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In the six years I've been listening to this much maligned, yet exceptionally talented, British singer-songwriter, I've never run into a Costello song that I truly disliked until now. Costello's eighth LP is being almost universally acclaimed — if you want your stomach turned, check the gushing, across-the-board raves in periodicals ranging from Musician to Rolling Stone to Newsweek — but it's easily his worst.
No, it's not as bad as say, a Billy Joel or Toto album, but it's almost as boring. Costello once again sets a bounteous table — there are 15 tracks — but the fruit is wax, the chicken rubber and the steak like shoe leather. The songs, as the album title implies, are a survey of ruinous love affairs in various stages of decay. The famous Costello wordplay is nimble and often brilliant (Costello finally includes a lyric sheet on the inner sleeve, but it's frustratingly difficult to read).
On the pop rockers "Beyond Belief," "The Loved Ones," and to a lesser extent, "Pidgin English," Costello comes up with music to match his inspired lyrics. But those songs are tiny oases in a vast desert of somnambulent, dragged out, keyboard-dominated ballads ("Shabby Doll," "Almost Blue, "Boy With a Problem," "Town Cryer"), plastic Stax/Volt soul ("Tears Before Bedtime"), cocktail-lounge Muzak ("The Long Honeymoon"), and strings-and-horns show tunes ("...And In Every Home").
Reviewers, in their lemming-like rush to praise, have been using the names of Gershwin and Cole Porter for comparitives to describe Costello's talent. And rightly so. This is music only "sophisticated adults" can sit through without becoming restless. There should be a sign on this "Imperial Bedroom" that reads: Do Not Disturb.
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