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At first glance, the pairing of Elvis Costello and Emmylou Harris seems ideal for Ravinia Festival's park atmosphere. Harris' pure Southern delivery is a no-brainer, and Costello's tendency toward softer material of late (North, the project with Burt Bacharach, three classical albums) makes him an obvious choice for that post-baby boomer market. But it didn't register until the two were onstage together that the evening's purpose fully revealed itself.
Off the bat, the assumption that Costello can throw a three-hour performance together with Harris a mere vehicle goes beyond hubris and borders on the offensive. His whole oeuvre is filled with moments where he fancies his self-righteousness and others where we're expected to swallow some oversized salt granules. His inherent obstinacy showed in the volatility of his opening set, beginning with a less-than-rousing "Temptation" before building and variably losing momentum with "Clown Strike," "Everyday I Write The Book," "(I Don't Wanna) Go To Chelsea," "Clubland," "Country Darkness," and Amy Allison's "Walking To The End Of The World."
Harris' eventual stage premiere came during "Stranger In The House," being from 1977's My Aim Is True a seeming statement of revisionary intent. Unfortunately, the intent of this show seemed to cater to Costello's ego rather than realizing any sort of synergy between the pairing. George Jones' "One Of These Days" and the Robert Ross-penned "The Night The Bottle Let Me Down" were tantalizing collaborations tempered by Costello's insistence on including The Everly Brothers' "Sleepless Nights" and his own recent "Indoor Fireworks."
The Louvin Brothers' "My Baby's Gone" and Presley's "Mystery Train" worked fantastically, as did the first of a handful of tributes to Gram Parsons with "Sin City." But the real show started with the bluegrass staple "Honey You Don't Know My Mind" and Harris' own "Red Dirt Girl," which finally brought her voice out of its tattered case. If anything, the concert showed Harris' unfortunate but current lack of versatility as a backup vocalist. Trying to hit those thirds without stepping over Costello's lead, her tone was frequently reedy, not the songbird she was behind Parsons on GP and Grievous Angel.
Soon enough the show veered back into Elvisland with "American Without Tears" and "Heart-Shaped Bruise." It wasn't a failed experiment along the lines of Beck with The Flaming Lips a couple years ago, but the deep-down regret that each didn't get to play a full set then collaborate. Sounds like it'd be more country to me.
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