|
There were five excellent bands on the bill at this year's Garden Party — popularly regarded as the cosiest of the annual open air events — but industry interest was focused on the fortunes of one man... Elvis Costello.
Crawler, kicking off the afternoon promptly played one of the sets that the group is beginning to be known for. It was tight, well-crafted, full of strong material and would have gone down better if the audience in the natural concert bowl had been settled in.
Brand X sparkled in front of the now full natural amphitheatre led by Phil Collins and warming the crowd into bursts of applause preparing the ground for Southside Johnny And The Asbury Jukes, the band that came here earlier this year on tour with Graham Parker and the Rumour, and finally headlined its own concert at the Rainbow.
Southside is definitely back with the firm intent of capitalising on his earlier successes and with the brass section powering the riffs across the ornamental lake that separates the stage from the audience, the exuberant uptown soul and Spectorish work-outs had the park alight by the end of the hour.
There was an electric air of anticipation reserved for the big-gig debut of young Elvis Costello. He was a mystery to most people there, having played only a short season at the Nashville and a couple of club dates.
With has band, the Attractions, he cut a strange figure, weedy in physique and clad in an ill-fitting and shiny black suit. His penchant for short, snappy songs with vulnerable lyrics that make their point without over-embellishment has much to commend it on record and has shot him into the charts with his debut album.
However, by the time his set had run its course, doubts had begun to assail everyone back stage. It dawned upon everyone that Costello was not communicating, and no amount of excuses about poor sound, or the wind wafting the words away can make up for that fact. He played selections from his Stiff album My Aim Is True, including minor hits "Next To Zero" and "Red Shoes," which managed to make a modicum of impact, but the applause never climbed above the perfunctory level.
Possibly it has all come a little too soon for him. The crowd was out there to hear the Latin licks of Carlos Santana, whose tense and fizzing first number was greeted with loud yells.
A better route for the diminutive former computer operator might have born to build a solid live following via the more normal sweat-box circuit that climaxes at the Roundhouse. Certainty the music he delivered on Saturday was meaty enough. His problem was inexperience with a big crowd that had come to see someone else.
1977 might have seen the musical world turned on its head, but it seems dues paying is still the only way to stay at the top in the long run.
| 
