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After 12 years and as many albums, singer-songwriter Elvis Costello ought to be comfortable playing by the rules of the rock 'n' roll business.
But sitting in the 18th floor lounge of Buckhead's Ritz-Carlton during a recent Atlanta promotional stop, the 34-year-old Liverpool native seems ill at ease in his opulent surroundings. Wearing Johnny Cash-black clothes offset by a bejeweled bolo tie, Mr. Costello appears nervous, his eyes flitting around the room as if some unseen savior might come and rescue him from this slightly distasteful duty.
Subjecting himself to interviews is one part of the record business game that Mr. Costello long has loathed. But after jumping labels (from Columbia to Warner Bros.), Mr. Costello seems prepared to do whatever is necessary to propel his latest album, Spike, to the Top 40. While in town for a day, Mr. Costello talked to the press, played guest DJ on WHAS-FM and later spent a couple of hours signing autographs and making small talk with local record-industry types.
His efforts are paying off: After five weeks on Billboard's pop chart, Spike — perhaps best described as a musical melange (from American rhythm and blues to Irish folk songs) — has climbed to No. 35. Perhaps the radio programmers have come around to Mr. Costello's music on their own or perhaps he is reaping the payoff that comes from playing by the rules.
The man who once sang a diatribe against radio that included the line, "I want to bite the hand that feeds me," comes across genuinely surprised at his lack of chart success. (He's had only one Top 40 single: 1983's "Everyday I Write the Book.") Complaining about the "conservatism of the business," he says, "It seems incredible that I can make an album as musical as Spike and still be on the outside." He maintains his low opinion of the radio industry, saying, "The music has become so homogenized. Unless [radio programmers] stretch themselves a little bit ... it will just get more and more bland."
What do you say to people who dismiss Spike as being too "eclectic"?
There is a bit of everything on Spike. ... But to have done these songs more simplistically, to have underlined the meaning of everything, I would have felt like I was insulting people. Some like the tune, some like the words. Other people study every damn word and know it backwards and find things that aren't even there. But it doesn't matter — you can have kinky dog sex with the record if you want or make it into an ashtray. ... It's your property.
Is it true that Roy Orbison asked you to rewrite "The Comedians" (a song that Mr. Costello contributed to Mr. Orbison's Mystery Girl LP)?
When I recorded the song in 1983 [for the Goodbye Cruel World LP], we ended up following the arrangement down a blind alley that disguised the structure of the song completely. Maybe I was afraid it might sound too much like a parody of Roy Orbison, because it was so much patterned after his style. But once Roy had a look at [it], he said, "We love the tune, but the lyrics aren't suitable." I thought, well the lyrics are kind of obscure. When I looked at it, I couldn't make it out for myself, let alone someone else. So I just wrote a whole new story and I think it's a much better song. I got a second chance — and what a chance. It's quite ironic that the person who I had in mind when I wrote it should finally pick it up.
Do you feel you're better at singing ballads or rockers?
I don't think I'm better at one or the other. I found that just when I got in the frame of mind during King of America that I was really a ballad singer, I suddenly realized that I like singing rock 'n' roll — quite undemanding, lyrical rock 'n' roll. The show I present [on any given day] is probably in my prevailing mood. One night in Kansas City, somebody yelled out for "Pump It Up" all through the first five songs of the set, and it annoyed me so much that I played eight ballads in a row. Don't try to tell me my job. If someone doesn't trust you to build a show to its own crescendo, then they should stay at home and play the records and save their money.
What was it like writing songs with Paul McCartney?
Well, I had to keep thinking that if he didn't think I was up to the job, he wouldn't have asked me. I'm not one of those cynics who thinks McCartney hasn't written anything good since the Beatles. In any other line of work, if a 47-year-old man was lacking in sentimentality, we'd regard it as rather an odd case. If he didn't love his children, people would wonder why time hadn't softened his heart. But it doesn't have to soften his head. Technically, he's quite a stickler for formality and won't accept false rhymes, which was quite curious to me. The inconsistency in the structure of my songs is testimony to the fact that I'll use any length of time necessary to say what I have to say.
When you played here in 1978 with the Attractions, you hit the stage with a violent attitude, almost like the Clash.
(Laughing) A little bit better than the Clash, I think ... There was a lot more stuff to kick against then. At the time, it seemed like there was the worst kind of music you could get trapped in an elevator with — like Boston. To come out and stir it up was better than coming off apologetic and doffing our cap to the great American rock 'n' roll monster.
What were those early shows like from your perspective?
Even when we went to these places where they had these pseudo-punks, they always had it so horribly wrong. And they anticipated that we would be impressed by the fact that they'd put a safety pin through their nose. We just laughed at them. [You'd see] a guy in a beanie hat on Quaaludes passed out in the row, and that wasn't what we came for.
Why did you avoid talking to the press for so long?
My experience with the press was very bad early on. But the more I've done, [I've found that] the people who were rather cynical and condescending toward me realize that there's every chance I could be around longer than they will. So even if they don't like you, they don't talk down to you the same way.
David Lee Roth has said the reason rock critics like Elvis Costello better than David Lee Roth is because most critics look more like you.
Well, it's better than looking like a female impersonator, isn't it? The thing is, most rock critics think they look like him. Actually, I think David Lee Roth is a funny guy — but a rotten singer. He's a good front man for a heavy metal group, because if you can't maintain a sense of humor doing that kind of music, you're really in trouble.
You recently were quoted as saying you don't have enough money to hire a band. Does that mean your U.S. tour this summer will be solo?
It's true, I have no money at all. I've never had any money. If all I wanted was to be wealthy, I would have conducted my business a lot differently. But it doesn't really bother me. I'm an economic terrorist — I'll spend anyone's money [on making records and touring].
So what did you want when you started out in the music business?
I just wanted to kick up a fuss, really. And I still do.
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