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Elvis Costello — is he just a punker in a suit or is he the rock 'n' roll anti-hero some claim he is?
The arguments for both sides will still rage following a surprisingly dull concert by Elvis at the Jubilee Auditorium Monday night. Elvis, so the hype goes, is going to blast away those rock doldrums and show us how rock 'n' roll should be played.
Not so, the ex-computer operator christened Declan MacManus is trying to do it all himself and, although he spits out as potent a venom as you could wish for, man does not live by hatred alone and Elvis's schtick wears more than a little thin after a half hour or so.
All the fun was in the anticipation Monday. When Elvis and his backing musicians (drums, organ and bass) walked on and immediately roared into "Mystery Dance," things looked good, because "Mystery Dance" is simply one fine tune. It tackles the hot (sales-wise) topic of teenage sexual exploration with a finesse that makes Meatloaf's covering of the same topic look obvious and coarse. But several tunes later it was obvious that Costello's battering away at the audience was no more than public tilting at his private windmills. There's no doubt Costello displays a fine madness. And, true, his anger seems to have an incredible scope, but there is a limit and Costello seems to have gone past it.
Costello looks like Buddy Holly and steals like Jesse James. But what do you expect from a singer whose very name is a rip-off?
Although Costello seems to have systematically robbed every rock riff from the late '50s and early '60s, it really doesn't matter because it's a narrow idiom and you have to get your material where you can. What he's done is graft on '70s words to '50s rock and pop musical backgrounds.
And that is a hell of an idea. The originals could use some improving and Costello, whatever else he is or whatever you may judge his talents to be, has an eye that rivets, then skewers pretence under any guise.
While punkers are still revelling in their body fluids, Costello is casting his eye about for more focuses for his hatred. His unremitting attitude does become tiresome, particularly when his rudimentary instrumentation has rendered him the centre of attraction at nearly all times, but at least he's looking.
Costello's aim is indeed true some of the time. His song "Radio, Radio" you will likely never hear on the radio because it's a direct challenge to radio programmers — it's like he's sneering: "I dare you to play this, you jerk."
What Elvis needed was a lead guitarist. Without one, his music had a disconcerting sameness about it that detracted from his overall effect. Organist Steve Young was the only foil for Costello's harsh vocals and he couldn't do enough by himself. Costello fancies himself a guitar player and one wonders why he chooses to display his inadequacies on stage. Surely he's become successful enough to let others have a piece of the spotlight, and if he turns a sharp eye on himself and his performance he will see that the sum effect would be much greater with a lead guitarist.
As it was, Costello had to invoke the Edmonton-Calgary rivalry to get the near-sellout crowd up and dancing. His music hadn't done the trick, so he resorted to cheerleading. And, having won his standing ovation, he proceeded to let the audience work itself into a froth while he took a breather. Costello finally returned, sang a perfunctory version of "I'm Not Angry" and bounded off the stage.
It was a flawed performance, but Elvis still has more vitality than most.
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