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Elvis is alive.
No, not that one. The other one. After a two-year silence, Elvis Costello has returned with a risky new album, Spike. due in stores today.
When last heard from, Elvis Costello seemed headed for possible extinction. Costello told interviewers he wanted to bury the Costello moniker and go back to using his real name, Declan MacManus.
That was back in 1986 when, in a burst of creativity, Costello/MacManus churned out two ambitious but distressingly uneven albums — King of America (credited to The Costello Show) and Blood & Chocolate. He also toured extensively and performed three entirely different shows in three nights at the Orpheum during which he sometimes adopted a third persona, that of sleazy lounge hound Napoleon Dynamite.
His future direction murky. Costello then entered a period of uncharacteristic quietude. Costello-watchers made do with scant dues: Elvis switched U.S. labels (from Columbia to Warner Brothers) and, more tantalizing, the one-time angry young man was working with the most unlikely of collaborators: graying sunshine boy Paul McCartney. Did this mean Costello was turning gasp! — mellow?
The answer, as evidenced by Spike, is a resounding "No." Costello, while more ambitious than ever, now exhibits more control of his art with a far great musical range than ever expected. Open-eared listeners will find that, at its best, Spike is a work of startling, breathtaking genius.
The first side — a generous seven full-length songs — brings one knockout number after another. Don't expect, though, to be wowed immediately. Costello's songs, dense with wordplay and musical twists and turns, take more than one hearing to absorb.
Costello's association with McCartney pays immediate benefits on the opening tune, "...This Town..." Paul's deliciously syncopated bass line propels Elvis' sordid depiction of modern life. The chorus reaches majestic pop grandeur, but the cynical Elvis isn't taking a nostalgic trip down "Penny Lane." "You're nobody," he scolds, "til everybody in this town thinks you're a bastard."
McCartney also appears as co-writer of two other songs: the delightfully Beatlesque "Veronica" and "Pads, Paws and Claws," a thoroughly demented blues.
While McCartney and Costello prove themselves a surprisingly potent pop team, Spike is more than a pop record. By mixing and matching the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, top Irish traditional players from Planxty and the Chieftains, Los Angeles hotshots like Heartbreaker Benmont Tench and zanies from Tom Waits' band, Costello drastically switches stylistic gears make Spike a stunning display of eclecticism.
"Let Him Dangle" is one of several songs that prove Costello is the most artful and least sentimental protest singer/songwriter of today. Even those unfamiliar with the 1952 English murder trial and subsequent hanging of Derek Bentley — a case that led to a ban on capital punishment in Great Britain — will be enthralled by Costello's jazzy crime reporting.
Nor do you have to know modern British history to be moved by "Tramp the Dirt Down," an acid portrait of Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher contrastingly set to acoustic string and Celtic pipe backing and the loveliest melody Costello ever wrote. "When they finally put you in the ground," sings Costello with heartsearing passion, "I'll stand on your grave and tramp the dirt down."
The biggest musical surprise on Spike comes from the knowing use of New Orleans' Dirty Dozen Brass Band. It first appears on "Deep Dark Truthful Mirror" as a kind of gospel choir backing up a virtuoso piano performance by the legendary Allen Toussaint. Next, it's paired with two Waits-band veterans — guitarist Marc Ribot and percussionist Michael Blair in "Chewing Gum," a lurching jazz/funk rant about the travails of a mail-order Asian bride.
The Dirty Dozen Brass Band shines brightest when it takes over by itself on "Stalin Malone," the Costello-penned jazz instrumental that kicks off Side Two. (Don't be fooled by the never-heard lyrics to "Stalin Malone" that appear on the album jacket.) Costello, who has never indicated any interest in jazz composition heretofore, has come up with an ear-grabbing cool jazz gem that kicks and spits. What isn't he capable of?
Alas, he isn't capable of sustaining such brilliance to the end of this album. The final six cuts don't lack interest, they just don't come up to the gulp-inducing level of Side One. Cassette and CD buyers, however, do get a nifty bonus in "Coal-Train Robberies," the one song on Spike that recalls Elvis' rocking late-70s start.
Spike may lose steam at the end, but it's got more than enough momentum to make it an early contender for 1989 Record of the Year honors. Whether you call him Elvis Costello or Declan MacManus, this guy demands a listen.
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