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There is a book called Two Thousand Insults For All Occasions. Among its ruderies is one that goes: "I know the name, but I can't force myself to think of the face."
Elvis Costello is rather like that. Once you have heard the name, it is difficult ever to forget it.
But the face? Nondescript is the phrase that springs to mind. It's the sort of mooch that appears on those police Identi-kit posters — it looks like everyone you know and no one you know.
The bland, pointy features are hidden behind a pair of monstrously large spectacles. It's rare to see any trace of emotion unruffle the cool look permanently settled there. Costello, then, is the sort of bloke that usually merges into the background at a gathering.
Or rather that was the case. Not any more. Suddenly Mr Costello is big news.
Open any of the music papers, and more often than not that face is starring back. The London papers have described him as "the hippest act in town."
And a round Britain tour he's on at the moment is already "a huge success" (Melody Maker).
So who is this phenomenon, this 22-year-old singer-songwriter who spent two of those years at school in Liverpool?
No one really knows, as he doesn't like discussing his past except in the scantiest of detail.
I'd met him once before, at a Liverpool club when he wasn't performing. He was wandering around with the imprint of some girl's lips on his cheek, and I thought I ought to tell him. "I know," he said blankly, and wandered off.
The next time I saw him he was performing surprisingly, he hadn't changed much. He went through his numbers with those still immobile features, suddenly lurching across the stage, only to return to the microphone to continue in that same drained-o-emotion style.
Behind him his zombie-like three-man group, the Attractions, played in much the same vein.
But the songs were the thing. Full of glorious imagery, curious phrases, and unexpected ideas. The crowd went mad with delight. Elvis Costello was obviously on his way.
Two encores and a radio interview later, I managed to trap Elvis in his dressing room.
Talking to him is rather like playing one of those television tennis games. You throw a question at him, he throws back a quick answer. You reply smartly with another question, and smartly back comes the reply.
The trick is to try and keep the conversational ball moving. It's not easy when the man facing you keeps a poker face, and looks rather uneasy.
He was born in Paddington, but yes, he has been in Liverpool before. When was that? About four years ago. What were you doing here? I was at school. Where you writing songs when you were here? Yes. Which ones? I don't remember any.
I finally elicit the information that he had been working "in computers." Doing what? Operating the machines. Interesting work? No. it was b- boring.
Okay, so what were his musical influences? If he had to tell me that we'd be there for a couple of days, and all I'd get out of it would be a list, he says.
By this time, the rapid-fire question and answer technique is tiring me. So I'm glad when he volunteers, "I've been writing for the last eight years, but most of the songs I perform now are from the last six months. Some I wrote only a few days ago.
"But I get inspiration from anything. My first single, 'Less Than Zero,' I thought up while watching television. I watch a lot of television. I like to write a lot — I try to write at least one song each week."
He managed to get his recording contract with Stiff Records — a company that produces a lot of Punk bands like The Damned — by simply giving them some tapes.
Elvis says he's not interested in any pigeon-holing, doesn't think he fits into one anyway, but isn't bothered about being connected with a Punk label.
"I think you should listen to everything," he says. Anyway, Max Wall records for the same label, and he's not punk is he?"
I agree, and then hit him with the 64,000 dollar question. That name. It's not real is it, and how did he come by it?
Elvis doesn't beat about the bush. He comes straight out with an answer almost without bothering to draw breath. And he looks you coldly in the eye as he gives it.
"No comment," he says.
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