"He's better than Springsteen," I heard someone comment as we left the Orpheum after Elvis Costello's only Boston performance on the recent US tour.
Well, the King may not play as long as the Boss, but Elvis has a lot more songs. And it's taken Costello only four years to release as many albums as it took Springsteen eight years to produce.
Considering he's not but 26 years old and that he only started making records in 1977, it's a phenomenon that Costello has already become a myth. He's the textbook example of a "cult hero"; after proclaiming himself King he's acted out the role, and no one has even tried to dethrone him.
There is a certain pretension in the name he adopted: another E.C., a second Elvis. He initially revealed himself to be a defiant punk who meant to do whatever he damn well pleased.
And there's a mystique about his image that's the result of how the media has responded to him. Alternative radio, wherever it existed, embraced and glorified him. FM commercial radio tolerated him before all the more offensive sounding "new wave shit."
Certain incidents along the way made waves, like his antipathy for the press. Elvis' henchmen not only discouraged reporters from writing about him, they in fact used physical force to eject writers and reporters alike.
Also there was the Bonnie Bramlett encounter in 1979, when she accused Costello of espousing racist views (he reportedly called Ray Charles a n-----). A brawl of sorts ensued, and she supposedly dislocated his shoulder.
Costello appeared on the Tomorrow Show with Tom Snyder two nights before his Orpheum performance here. Although some very subtle antagonism came through on occasion in his dry wit, for the most part he was mild and cooperative.
According to A.R.S.E., the people who manage Elvis, there was to be no press access this whole tour for print or radio. "Not even Life magazine," spokesperson Alan Frye explained.
So when I went backstage after the first of three Elvis shows in New York's Palladium, I was caught off-guard a bit to find myself speaking with him face to face. Still dressed in the conservative yet stylish suit and vest (complete with ascot) he'd worn on stage, he looked like he might have been performing in a Las Vegas casino.
"It's a shame about KSAN. They've gone country now," he commented upon recalling our meeting in San Francisco when he played the Old Waldorf in 1977.
He'd prefaced the rendition of "Radio, Radio" during the New York show that evening with a remark that radio had indeed gotten worse since he was last here, just as he did elsewhere on the tour, like Atlanta, where I'd caught the Costello/ Squeeze date the week before. Yet he omitted the commentary at the Boston show, perhaps in recognition of WBCN's open attitude about programming, in comparison to radio stations elsewhere.
Elvis was relaxed, gregarious, even jovial among a pretty small group, most of whom were management, road crew or other band members. Garland Jeffreys (who'd been in the audience) was also there, along with a few record company executives.
Someone from CBS asked how he liked the new Clash triple LP. As if minding his p's and q's, he replied to the effect that although it seemed rather lengthy, he'd prefer not to pass judgment until he'd listened to it more. "I haven't heard it but once," he explained.
One of the reasons it's difficult even for people who've been following Elvis Costello since 1977 to be certain what he's really about is because he doesn't want to be understood. Over the years, he's revealed only a few facts about himself; what he wants you to find out about is his music. I was kidding him about the no press interviews edict and he smiled to say, "Everything I have to say is in the songs and the show. That's all she wrote."
Costello's lyrics go right over the heads of most of his audience, who one day may find themselves stabbed in the back by the biting truth that lies within his pop tunes. On superficial listening, they're meek and mild, but when you think about what he's saying, the messages reveal ugly realities about life in the world today. "Clowntime is over," he tells us. But what that implies, clowntime being over, is no fun.
His songs are laced with heavy implications, even the sweetly crooned ballads. "Big Sister's Clothes" sounds innocent enough: "She's got eyes like saucers, oh you think she's a dish... / It's easier to say 'I Love You' than 'yours sincerely' I suppose." But he's not singing a love song, it's dishonesty he's talking about.
The manic dancing and boogeying that accompanied songs like "Goon Squad" indicates most of the audience has no concept of what he's really saying. It's a warning that being blind to what's going on in society will send us right into fascist entrapment. Granted, the fast songs are harder to understand, but it's doubtful they listen to even the slow ones on a deep enough level to "get it."
Indeed, subtlety is as much of the Elvis mystique as anything else. No lyric sheets are breast-fed to you; you have to listen to the words.
One thing I couldn't resist asking about was the last Elvis performance I'd seen, in 1979. He played a 2,000-plus seat hall in Berkeley, California, and the first night's set was no more than 35 minutes long. And he didn't do an encore. What made it even more of a rip-off was the fact that there was no opening act on the $7.50 a ticket bill.
Most of the audience got pissed off at Elvis. I frankly feel he was demonstrating to promoter Bill Graham that a support act should have been booked, and perhaps the anger would have been more appropriately channeled at Graham.
Again, an honest yet somewhat evasive response from Costello: "Well, we're doing longer sets now.
"I practically feel like an old man at 26," Elvis went on. "Now there is a whole new lot of bands, like Madness, coming to play in America. When we first came here, we attracted a much younger crowd." And it's been only a little over three years.
After a little more chatter, everyone got into the tour bus to ride back over to the Gramercy Park Hotel. They invited me along, so I went, and it seemed unlikely but appropriate when Elvis and much of the entourage relaxed in the small bar downstairs, completely unhassled by any fans from the Palladium... or journalists.
Including this one. He was a nice guy and I figured he deserved to be left alone by the press. Besides, he looked happy to be mingling with the crowd before Dr. John's set a few blocks away dispersed the party.
Unlike the more mellow crowds in Atlanta and New York, the Orpheum audience stood up the whole time. Elvis, obviously pleased with this enthusiastic response, played a longer set and extra encores. Of the three shows I saw on this tour, Boston was by far the best.
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