By 1999, The Magnetic Fields had long been darlings of the college radio circuit. The band, led by Stephin Merritt, emerged from Boston in 1991 with the single “100,000 Fireflies” on Harriet Records a small indie pop label that would itself enjoy a cult following during that decade, followed by the self-released full-length Distant Plastic Trees. In the years that followed, Merritt balanced a steady stream of Magnetic Fields releases with several side projects—The Sixths, The Gothic Archies, and Future Bible Heroes—all of which positioned him as one of the era’s most well-regarded songwriters. So, when “69 Love Songs”, a triple-CD collection that served as The Magnetic Fields sixth album, dropped on September 7th, 1999, it was an event. In fact, its release was supported by a two-night stint in New York, where the band played every song off the album, in order.
In a recent podcast, Merrit and author Daniel Handler, aka Lemony Snicket—who was a collaborator on “69 Love Songs”—discussed whether or not it was the last great album of the 20th century or first of the 2000s. (Merritt explained that there was greater demand than there were copies pressed for the initial release, so many listeners couldn’t get the album until early in 2000.) Ultimately, 69 Love Songs bridges both decades and millennia. It was a culmination of the work Merritt and The Magnetic Fields had been building until that point, and it set the stage for what would come in the next two decades.
In many ways, 69 Love Songs was a novelty: a behemoth collection of cross-genre tunes, united under a broad theme and cheeky album title. But it definitely didn’t seem out of character for Merritt. Part of his appeal as a songwriter is Merritt’s knack for writing vivid, emotionally complicated love songs, well apparent on earlier releases like “100,000 Fireflies” and the previous year’s single “I Don’t Believe You” (later released on their 2004 album, I).
The album catapulted the band out of the college radio and indie circle at a time when the music industry was changing. They would remain a cult sensation—but one that got significant recognition. In 1999, 69 Love Songs was included on multiple year-end best of lists. Over the years, 69 Love Songs has spawned fan sites and a number of critical reassessments. In 2006, it got its own book in the 33 1/3 series, by LD Beghtol, also a collaborator on the album.
Meanwhile, four Magnetic Fields albums that followed—“i, Distortion, Realism”, and “Love at the Bottom”—all hit the USA Charts. Merritt himself branched out into other projects, including writing the music and lyrics for the off-Broadway adaptation of Neil Gaiman’s Coraline, which earned him an Obie. In 2017, The Magnetic Fields released another massive concept album, 50 Song Memoir, which essentially serves as Merritt’s autobiography. we offer 10 tunes from “69 Love Songs” to draw you into this now-classic collection.

The Magnetic Fields had already made a fair share of songs that could be considered synth-pop, but “Long-Forgotten Fairytale” is perhaps their most unapologetically ’80s of these gems. The Pet Shop Boys are an obvious influence on the cut—Merritt mentions this in the 33 1/3 book—but listen closely and you’ll hear strains of others as well, perhaps a little ABC or (fittingly) Book of Love. Dudley Klute, who sang with Belgian synth outfit Kid Montana back in the ’80s, handles lead vocals on this track.
In 1999, using ’80s synthpop as a point of reference was far from hip and, with “Long-Forgotten Fairytale,” The Magnetic Fields were among very few in the indie world to mine a sound that wouldn’t come back into vogue for another few years. It may be a bit of a throwback, but “Long-Forgotten Fairytale” also foreshadowed the sound of the early 2000s.
“Papa Was a Rodeo”
Another fan favourite, “Papa Was a Rodeo,” was voted number one in the stephinsongs.com poll back in ’99. The country-tinged number with Merritt on lead and Shirley Simms dropping in for the final chorus, is narrative-driven with a twist that might bring a happy tear to even the most hardened cynics.
“Papa Was a Rodeo” begins with the assumption that this affair will go nowhere. Our narrator warns that long-term love isn’t an option for someone who “never stuck around long enough for a one night stand.” Flash forward, though “and now it’s 55 years later / We’ve had the romance of the century.” A romance flick condensed into a pop song, “Papa Was a Rodeo” gives listeners a well-deserved happy ending.
“It’s a Crime”
“Swedish reggae” is the descriptive used for “It’s a Crime” in the 69 Love Songs 33 1/3 book, but the mellow cut with Klute on vocals has more of a new wave vibe. In fact, if there’s one song that sounds like a true predecessor to “It’s a Crime,” it’s Blondie’s version of “The Tide Is High,” at least at first listen.
Tune in a little deeper and you’ll hear the killer dub bassline bubbling underneath the vocals and electronic squiggles. It’s what gives “It’s a Crime” strength, an indicator that The Magnetic Fields were both studied in their approach to covering multiple genres and willing to have fun with it.
“The Death of Ferdinand De Saussure”
“The Death of Ferdinand De Saussure” is, on the surface, one of the most confusing entries on 69 Love Songs. Other narratives in this collection are very clearly about falling in and out of love. This one depicts a meeting with the pioneering linguist, who explains, “So we don’t know anything. You don’t know anything. I don’t know anything about love. But we are nothing. You are nothing. I am nothing without love.”
Then our protagonist shoots the academic and makes the proclamation, “It’s well and kosher to say you don’t understand, but this is for Holland-Dozier-Holland.”
The song writing team of brothers Eddie and Brian Holland and Lamont Dozier helped define the Motown sound—and thus wrote some of the most memorable love songs of the 1960s and early ’70s. Amongst their credits: “Baby Love,” “How Sweet It Is (To Be Loved By You),” and “Stop! In the Name of Love.” They also wrote heartbreakers like “My World Is Empty Without You,” “You Keep Me Hangin’ On” and “Band of Gold.” If anyone knows anything about love, it’s Holland-Dozier-Holland.
In a sense, “The Death of Ferdinand De Saussure” is about the power of love songs. Can you really argue that humans don’t know about love after listening to The Supremes?
“I Can’t Touch You Anymore”
“I Can’t Touch You Anymore” might be one of the more quintessentially ’90s tracks on 69 Love Songs—check out that sped-up trip-hop beat that comes to a gloomy grind at the conclusion. It wouldn’t sound out of place in a mix alongside Garbage and Blur. Despite the acclaim that 69 Love Songs received upon its release, this song’s potential as an indie dance song was perhaps overlooked.
What’s also interesting about “I Can’t Touch You Anymore” is the way the production mirrors the lyrics. There’s a sexy groove throughout that’s put on hold at several points within it, mimicking a second thought about returning to a lover who’s bad for you. With the refrain of “I love you, I can’t touch you anymore,” that’s all too perfect.