brief, glimpse of Merritt doing what he does best. Still, the album's finest moments don't come until "Poppyland" and "Maria Maria Maria," the most fully developed songs on the record, and two songs that could easily hold their own against the Magnetic Fields' better work. The former harkens back to Merritt's older work, with a charming drum machine beat and bubbly synthesizers. "Maria Maria Maria" is simply gorgeous-- a dark, reverb-soaked slab of despondency with a lyrical combination of absurdism and sincerity that could only have come from Merritt.

But elsewhere, the musical accompaniment for Eban and Charley can't seem to figure out exactly what it wants to do with itself. Tracks like "Titles" consist of little more than arranged mechanical noises that don't benefit from the kind of grand conceptualism that made composers like Ligeti's mechanical music so fascinating.

For fans harboring high expectations for Merritt's work, Eban and Charley is more than a little bittersweet. Its high points are Merritt at his best, but substantial portions of it seem somewhat like aimless background music. Collaboration is indeed good thing, but the general unevenness of this record suggests that Merritt does his best work when the parameters of his music are established by his own mind, not an independent film.

-Matt LeMay, February 5th, 2002