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There has never been anything like the Comedian Harmonists, just as
there has never been anything like Weimar Germany. This Berlin-based
sextet, five singers and a pianist, got together in 1927 with
the idea of emulating the American vocal group the Revelers, and
quickly surpassed them. Before the Nazis drove the three Jewish
members into exile in 1934, they were the toasts of Europe,
synthesizing barbershop hail-fellow-well-met with the fanatical
accuracy of *Lieder* singing and classically schooled harmonies
with African American swing--a version of Ellington's Creole Love
Call in which the voices imitate instruments is a star attraction
on Comedian Harmonists (Hannibal), their first U.S. collection.
Seven decades later, these 14 tracks--which include such American
standards as Tea for Two and Night and Day as well as German
songs that fit right in--may seem overly decorous. But listen and you'll
find out that they were truly comedians as well as harmonists--on
one tune, they gargle in tune and time. They valued beauty, but
they were never reverent about it. No wonder Goebbels couldn't
abide them.
Stephin Merritt is a funny-nasty guy with a compulsion to write
songs and a reluctance to sing them, as you'll understand when you
hear his deep, inexpressive voice. Not that his inexpressiveness
isn't to the point. Although Merritt almost always writes in the
first person, he almost never writes about himself. He just likes
catchy tunes and silly rhymes--"flesh" and "Ganesh," say, or
"gently" and "Bentley." On 69 Love Songs (Merge)
he outdoes himself for three CDs--he had to be
talked out of going for 100. You can buy the discs separately
(start with #1--he did), but since the real pleasure of this
endlessly meaningless tour de force is reveling in its excess, I
suggest springing for the whole thing. You'll be laughing, and
humming, for weeks.
Playboy, Sept. 1999
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