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Elvis Costello is a chef with countless ingredients at his disposal. He's a plumber with a bottomless toolbox. He's a noodler, a lover of musical gizmos and doohickies and thingamajigs.
On 1989's Spike, Costello (who is going as often these days by his real name, Declan Patrick Aloysius MacManus) rummaged through his musical bag o' tricks to employ: melodica, lunge maracas, glockenspiel, tympani, xylophone, marimba, cello, chamberlain, Indian harmonium, sousaphone, metal pipe, Hohner clavinet, bouzouki, Uileann pipes, vibraphone, fiddle, bodhran, Irish harp, tiompan.
That was in addition to rock 'n' roll's standard lineup of guitar, bass, drums and keyboards.
Spike was a giddy adventure, a trip through sound and texture propped up by alternately infectious and quirky melodies and consistently dreamlike (bad-dreamlike), surreal lyrics.
Two years later, Costello still hasn't worked the urge to monkey around out of his system.
This time, on Mighty Like a Rose, Costello turns to cornet, tuba, castanets, maestrodellavolta, oboe, calliope, banjo and more.
Unlike Spike, though, which sounded busy and rambunctious, Mighty Like a Rose is striking for its sparseness, its simplicity and for the directness of Costello's lyrics.
"The Other Side of Summer" — which sounds distinctly like a Spike outtake — kick-starts Mighty Like a Rose. Chugging gleefully, propelled by Benmont Tench's cheesy Cox organ and tack piano, the melody navigates a typically (for Costello) disturbed landscape of "cardboard cities" populated by "casual killers" and drugged "pop princesses."
Costello forsakes melody entirely on "Hurry Down Doomsday (The Bugs Are Taking Over)," packing veiled digs at Sting, vapid pop culture and commercialism into four minutes of spit-shout-singing and a positively strange slab of noise laid down by Marc Ribot (the liner notes describe the sound as a "Giant Insect Mutation and Bug Attack").
The two extremes, pure pop and aggressive punk noise, tug and pull throughout Mighty Like a Rose, eventually fighting to a draw.
Only Costello's lyrics, which are vitriolic and passionate bordering on cynical, remain consistent throughout the album.
If he lapses unavoidably at times into despair, the singer-songwriter figures he has it coming.
The narrator in the beautiful ballad "All Grown Up" chastises a youth who has given up hope: "But look at yourself."
The admonition becomes even more poignant with the realization that Costello, one of rock music's original "angry young men," could easily be directing his cutting sentiment at himself, circa 1976.
Even Costello's love songs are weighted with premonitions of doom and destruction. "Sweet Pear" explores a love so powerful it leaves its narrator perpetually on the edge of terror: "But there's a void without your kiss."
Mighty Like a Rose never quite reconciles Costello's impulse to explore with his unparalleled ability to turn sharp phrases within gorgeous and memorable melodies.
Given its various other pleasures, though, that's something I'm willing to live with.
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