Review of concert from 2002-11-09: Chicago, University of Chicago
- with the Imposters
Chicago Moroon, 2002-11-12
- Whet Moser and Pete Beatty
Elvis Costello charms U of C with tales of romantic woe
By: Whet Moser & Pete Beatty
11/12/02
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W: I haven't been here in sunny historic Hyde Park all that long, but
when word spread through the office that MAB had signed up Elvis Costello
I intuited that they'd hit a Jose-Canseco-off-the-restaurant-in-the-SkyDome-type
home run. Suffice it to say that the Maroon office collectively flipped
out when we found out about the show. I counted 8 current and former
Maroon staffers in attendance, and there would have been more had the
show not sold out. If we're representative of the student body, which
who knows, then, well, yeah.
P: I have been here in sunny historic Hyde Park for four years, and
when word spread through my brain that MAB had picked up their option
on getting good musicians to play, I felt like they had hit a Carlos
Martinez-off-Jose-Canseco's-head-type home run. Which is to say, it
wouldn't be a home run if it weren't so abundantly obvious that Elvis
Costello is probably one of the better rock n' roll-leaning individuals
on the planet as of 8:50 p.m. EST right now. This is kind of a complicated
point I'm making, and we shouldn't couch this argument (entirely) in
Cansecoania. What I mean: WTG Major Activities Board. I headed into
Saturday night's pretty goddamn excited about the Irish. My sister's
Irish (like, from Dublin) boyfriend landed at O'Hare (from Dublin, on
Aer Lingus, no less) not two hours before the show, and he shrugged
off a case of jetlag and came along, which primed my Gaelic-appreciation
engine. Elvis Costello is also famously Irish, and my engine was made
aware of this. Suffice it to say, I was on the cultural-appreciation
equivalent of a bender–I think I might have even been affecting
a bit of a lilt (or is it a brogue?) by the time I found my way to a
balcony seat (hey, campus celebrity coming through) in Mandel Hall.
So yo then Whetster, what's your story?
W: Sadly I do not have a sister to have an Irish boyfriend, nor a brother
to have an Irish girlfriend, or any such iteration. No connection to
the Irish to speak of. I do, however, like the rock music, and Elvis
Costello is famously a rock musician. So I was very pedestrianally there
for the rock. He didn't sound too much like rock at first, despite sounding
pretty Irish, at least to my untrained ears; the guitar wasn't really
present for quite awhile. Instead, his remarkable voice—it's even
more impressive in concert—was primarily supported by Steve Nieve,
his long-time keyboardist. And Nieve, possibly due to his cool name,
was able to bring the rock as well as some more avant keyb chops that
wouldn't have been inappropriate backing for, say, Björk. Which
isn't to say that the rock wasn't lost, only that it became clear early
on that Nieve was creating remarkable soundscapes over a solid pop rhythm
section.
P: OK, um, Björk is terrible, and I am uncomfortable being involved
in a discussion that references her aesthetic proximity to Declan "Elvis"
MacManus "Costello." So I'm sidling slowly away from that
beartrap. I was talking about Elvis Costello… so the show was three
hours long. This is, in my brief but still very impressive experience
as a concertgoer 1981-2002, an extremely long show. While not quite
accessing the high-era Springsteen "rock concert as blue collar
purification ritual" ordeal as I understand it, Elvis Costello's
set was, to quickly end what is becoming an extremely convoluted sentence,
pretty dope. Other than being put off by the inclusion of less familiar
numbers from When I Was Cruel (a venal sin, given the alleged sweetness
of said recording) and the daunting nature of Elvis Costello qua rock
legend, possessor of a mammoth back catalog, defender of the pub rock
realm, I enjoyed myself. What I mean, again: This was, barring my witness
of Pavement's second-to-last American show, the best concert I have
ever seen, even though it was three hours long, even though the pacing
was a little off, even though it's a cliché. I was scared at
the end of "I Want You." I was actually shaking. He tacked
the lyrics to "Suspicious Minds" on to "Alison,"
ferchrissakes.
W: I'm not saying that Björk isn't terrible… never mind. I
think what I'm saying is that most anything Costello does is remarkably
sophisticated musically while still being completely accessible thanks
to his pop gifts and willingness to tackle a direct emotional connection
to the audience. While not shying away from complicated arrangements
that freed Nieve up for improvisation, he was able to grip the audience
in a way that I hadn't seen at a concert before. When he chose to do
"It's Still Too Soon to Know" on an acoustic guitar at the
edge of the stage away from any mikes, the crowd went completely quiet
for the three minutes or so of the song's duration. Part of this had
to do with the fact that no one could really believe his voice was filling
Mandel Hall, part of it had to do with the content of the song, but
it also had to do with the fact that he's a subtle master at creating
a bond with an audience through his stage presence. After "It's
Still Too Soon to Know" the audience was his. During his harrowing
performance of "I Want You," during which he toed the line
between heartbroken obsessive and creepy stalker (Costello has this
way of making post-romantic fixation both natural and incredibly disturbing),
some tool answered his rhetorical question "did you call his name
out when he held you down?" with a shouted "yeah!" Everyone
looked at him like he'd dropkicked a baby. Limb-rending was contemplated
by everyone in earshot. It's rare for an audience to be this captivated,
and the captivation builds on itself. The collective realization of
the rarity of kind of audience-performer relationship was clear from
just how much everyone hated this guy after one dumb comment.
P: It would have been a shame if someone had lost limbs, but, let's
be honest, he or she would have deserved to spend the rest of their
life having severe difficulties cutting meat and things of that nature.
To front on Elvis Costello is a bad idea. Fronting on him last Saturday
verges on inconceivable. For the unitiated, it was some shit, I'd reckon.
I would further reckon that Dr. Wax did a brisk trade in used copies
of Armed Forces, Imperial Bedroom and their brethren on Sunday morning.
For fans, it was welcome confirmation of their faith. Sitting 100 feet
from the action, I was dumbfounded for three hours, and walking on air
for the rest of the night. I've only known three things in this world
to render me speechless: football bloopers, pretty women, and the emotional
trauma associated with the death of family members and beloved pets.
You can add Elvis Costello to that list.
W: I think Elvis Costello might have fallen into a tie with pretty women
between death and bloopers for me, unless by football bloopers we're
talking Ernest Byner fumbling on the one yard line during the AFC Championship,
which would throw the whole system into disrepair.
P: Y'all can't see this but I am punching Whet in the neck for fighting
dirty. You bitch. You lousy bitch.
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Story Source: Chicago Maroon
