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1. “Man Out Of Time”
Mixing the political and the personal, the public and the private, wit and wisdom, humor and heartbreak, droll observations and naked confessions, screeching rock and stately pop, “Man Out Of Time” is the emotional centerpiece and master stroke on Imperial Bedroom, Elvis Costello’s tremendous 1982 album. To these ears, it is his finest single song, although it is a testament to the man that this was an extremely difficult choice because of the abundance of sublime competition for the spot.
It is ironic to think how this monumental track nearly went awry. The evidence can be heard on the bonus disc of the Imperial Bedroom reissue: An early version of the song that barreled full-steam ahead in a breathless tempo that ramped up the intensity but trampled right over the nuance in Costello’s lyrics.
But Elvis didn’t discard this early take completely; he wisely used it to bookend the more restrained take on “Man Out Of Time” that ended up as the definitive version. The wild screaming served as a contrast to the more measured reflections of the lyrics, almost as if the id of the song’s protagonist was released to let out its frustration.
That off-kilter intro also serves its purpose as a palette-cleanser; when the opening strums of the more sedate take begin, it’s like the air has been cleared. The Attractions reached the point on Imperial Bedroom where they were just as adept with the material that required more touch than thunder, and their performance on “Man Out Of Time,” to a man, is exquisite.
Costello once again indulges in his love of film noir and the shady underbelly of society on the song, but with far less lurid fascination than in the past. There is a certain weariness in tone, as if being able to uncover these tawdry secrets no longer gives him any pleasure. Perhaps that was because, as he admitted years after writing the song, he didn’t have to use all that much imagination to get inside the heads and hearts of these morally-bereft, emotionally-spent characters.
Indeed, he does his job so well of identifying with these cloak-and-dagger archetypes and their various methods of subterfuge, that the line blurs between the songwriter and his fictional creations. Costello clearly was influenced by the kind of scandal that ensnares the rich and powerful when they become too fast and loose with their indiscretions, yet he’s more interested in mapping out the internal malaise that would drive them to such foolish deeds than in detailing exactly who did what to whom.
“For his private wife and kids somehow/Real life becomes a rumour,” Costello sings, acknowledging the innocent victims of all the espionage. He coins some of his most memorable jabs at the expense of the soulless cad at the heart of his narrative. “He’s got a mind like a sewer and a heart like a fridge,” he sings. “He stands to be insulted and he pays for the privilege.”
Evan as the booze flows, lust eradicates common sense, and nervous systems are wheedled down to a nub, the song keeps its eyes clear. “Love is always scarpering or cowering or fawning,” Costello sings. It is not the typical idealized version of romantic love that runs rampant through most pop songs. It is the sober, realistic observation of a man who knew better.
Costello really brings everyone in tight for the heart punch of the refrain. He uses the first person for the first time, singing, “To murder my love is a crime.” Through a twisting series of chord changes, his voice effected to sound as if it was beaming in from purgatory, Elvis asks the crucial question: “But will you still love/A man out of time?”
He is a man out of time as in a man who has been disassociated from his loved ones, his beliefs, his better self. But he is also a man out of time as in a man who has gone so wrong that his opportunity for redemption has elapsed. And yet he still asks, vulnerable, yearning, hoping for a positive answer that even he knows he doesn’t deserve.
I would venture a guess that most of us have reached a desperate moment or two when we feel that our lives have gotten away from us, that we no longer recognize who we are. That’s the brilliance of “Man Out Of Time.” A precious few of us have been embroiled in a public scandal, but the bereft emotions of the song are recognizable to all.
That’s the kind of thing that great songwriters can give to us. They can tell us truths about ourselves and our world that we may know deep inside but can’t quite always locate or articulate. Elvis Costello, as this countdown has proven again and again, has insightfully, inspiringly, furiously, funnily, eloquently, elaborately, and empathetically told us these truths. Long may he continue to do so.
2. “Shipbuiding”
In his liner notes to a greatest hits compilation, the great Randy Newman summed up his reason for writing “Sail Away” from the perspective of a recruiter for the slave trade in memorable fashion: “How else could I do it-slavery is bad?”
That line has always stuck with me when I think of the quandary that songwriters face when they attempt to tackle some of life’s weightier topics. For example, many artists have stepped up to rail against war, but the best anti-war songs find ways to do it in novel ways that you might not expect. Think of the way Pink Floyd’s “Us And Them” uses preschool-like simplicity in the verses to show just how absurd war really is. Consider the subtle heartbreak of Tom Waits’ “Day After Tomorrow,” written as a letter from a soldier who’s preparing to return home even as we listeners wince at the possibility that something awful might befall him before then.
Elvis Costello’s “Shipbuilding,” a song abundantly insightful and indelibly moving, proudly stands in the heady company these brilliant anti-war songs. It could be considered ironic that one of Costello’s finest sets of lyrics is relatively minimal in terms of the number of words he uses. The bottom line is that Elvis has the versatility to do whatever is best for a specific song, and it’s impossible to argue against his efficiency in getting the job done here.
Costello got a big assist from his Punch The Clock producer Clive Langer, who wrote the piano melody that became “Shipbuilding.” After Elvis wrote the lyrics, the song was then given to Robert Wyatt, who actually scored a top 40 hit in Britain at a time when criticizing the Falkland invasion wasn’t exactly the way prevailing winds were blowing.
While Wyatt’s version is pretty, Costello’s own version on Punch The Clock is stunning. Langer’s languid melody is a gem, played by Steve Nieve on piano with his typical flair. The finishing touch was the gorgeous trumpet solo provided by Chet Baker. Baker plays as if mimicking a bird flying above the human race and regarding it with disappointment.
The very first question that comes out of Elvis’ mouth sums up the song’s thoughtful tone: “Is it worth it?” Thus begins a meditation on the inherent contradiction between a war’s beneficial effect on a small town’s economy and its destructive effect on the lives of the town’s young men sent off into the conflict. The same ships built by the townsfolk will be used to transport their sons into the bloody fray.
Costello intimates that the reaction of these people to news of an impending war wouldn’t be simple. The economic malaise that affected Great Britain at the time had the working class on its knees, so any sort of financial boon to those struggling couldn’t be taken lightly. In this way, “Shipbuilding” works as an indictment of a society where its citizens are in such dire straits that they would consider for even a second that there might be some benefit to bloodshed.
Elvis also acknowledges that there is a price to be paid for dissent. “Somebody said that someone got filled in,” he sings. “For saying that people get killed in/The result of this shipbuilding.” In other words, protest at your own peril. Still, the price is certainly worth the alternative: “Within weeks they’ll be reopening the shipyard/And notifying the next of kin/Once again.”
The haunting final lines depict the chasm between mankind’s potential and the depth of its folly: “With all the will in the world/Diving for dear life/When we could be diving for pearls.” “Shipbuilding” might just be yet another way of saying that war is bad. Thanks to the talent and heart of Elvis Costello, it is a way that few who have heard it will ever forget.
3. “Radio, Radio”
I can’t really speak to the current status of terrestrial radio because I stopped listening to it about three years ago when I got satellite radio in my new car. It was one those deals where you get it free for the first six months, but I knew about two hours in that I would be purchasing it for the duration. In that two-hour span I heard three or four songs I loved that I never heard in my life on my local channels, so I was quickly sold.
I can’t imagine that it’s gotten miraculously better in the last three years, considering that traditional radio’s decline, foretold so brilliantly by Elvis Costello in “Radio, Radio,” has been in full effect for a long time now. The song hit the nail on the head so hard that it drove that nail right through the homogenizing programming and thinly-veiled censorship that had already become standard practice at the time of the single’s release in 1978.
It was a fascinating act of provocation by Costello to release the song. After all, he had far more to lose than many of the punk bands who were far too controversial and dangerous to ever be embraced by radio anyway. His was a colorful, accessible style that certainly sounded right at home on pop/rock radio, so any sort of backlash against his protestations could have been damaging.
Elvis famously doubled down on his stance by playing the song on Saturday Night Live much to the chagrin of his record company and unsuspecting NBC executives, earning him a ban from the show that wouldn’t be lifted for a decade. His moral compass was deadly accurate though; these moves, far from hurting E.C.’s popularity, only served to prove his integrity and commitment to principle, qualities that have been in evidence ever since.
As always, Costello realized that the best way to make his point was to write an inviting song, making sure that listeners would be enjoying themselves while they got the message. He also unleashed the Attractions with no restrictions, and they delivered a performance of infinite boisterousness. There is a gleefulness to the way the band attacks the song that makes it clear how much they relished taking on the establishment. (We’ll forgive Elvis for the fact that he nicked the song’s ending from Tom Petty’s “Listen To Her Heart,” since Petty came circle and used the concept of “Radio, Radio” for The Last DJ, his own album-length lament for what the airwaves have become.)
Elvis makes sure to convey his deep feeling of disappointment at the medium that once captivated him: “They’re saying things that I can hardly believe, they really think we’re getting out of control.” In the chorus, the viewpoint of the media conglomerates in charge of radio is made to sound almost like fascist propaganda or Big Brother-speak.
Costello also aims his barbs at those who would sit idly by and allow this to happen: “But everybody else is overwhelmed by indifference and the promise of an early bed.” The ultimate goal of the powers that be is to “anaesthetise the way that you feel.” If there was a single word that pushed Elvis to the forefront of his generation of songwriters, it would have to be “anaesthetise.” It’s just brilliant.
The most enduring image of Costello in those early years may be him in that light blue suit on the SNL stage, feet pointed east and west, staring the crowd and camera down as he delivered those defiant lines, “I want to bite the hand that feeds me/I want to bite that hand so badly/I want to make them wish they’d never seen me.” Talent and guts went a long way in his case, and I’m encouraged by the fact that “Radio, Radio” defied the odds and still gets airplay today. The fact that I hear the song often on SiriusXM’s First Wave channel for “classic alternative” after never having heard it once in 30 years coming from the narrowcasters that program my local commercial stations, well, it just proves Elvis’ point all over again.
4. “American Without Tears”
If you’re looking for some sort of demarcation line in the career of Elvis Costello, 1985’s King Of America would have to be it. Up to that point, his songs were primarily written for the pop or rock idioms and intended for the Attractions to deliver the material. (Notice that I said “primarily,” because E.C. has always had an adventurous and questing musical spirit; he just didn’t indulge it as often in the early days.) And although the complexity and cleverness of his lyrics were always first-rate, the presence of the band acted as a filter between Costello and his audience, so that even songs that were actually deeply confessional in tone never seemed to reveal too much about their author.
By contrast, King Of America was filled with material that was much more in the singer-songwriter vein than anything that Elvis had written in the past, so much so that the Attractions couldn’t quite put the material across (which is why they only ended up playing on one song on the album.) Instead, Costello filled out the recording roster with session superstars who were “cast” depending on the nature of the song. It also meant that, even though many of the songs featured diverse characters and intricate stories, the album seemed to reveal the man behind the songs much more intimately. (Not for nothing did Costello use his given name of Declan MacManus prominently in the credits.)
“American Without Tears” was emblematic of this new approach. Costello could have rearranged it in a way to fit the Attractions, I suppose, but he realized that the song called for something more restrained and tender. The music ambles along, supports the lyrics, and finds its heart in the wistful accordion part played by Jo-El Sonnier.
Meanwhile, the lyrics take a similarly subtle path; instead of grabbing your attention, they sort of sneak up on you. The bulk of the song deals with an encounter that Costello had with a pair of British GI brides while on tour. Indeed, “American Without Tears” could have worked just on that level, so expertly does Elvis capture the conflicting emotions of these women, from the heady romance of their initial interludes with U.S. soldiers during World War II to their homesickness once they arrived on foreign shores. The refrain (“Now we don’t speak any English/Just American without tears”) suggests that, even though they spoke the language, these women were just as lost as if they had never understood a word.
The song deepens when the narrator lets on that he sees elements of his own predicament in these stories. After all, his residence in a cold, lonely hotel room is what forces him to seek human contact in the first place. In the final lines, he breaks off from the main story to put the focus on his own troubles: “Now I’m in America and I’m running from you/Like my grandfather before me walked the streets of New York/And I think of all the women I pretend mean more than you/When I open my mouth and I can’t seem to talk.”
After the final refrain, Costello mimics Sonnier’s accordion riff with some wordless scatting, in the process deftly embodying the restlessness of the narrator, and it’s one of the most poignant moments in his recording career. King Of America certainly changed everything, and “American Without Tears” is the undeniable high point of that career turning point.
5. “Veronica”
A great songwriter can take even an uncomfortable or difficult subject and turn it into an enjoyable and inviting song. When two of the best songwriters in the world come together, they can take that same subject and not only create a hit but also illuminate the subject in ways both surprising and moving.
“Veronica” was written by Elvis Costello and Paul McCartney, so that’s a good start. When it was first reported that the two would be writing together, the press jumped on the angle that Costello would be filling the John Lennon role of providing the bitter to McCartney’s sweet. That wasn’t really how it went down at all (as a matter of fact, that wasn’t always how it worked for John and Paul either, but the simplest story is the one that usually sticks, right?)
In the case of “Veronica,” for example, Costello wrote early drafts of the song based on his experiences with his grandmother and her struggle with Alzheimer’s disease. McCartney came in and edited the song, tightening the lyrics and music up and infusing his unerring sense of song structure on a track that Elvis admitted was too personal for him to view objectively. The end result is a seamless song that really pops, with Paul lending his melodic bass-playing to the recording for the coup de grace.
The gleaming pop package is a crucial part of the song’s success, because it gives Costello a head start in engaging listeners who don’t have any clue what the song is about and might simply think that it’s an ode to a very special girl. And, in a way, that’s exactly what it is, because Elvis’ point is that his grandmother’s spark and uniqueness was in no way diminished by the disease that ravaged her brain.
Throughout the song, Costello focuses heavily on his grandmother’s name. In the first verse, the narrator “would have sworn that her name is Veronica,” but then admits that “These days I’m afraid she’s not even sure that her name is Veronica.” It is a way of showing how this awful disease can rob those who suffer from it of their identity.
As the song progresses, Elvis details how his grandmother’s mind would rocket back and forth from the present time to decades in the past at random. He shows the contrast between the rich life she led as a young girl and her addled present condition. (The brilliant video for the song, directed by Evan English, really brings this aspect of the song home.)
Yet one of the benefits of being a songwriter is that you can grant whatever fate you want to the characters in songs, even if that fate doesn’t jibe with reality. Thus Costello imagines that his grandmother is actually living a rich interior life that she chooses to keep to herself. “All the time she laughs at those who shout her name and steal her clothes,” he sings in the chorus. And, in the end, she defiantly takes her name back: “Saying, ‘You can call me anything you like, but my name is Veronica.'”
We are sadly at a point where most of us have had some experience with Alzheimer’s disease affecting a family member or loved one. “Veronica” may be a fantasy, but, if only for the duration of this fantastic song by Elvis and Paul, it’s an uplifting one in which to believe.
6. “When I Was Cruel No. 2”
Elvis Costello has always been a guy who’s been able to maintain some mystery about his private life. As a result, the manner in which his fans perceive him is mainly derived from the persona he creates in his songs.
His acknowledgment and subverting of this perception of him is what gives “When I Was Cruel No. 2” its particular potency. The song invites listeners to envision the real-life Costello living within the bounds of its fictional world. Once they’ve made that leap, the songwriter toys with their expectations and makes them rethink any assumptions they’ve made about his personality based on the nature of his work.
Coming on an album (2002’s When I Was Cruel) that was billed as a return to his rock roots after years of forays into other genres, “When I Was Cruel No. 2” is actually anything but rock. It’s reminiscent of the ambient music in some 60’s art-house film, the strange sampled female voice adding a hint of exoticism. Elvis’ guitar ambles about the scene like a panther getting ready to pounce (recalling the guitar part in “Watching The Detectives,”) but the music never uncoils to release the tension, settling instead for a trance-like rhythm that sounds like a tango for the undead.
The song portrays Costello as the entertainment for a society wedding, and from that vantage point he casts his unblinking gaze on all of the humanity before him. It’s not somewhere you would expect him to be: One of the world’s finest musicians performing for drunken magnates and their vapid wives. (I don’t know if Elvis is one of the many musicians who plays corporate gigs for big bucks, but, if he ever did, he must have been taking notes for this song.) From the boat show model-turned-fourth wife to the bitter exes to the gossiping hangers-on, there isn’t one of these tortured souls that escapes the notice of the bandleader.
Up until the final verse, it’s still possible to imagine that the narrator is just a wedding-band musician, since he makes no references to himself. That’s when a combative newspaper editor recognizes him from way back in “’82.” His reminiscences with the singer reveal how their respective fortunes have been transformed: “‘You were a spoiled child then with a record to plug’/’And I was a shaven-headed seaside thug’/’Things haven’t really changed that much’/’One of us is still getting paid too much.'”
The chorus is where Costello upends our expectations. As the narrator surveys this scene full of joyless dancers and tarnished wealth, you might expect Elvis, given his past excoriations of such subject matter, to either revel in their misery or dismiss them altogether. Instead, he seems more dejected then anything else as he mewls out the refrain, “But it was so much easier/When I was cruel.”
It’s a fascinating line, suggesting that a younger version of Elvis could have blown through that scene and endured it all only by inflicting some damage himself. By contrast, the older version regards it all with weary heartbreak, perhaps because he can identify a bit too closely with all those sad eyes looking up at him on the bandstand.
“When I Was Cruel No. 2” can be enjoyed simply based on its unique music and Costello’s impressive lyrical feats. It gets even better though when you consider those features in conjunction with an appreciation of the song’s fascinating portrait of the artist as a man older, wiser, and no longer able to sneer away the pain.
7. “Less Than Zero”
“Less Than Zero” was the first single ever released by Elvis Costello, and pretty quickly it established him as a songwriter of major import. The song details the imagined tawdriness of an aging fascist, so people quickly understood that Costello was gutsy. And clever.
The easy way to do the song would have been simply to dress down Oswald Mosley, the fascist in question whose unapologetic appearance on the BBC inspired Elvis’ ire, for his past misdeeds and bigoted worldview. Yet Elvis chose to take on his target in a far more novel way: By equating Mosley’s fascist leanings with the inclinations of a miscreant who would commit shameless acts of sexual depravity with family members and minors. In that way, Costello expressed his opinions on the heinous nature of Mosley’s beliefs better than any point-by-point argument ever could.
It helped, of course, that “Less Than Zero” was so catchy. All jagged edges and herky-jerky rhythm, the song shows that Costello already possessed a firm grasp of tension-and-release song mechanics, the way verses should pull back just a little bit and save the intensity for the chorus. With that kind of foundation in place, ably constructed by the My Aim Is True band, just about any lyrical content can sound like a hit.
By the end of the song, Mosley’s imagined indiscretions have made the leap from sodomy to murder, yet he still is able to walk around unpunished: “Mr. Oswald said he had an understanding with the law.” And why is this possible? Because of the protagonists ability to whitewash any sins or crimes with some eloquent double talk: “Let’s talk about the future now we’ve put the past away.”
In the chorus, Costello sings, “They think that I’ve got no respect/But everything means less than zero.” You can read that as him putting words into the mouth of Mosley one more time in the song, or you can read it as Elvis’ own disgust with the situation. In other words, why should he show respect when such travesties are allowed to be foisted upon the public? Regardless of whether or not he intended it to be heard that way, the line did serve as a good summation for the abandon with which Costello would protest injustice and ignorance throughout his career, even when it meant rattling powerful cages and ruffling well-coiffed feathers.
Elvis trivia hounds know that “Less Than Zero” is the song that he started and then stopped during his infamous 1977 Saturday Night Live appearance before tearing into “Radio, Radio.” His logic was that he felt the meaning of “Less Than Zero” would be lost on American audiences who wouldn’t know the history and might even confuse the “Oswald” in the song for Lee Harvey Oswald (Costello would perform live versions of “Less Than Zero” with altered lyrics in the U.S. for this reason.)
While I understand his reasoning, my take on it is that most people, even those Americans who might have made the wrong connection or didn’t know the story behind the song, still would have gotten it. They would have absorbed the passion and conviction of the lyrics, even if the specifics eluded them. They would have felt the impact of “Less Than Zero.” Most importantly, they would have known the fearlessness of its composer. And that would have been enough.
8. “New Lace Sleeves”
Elvis Costello’s liner notes to his 1981 album Trust are refreshingly candid in depicting the period making the album as a time when Costello’s intake of drugs and alcohol was substantial. That admission might partially explain the album’s disjointed tone; Trust contains moments of absolute brilliance interspersed with songs that don’t carry nearly the same spark. In short, the album is a bit of a bumpy ride.
That said, those high points are unforgettable, and “New Lace Sleeves” is the album’s towering peak. Even for a guy who came out of the box sounding way advanced for his years, the song represents new levels of maturity in both music and lyrics for Costello. He was aided by one of The Attractions most deeply felt performances, notable for the touch and restraint displayed throughout.
Once again it’s a case of disparate instrumental elements cohering in fascinating ways. Pete Thomas’ high hat-heavy beat allows Bruce Thomas to set the low end, which he does with quick runs that leave gaps in the rhythm. In the background, Costello fritters away on guitar low in the mix like a slowly approaching train, while Steve Nieve lays a subtle blanket of organ over everybody.
In the run-up to the refrain, everyone starts coming together, deftly handling the twisting chord changes that come to a pretty resolution. This is also one of Costello’s finest vocal performances, perfectly in tune to the tenor of the lyrics and deft even when he rises into a brief falsetto.
“New Lace Sleeves” is about the contrasting forces at work when people try to stick to an ideal of gentility and discretion yet are pulled by their innate desires in less noble directions. In other words, you can’t have it both ways, and those who attempt to do so end up sacrificing something important in the process. The chorus sums it up in sweeping fashion, as Costello sings, “And you never see the lies that you believe/Oh you know you have been captured/You feel so civilized/And you look so pretty in your new lace sleeves.” Pretty and civilized perhaps, but a prisoner to caution and decorum.
In the first verse, Costello lays bare the hypocrisy of political and religious officials who claim piety and dignity but “go crawling under covers.” Come the second verse, the narrator, who sees through all of this, attempts to persuade some high-society girls to his point of view, in humorous fashion: “Oh I know they’ve got their problems/How I wish I was one of them.”
For all of the cleverness, there is an undercurrent of sadness running through the music that gives the song serious emotional heft. Maybe Elvis Costello wasn’t at his very best for the entirety of Trust. But he certainly rose to the occasion on “New Lace Sleeves,” a magnificent song on which he was clearly more inspired than impaired.
9. “Watching The Detectives”
Elvis Costello was busy in the middle of 1977 with the task of finding a proper band to accompany the verbal gymnastics of his songs. The audition process was expedited with the help of bassist Andrew Bodnar and drummer Steve Goulding, who were both members of The Rumour, Graham Parker’s backing band. Tired of playing the same Costello songs from his debut album My Aim Is True over and over with various auditioners, the trio decided to take on a song Elvis wrote after listening to The Clash’s debut album.
“Watching The Detectives,” the song the trio produced that day, with organ and piano overdubs later added by Steve Nieve, became Costello’s first hit single. It still sounds startlingly fresh today, with Goulding’s drums miked so hot that the opening salvo can vibrate your spleen, Bodnar’s sly reggae groove playing off Nieve’s choppy organ, and Elvis’ creeping guitar riffs aping the score of some long-forgotten film noir.
The individual instrumental elements are bold, but they crucially leave enough open spaces for Costello to breathlessly express his point of view. In addition, the inherent tension in the music mirrors the sexual frustration of the song’s put-upon protagonist, who can’t get the attention of the object of his desire because she’s too busy watching old films on TV.
In lesser hands, the subject matter could have been trivial. Costello turns it into a clever commentary on the nature of obsession. The guy in the song, unable to make any inroads with the girl, gets sucked into the violence on screen. “You think you’re alone until you realize you’re in it,” he sings. While his terror rises, the girl registers no emotions (“She’s filing her nails while they’re dragging the lake.”)
In the stunning final verse, the perspective zigzags wildly between the movie and those watching it, the lines between fiction and reality thrillingly blurred. The girl’s symbolic murder at the end of the song (“It only took my little fingers to blow you away”) represents a permanent severing of the fragile tether connecting these two.
Early critics who picked up on the song’s more aggressive imagery and based on that labeled Costello “angry” and lumped him in with the burgeoning punk scene were missing a big part of the story. That reading misses the insecurity, the fear, and the frustration in the lyrics, among many other shadings; indeed, Elvis was already far too complex even at this young stage of his career to be painted with such a simple brush. “Watching The Detectives” is nothing short of staggering, a show of songwriting prowess so colorful that no one could ever confuse it with the same old black-and-white.
10. “The Scarlet Tide”
The 76th Academy Awards were pretty much a coronation for The Return Of The King, the final installment of the Lord Of The Rings trilogy that made a gajillion dollars and employed half of New Zealand. Even if its lyrics had been written in Elvish, you knew that the Best Song honors that 2004 evening would go to the Rings theme song “Into The West,” sung by Annie Lennox. The two songs nominated from the Civil War-set Cold Mountain really never stood a chance, although one of them provided the unintentional comedy of Sting earnestly playing the hurdy-gurdy on stage.
The other of those two losing Cold Mountain songs was the gorgeous ballad “The Scarlet Tide,” written by Elvis Costello and T-Bone Burnett and performed on the soundtrack by Alison Krauss. Krauss’ haunting rendition of the song played over the movie’s end credits and inadvertently showed it up by summing up in three minutes all of the emotions and sentiments the filmmakers had labored two-and-a-half hours to express.
It would have been daunting to somehow outdo Krauss’ version, so Costello made the wisest choice possible when recording his own take to tack on to the end of his 2004 album, The Delivery Man: He played it simple. Accompanied by just a ukulele and the unmatchable harmonies of Emmylou Harris, Elvis sang a restrained and tender version of the song, and it’s just beautiful.
“The Scarlet Tide” is written from the perspective of a war widow who now needs to decide how to proceed with her life after suffering unimaginable loss. Her search for answers leads her to truths about human nature that only the beasts can see: “A little bird did sing/’Man has no choice/When he wants everything.'”
Costello takes time in the second part of the song to make points about warmongers and profiteers and the lives they ensnare, points that still resonate long after the guns of The Civil War were stilled: “Man goes beyond his own decisions/Gets caught up in the mechanism/Of swindlers who act like kings/And brokers who break everything.” Such timeless sentiments made it easy for Elvis to switch the lyrics to a more pointed anti-war message when he played the song on American tours.
The song’s chorus offers a sliver of uplift. After all, the line doesn’t say “We’ll succumb to the scarlet tide.” (That wouldn’t scan very well anyway.) It says, “We’ll rise above the scarlet tide,” offering a glimpse of the resilience of the human spirit even in the face of the greatest odds and in the depth of the deepest sorrow. The hobbits might have won the battle that Oscar night, but Costello and Burnett’s “The Scarlet Tide” easily wins the war as that rare movie song that still moves hearts and minds long after the credits have stopped rolling.
'11. “Clubland”
It’s somewhat baffling to read in Elvis Costello’s liner notes for his 1980 album Trust that he felt the take of “Clubland” used on the disc lacked something compared to subsequent performances of the song. Maybe that’s the kind of thing that only a musician can hear, but it’s hard to imagine something any more dynamic coming out of the speakers than the version of the song Costello fans have come to know and love.
Elvis also claims in those notes that he hears the influence of The Police in his style of guitar-playing. That is also tough for these ears to discern. I do hear a quasi-Latin influence in the piano of Steve Nieve, almost like a flamenco, a ploy that really shouldn’t work but does to great effect, especially when played off the charging music in the chorus. Pete Thomas really is a beast on this track, all over the place propelling the song in different directions without ever getting in the way of the tune.
What Elvis does say in those liner notes that holds true is that he was suffering from a kind of “disenchantment,” to use his word, from the world around him at the time of the album’s recording, caused by circumstances political, professional, and personal. This frustration is evident in the way he barks out the lyrics in the verses of the song almost as if he’s daring someone to push him even further. The chorus provides a little relief from the sense of unease in the song, but it’s only a brief respite. “Clubland” even ends on the minor chord to really leave the listener balancing precariously on the edge.
“Clubland” is a chronicle of what happens when reckless behavior is introduced into an already toxic environment. On the surface, everything is fine in this realm, what with the “boys next door” and “mums and dads” joining in the benign fun. But the punchline to the refrain explains what those innocents have in store for them: “Have you ever been had in Clubland?”
Costello uses the club scene as a metaphor for any place, physical or figurative, which seems alluring but doesn’t deliver on its promises and turns out to do more harm than good. It also gives him an excuse to survey the nightlife with his scalpel and deliver some of his most incisive lyrics ever. (My personal favorite line here is this doozy from the bridge: “The long arm of the law slides up the outskirts of town.”)
Even if you manage to get out of this place alive, you end up going back to your normal life a shell of your former self. The song is a powerful indictment of any scene where greed and the pursuit of pleasure take the place of restraint and common sense. Elvis’ hindsight may have a different opinion, but my opinion is that this “Clubland,” in all its lurid glory, couldn’t have been depicted any better.
12. “Oliver’s Army”
I’m not sure if Julie Andrews and Elvis Costello have ever crossed paths (although Elvis does make a little wisecrack at her expense on the Brutal Youth track “This Is Hell,”) but, at some point, Elvis must have heard her Mary Poppins advice about giving medicine with a spoonful of sugar. He really took it to heart on “Oliver’s Army,” heaping bucketfuls of the sweet stuff all over the instrumental arrangement to make sure his acerbic lyrics would get the audience they deserved.
And what an audience it turned out to be: The song, off 1979’s Armed Forces was the biggest hit ever for Elvis in the UK, reaching #2 on the charts. Is that because the teenyboppers rocking along to it on the radio agreed with Costello’s stance on the socioeconomic underpinnings of military service? Well, in a perfect world maybe, but, on this flawed planet, we’ll have to settle for the fact that most were drawn in by Steve Nieve’s “Dancing Queen”-inspired piano fills and The Attractions’ irresistibly colorful presentation of Costello’s pitch-black material.
The brilliance of the song lies in the strategy Costello uses to make his point. He writes from the perspective of one of the kids desperate enough to join “Oliver’s Army” because he has no other better options. Yet this kid is blessed with the songwriter’s untrammeled view of both the dangers of this choice and the less-than-noble motivations of those doing the recruiting.
This kid is cornered, essentially, into doing the killing and the dying while his superiors are free to look for more lands to occupy. Only in the chorus does the optimistic facade drop to be replaced by legitimate disgust and fear: “And I would rather be anywhere else than here today.”
Costello’s lyrics are versatile enough here to lambaste not just the practice of sending mere boys into these foreign lands but also the national mindset that insists upon spreading banners further and further from home with each new campaign. It’s true that a good portion of the folks listening to “Oliver’s Army” might miss the satire and simply bop their heads to the glossy surface of the music. Elvis’ eloquent and eternally-relevant message needed to be delivered one way or the other, and the sugary music ensured that its medicine oozed into many who might have otherwise spit out the important stuff.
13. “Brilliant Mistake”
Sometimes it takes an outsider to truly take the temperature of a particular place. In terms of songwriting, think of the way Robbie Robertston, a Canadian, created some of the most telling portraits of the American South with The Band. Throughout his career, Elvis Costello has also been extremely insightful and, at times, unmerciful in capturing the modern landscape of America.
Yet even when his version of our fair country is less than flattering, the fact that he pulls no punches with all of his other subject matter, including his own failings and faults, earns him the right to make his criticisms and not sound like some ungrateful crank. “Brilliant Mistake” is partly about the artificiality of certain U.S. citizens and promises, but as told through the perspective of a hapless newcomer on our shores whose issues go beyond his new location, it plays out like a sad comedy rather than a bitter diatribe.
The understated elegance of the music conjured for this song from 1986’s King Of America certainly helps to leaven any of the harsher observations made in the lyrics. The pristine rhythm section of Jerry Scheff and Mickey Curry have the bottom end all wrapped up, allowing for Costello’s acoustic guitars to sweep through the landscape. T-Bone Wolk’s accordion adds a little flavor, and the whole thing gets buffed to a fine sheen by producers T-Bone Burnett, Larry Hirsch, and Elvis.
Great songs tend to start out great, and “Brilliant Mistake” is no exception. The first two lines: “He thought he was the King of America/Where they pour Coca-Cola just like vintage wine.” With that perverse version of opulence ringing in his head, the narrator admits just how lost he is in his new environs: “Now I try hard not to become hysterical/But I’m not sure if I am laughing or crying.” In just four lines, Costello has established both the narrator’s incredulity at his surroundings and his deep malaise.
The encounter with an ambitious yet dimwitted girl in the second verse brings Costello’s devilish sense of humor to the fore. When he sings, “She said that she was working for the ABC news/It was as much of the alphabet as she knew how to use,” you get the feeling Elvis especially relished getting in a little zinger at the expense of the press.
Still, there is something deeper going on in the song that just clever one-liners. The narrator’s desire to “talk in the past and not the present tense” betrays a serious ambivalence toward the way his life has evolved, and, in the last refrain, he sings, “I was a fine idea at the time/Now I’m a brilliant mistake.” In that way, he equates himself with America, two entities that started off with good intentions and high hopes but have lost their way in spectacular fashion. “Brilliant Mistake” may indeed be an affectionate send-up of the land of the free, but it’s also a moving portrait of a man lost in translation.
14. “This Year’s Girl”
When I do my list of the finest 100 Rolling Stones songs one day, it’s a safe bet that you won’t see “Stupid Girl” there. The song is a bit of garage-rock silliness that launched claims of sexism against the band, claims that also accompanied the release of “Under My Thumb.” (It’s my opinion that the claims are baseless in both cases, since they are songs and not court testimony, but that’s an argument for another time.) The difference between the two songs is that “Under My Thumb” was well-executed and clever enough to sound cheeky. “Stupid Girl,” with no other charms to compensate, just sounds uninspired.
Luckily, Elvis Costello was a big fan of the album (Aftermath) that contained the song (and it is a great album.) As a matter of fact, he was listening to it a lot circa the time he wrote the material that would end up on This Year’s Model, his first album with the Attractions, and he fashioned “This Year’s Girl” as a kind of answer record to “Stupid Girl.”
Although there are a few musical quotes that recall the earlier song (specifically the bridge,) Costello’s creation ended up far outshining its inspiration. Elvis and the Attractions, early on in their time together, were already exploring different ways to take on the material at their disposal. You can hear an early take on the song on the This Year’s Model bonus disc that sounds like the adrenaline-filled, no-coming-up-for-air approach found elsewhere on the album on songs like “No Action” and “Lip Service.”
Costello and the boys were wise enough to realize that these lyrics needed space to breathe and be heard, so they tried an approach centered around a Pete Thomas drum pattern borrowed from Ringo Starr’s innovative rumble on The Beatles’ “Ticket To Ride.” With more open spaces in the music, Steve Nieve was able to provide flavorful organ swirls to really punch up the proceedings.
Unlike Jagger’s derogatory commentary, Costello comes at the title character from an empathetic perspective. He does this by addressing the men who lust after her, calling them out on their true intentions: “You want her broken with her mouth wide open ’cause she’s this year’s girl.”
In the closing verse, Elvis gives a laundry list of all the things available to her, but everything he mentions is transitory and hollow. What she ends up with: “All this and no surprises for this year’s girl.” The title suggests that her time in the spotlight will be mercifully brief, a commentary on the fickle nature of cultural desire that still rings true in today’s blink-and-you-missed-them treatment of pop idols. By contrast, “This Year’s Girl” is a song that has no expiration date on its excellence.
15. “New Amsterdam”
In 1982, Bruce Springsteen famously released his home demos as an actual album (Nebraska) when attempts to capture the songs with a full band lacked the power of the rough recordings. Although it wasn’t a whole album’s worth, Elvis Costello had a similar experience with the song “New Amsterdam” a few years earlier, and the end result was similarly captivating.
Costello recorded a demo of the contemplative track that would make its way onto Get Happy!! at a studio on London, playing all the instruments himself, even drums. He then took it to the Attractions, who tried to recreate the demo in full-band form. That attempt can be heard on the bonus disc of the Get Happy!! Rhino reissue; it’s clear from that evidence that something was lost in the translation and that Elvis made the right choice in putting the original on the album.
Maybe the reason that the one-man demo worked so well, and it does have a dreamy, melancholic vibe to it, is because the song is about one man’s loneliness. In particular, it’s the kind of loneliness that’s borne from being heartbroken while living in an unfamiliar city. “Though I look right at home I still feel like an exile,” Costello sings, capturing the feeling of being an Englishman in New York.
It was a stroke of genius to use the archaic name of New York as the song’s title, since it really emphasizes the strangeness of the narrator’s situation. Without a familiar face to whom he can tell his troubles, the guy becomes a stranger even to himself: “Twice shy and dog tired because you’ve been bitten/Everything you say now sounds like it was ghostwritten.”
Get Happy!! definitely features a Motown vibe on many of the songs, but Costello wisely knew enough not to get too carried away with some sort of unifying sound all the way through. Otherwise, an engaging pop ballad like “New Amsterdam” might not have gotten the green light. It’s inclusion makes the album a richer experience.
I can’t think of an occasion where Costello has written a song specifically about the trials and tribulations of life as a rock star on the road. Those songs, even when done well, tend to put up a barrier in front of the listener because the experience behind the song is specific to the performer. By contrast, anyone who has ever felt like they have no connection to the comforts of home can appreciate “New Amsterdam,” a lovely place to visit vicariously via Elvis’ pretty song even though you would never want to live there.
16. “So Like Candy”
The songs on Mighty Like A Rose, Elvis Costello’s 1991 album, are filled with downcast ruminations on weighty topics, so much so that you might think that a song about the end of a relationship might not be hefty enough. Yet “So Like Candy” takes that topic on and and ends up being the most powerful song on the album.
Much of that power is derived from the musical tension that is achieved by Costello’s ingenious arrangement. (Co-producers Mitchell Froom and Kevin Killen also deserve credit in this department.) The hushed verses are models of restraint, which makes the musical surge that kicks in when Elvis sings, “What did I do to make her go” pack all the more punch.
This is one of the songs that Costello wrote with Paul McCartney, and, although I can only speculate about who wrote what, I feel like that vibrant portion of the song came from Macca, since it reminds me of testifying ballads like “Oh Darling” and “Maybe I’m Amazed.” Whoever conceived it, there is certainly a directness to that part of the song that brings the connects the listener to the narrator’s pain and frustration. The Beatles connection is also played out in Froom’s mellotron fills and the eerily psychedelic cods, which both feel like the Fab 4 circa 1967.
“So Like Candy” tells the story of a break-up in a novel way, as the narrator looks through his abode to see the many ways in which the titular girl left her indelible imprint before making her getaway. Clothes, lipstick, perfume: All evidence of her former presence but now just painful reminders of what the guy has lost.
Ever the free spirit, Candy doesn’t have the stomach to make this break in person: “She just can’t face the day/So she turns and melts away.” The only closure she offers is the note she leaves on a scratched record: “My Darling Dear, it’s such a waste”/She couldn’t say “goodbye”, but “I admire your taste.”
Maybe she’s referring to his taste in records, but, considering the high opinion that she clearly has of herself, she probably means his taste in women. Costello names this fictional girl well, because, like candy, she’s irresistibly sweet but ultimately no good for you. The songs surrounding it on Mighty Like A Rose may touch on many of the problems in the world all around you; “So Like Candy” shows that a bad breakup can supersede all of that, since it can make it feel like your insular world is ending.
17. “King Horse”
One of the recurring themes found in Elvis Costello’s work is the deterioration of romantic ideals. You won’t ever find Costello sacrificing brutal truths, to use one of his own pointed phrases, in favor of artificially pretty, Hollywood-style portraits of what goes down between men and women, and we, as listeners, are all the better for this decision.
“King Horse,” from 1980’s sublime Get Happy!!, is practically anthropological in its dissection of the mating ritual between a bar-hopping predator and his drink-serving prey. That obviously doesn’t sound like typical material for pop-song glory, but, in the hands of the Attractions, it becomes just that, another example of the simpatico relationship between Costello’s lyrics and the accompaniment provided by his band.
Each of the supporting Attractions gets a chance in the spotlight early on, from Pete Thomas’ quick snare roll to open the song, to Steve Nieve’s dramatic piano flourish right on its heels, and finally to Bruce Thomas’ hiccuping bass that propels the verses. They really are disparate elements, but all of them, and you can throw Costello’s distant yelping for harmony vocals in that group as well, somehow work. The chorus, when everybody comes galloping in together, is the wonderful culmination of it all.
Costello takes one verse apiece to identify the cast of characters. The opening segment belongs to the less-than-chivalrous suitor, who revs up his engines as soon as he encounters the “Cheap cut satin and bad perfume” of his target. Yet, in spite of himself, he gets sentimental as he ponders his future with her: “He’d seen the bottom of a lot of glasses/But he’d never seen love so near/He’d seen love get so expensive/But he’d never seen so love so dear.”
The girl, on the other hand, has seen this movie enough times to know how it’s going to play out: “And still she knows the kind of tip that she is gonna get/A lot of loose exchanges, precious little respect.” She is reduced, almost dehumanized, into being nothing more than “someone else’s weekend.” It’s little surprise that, when this unlikely pair comes together in the final verse, there is no happy ending to be had.
In the chorus, Costello identifies the two extremes of this peculiar scene: “Between tenderness and true force.” “King Horse,” in keeping with so much of Elvis’ writings on romance, is ruthlessly effective in how it fills in the gaps between the two.
18. “Shoes Without Heels”
Throughout this countdown, I’ve made constant reference (and paid constant reverence) to the songs that Elvis Costello wrote and recorded but, for whatever reason, didn’t include on his official studio albums. For my money, only Dylan is in the same class with him in terms of the quality and quantity of these so-called “leftovers.” (Not even Springsteen can quite hang with that duo in that department; Bruce has a ton of outtakes and extra tracks, but, because of his uncanny ability to decipher what songs work best on his albums, he has a lower percentage of truly great ones than Bob or Elvis.)
“Shoes Without Heels,” a seemingly unassuming country shuffle recorded during the King Of America sessions, is, for my money, the finest of these cutting-room floor songs. Costello inhabits the country genre seamlessly on this song and creates a tale of exquisite romantic anguish out of a pair of shoes that are deafeningly silent.
According to the King Of America liner notes, Elvis wrote the song in ten minutes on the back of a napkin. For most other artists this would seem like false modesty, but Costello seemingly has lyrics oozing out of him at all times, so it’s easy to believe it. If only all of our neurons and synapses could fire in such a way that we could spin out such brilliance with a minimum of toil like Elvis does here.
Costello’s first line is a killer: “This love of mine is like a stepping stone,” he sings, insinuating that the narrator is about to be left behind in the petite tread marks of the woman he loves. While the narrator takes some diversions cataloging the evidence of her indiscretions, the depth of his torment is rendered in almost harrowing fashion, as he sings, “And now I’m driven ’till I’m crying or I’m dreaming ’till I drown.”
In the bridge and the final verse, he starts to toy with the song’s perspective, switching from “I” when describing the victim of the girl’s cruelty to “he.” One could surmise that she is doing this to multiple guys (and she probably is,) but I think this switch is just a manner of the narrator deflecting the blow.
And why he wouldn’t he try such methods of self-preservation, when the damage being done to him is so raw and painful? In the last verse, the worst part begins: “But to see your love turn slowly from indifference into hate/Would hurt him more than any heart that you might care to break.” Costello’s voice cracks a bit as he sings these lines, a subtle tell that it’s the narrator who’s suffering the brunt of this hurt.
His promise to turn the tables on the girl when she returns seems like nothing more than false bravado given the evidence we’ve received for the rest of the song. In truth, it seems most likely that he’ll go right back to being the hapless doormat for those “Shoes Without Heels,” a mini-masterpiece of a song masquerading as a humble Costello outtake.
19. “Alison”
Elvis Costello’s signature song? You could make good arguments for “Pump It Up,” “Radio, Radio,” “Veronica,” and “Everyday I Write The Book” along with maybe a few others. Yet “Alison,” released on his very first album (My Aim Is True) back in 1977, probably gets the call.
The good news is that Costello lucked out to have a song that’s an amazing piece of work be the one for which fans still clamor after more than 35 years. Then again, maybe it’s not luck so much, really, as it is that “Alison” is just one of those songs that resonates with a great amount of people. But why?
The song never reveals itself completely to the listener, and Costello has never stepped forward to explain it (and good for him for that.) That ambiguity allows for a great variety of emotional reactions to be projected from listeners on to the lyrics: Anger, disappointment, compassion, heartbreak, etc. It’s the rare song that works as a love song and a love-gone-wrong song, and that malleability is amazing considering that Elvis managed it within the framework of a relatively short song.
My interpretation has always been that the lyrics are what the narrator, having occurred upon this woman from his past by chance, wants to say to her. I’m not sure that he ever does; I always get the image of him seeing her from afar and having the words pass through his head as an imaginary conversation. If they actually did get to talk, it’s likely that banal pleasantries are all that would pass between them.
It’s interesting that a song that is so closely identified with Costello is one that carries little of the acidic edge so often attributed to him (even though that generalization about his music is only partly accurate at best anyway.) The narrator may be disgusted with this girl, but, ultimately, his intentions are pure. Where the heartbreak comes into play is when we realize, now that her life has taken a turn for the hopelessly domestic, that he might never get the chance to act on those intentions.
Or maybe he will. The chorus is as straightforward as the rest of the story is elusive, as the narrator makes his pledge: “Alison, I know this world is killing you/Oh, Alison, my aim is true.” Then there’s the subtle genius of the extended coda, Costello singing “My aim is true” over and over again as the music fades out around him.
It’s the kind of line with which one might serenade a girl, a pure promise devoid of ulterior motives and any semblance of selfishness. Even to those who may be wary of the complexity of Elvis Costello’s lyrics, it’s a line that speaks with absolute clarity. And it’s a line that resonates through years and generations, the kind of line that reaches the hearts and minds of audiences comfort year after year, generation after generation, when they hear it.
In short, it’s the kind of line of which enduring songs are made, and, even though it’s too modest in its ambitions to be his very best song, Elvis Costello should be proud that “Alison” unofficially wears that signature song crown in his catalog.
20. “Pump It Up”
It’s common for critics and fans to praise the lyrics of Elvis Costello, but that only tells half the story really. It gives short shrift to the dynamic music he has produced throughout his career. That career has taken him through a variety of genres and has included numerous collaborators and accompanists, but his time with the Attractions blasting some out of the most colorful yet potent rock and roll of the late 70’s and early 80’s is most influential musical period.
“Pump It Up” is a track so propulsive that it has been a staple of PA systems at American sporting events for years (hence it’s inclusion on such collections as Jock Rock 2000 and ESPN Presents Slam Jam Volume 1.) Part of the reason for that is the “Pump it up” refrain, which is exactly what a home crowd is looking to do. But another part of it is the primal rock groove conjured by The Attractions on the song.
“Pump It Up,” one of the bombs dropped by Elvis and the boys on This Year’s Model, is a true tour de force for bassist Bruce Thomas, who gets the ball rolling with his funky rumble and then shows incredible nimbleness when he sprints up and down all over the chorus. When Thomas joins up with Costello on guitar and Steve Nieve on organ for that thundering riff, it’s one of those great rock moments, the power of which you can never properly explain to someone without saying, “Here, listen to this.”
E.C. then slyly uses the lyrics as a way of undercutting the machismo of the music. His words speak of futility, reeking of lascivious desire that goes frustratingly unfulfilled and style completely devoid of substance. Copping a verbal rhythm borrowed from Dylan’s “Subterranean Homesick Blues,” Elvis’ verbal spitfire sounds like it could fire you up as long as you can’t make out the words. If you can, the sarcasm comes at you even harder than that beat.
In the refrain, Costello makes it clear that where all the bluster leads: “Pump it up until you can feel it/Pump it up when you don’t really need it.” In the middle of a chanting crowd hoping for a basket coming out of the time out, the subtlety of those lines likely won’t hit home. Take a closer listen though, and you’ll hear “Pump It Up” as the most invigorating piece of subversion around rather than Gary Glitter redux.
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