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A significant move forward for Elvis Costello, Mighty Like a Rose is also a mass of contradictions. Sprawling and dense musically and lyrically, it at once contains some of Costello's punchiest melodies since Armed Forces and some of his most convoluted ever. Lyrically, it features surprisingly specific, accusatory barbs directed at common cultural icons — and deeply personal messages to people he loves, hates or simply dismisses out of hand as meaningless. It is not an easy record to listen to. A dozen spins with lyrics in hand and you'll maybe start picking out the underlying themes. They're doozies: Death, despair, failed lives, broken dreams, fatally flawed relationships, submission and, finally, self-loathing are here in abundance. Faith, hope and redemption are not.
It's probably his best record in years.
Mighty Like a Rose recalls Costello's finest album, Imperial Bedroom, in terms of its varied musical approach — no single song or arrangement sounds like any other — and its focus on matters and relationships deeply personal. But there's one striking difference: Imperial Bedroom's emotional bottom line was "I fucked up"; Mighty Like a Rose, almost from beginning to end, says "You fucked up" (the one time it doesn't — on the hypnotic dirge "Broken" — is on a track written by Costello's wife).
The bouncy opener, "The Other Side of Summer," deceptively sets the scene with the first of many contradictions: an upbeat melody contrasting with its lyric, which ends "Goodnight / God bless / And kiss 'goodbye' to the earth." Midway through, Costello asks, "Was it a millionaire who said 'imagine no possessions'?," then muddies the water with references to several other characters (a "poor little schoolboy," "rabid rebel dogs," a "pop princess") whose identities aren't as easily discerned (Roger Waters? David Bowie? Madonna?) as John Lennon's; Costello the wordsmith has rarely been this imprecise.
Likewise the next track, "Hurry Down Doomsday (The Bugs Are Taking Over)," written with Jim Keltner, which posits a "giant insect mutation" swooping down "the white man's burden / Starting out with all the sensitive ones." The verse ends with "Look out there goes Gordon," which is either funny (if we're talking Sumner) or frightening (if drummer Jim), depending on Costello's intent — which, again, is less discernible than usual. What makes this imprecision bearable is the music's emotional hysteria: Nothing is halfway felt, everything's a sucker punch. If we don't get to see Costello's sparring partner, at least we get to see his bruises.
Throughout, the musical backing is superb, featuring ace players James Burton, Marc Ribot and Rob Wasserman, and a trio of keyboardists (Larry Knechtel, Benmont Tench and Mitchell Froom) who can play Steve Nieve on command — and, oddly enough, do. Two tracks Costello wrote with Paul McCartney may be the best and worst the pair have penned. "So Like Candy," with its obvious McCartney chorus, fits in wonderfully; "Playboy to a Man" sticks out like a sore thumb, however appropriate its lyrics. And it is the lyrics, ultimately, that make Mighty Like a Rose one of the most overwhelming albums about sexual politics ever crafted.
The despair running rampant through this album at times recalls Marvin Gaye's Here, My Dear, and more often Leonard Cohen's Death of a Ladies' Man — two even better albums, I think, than Costello's, but two albums that have also been misconstrued as patchy aberrations in otherwise sterling careers. I think Mighty Like a Rose will be viewed similarly in years to come — when, and if, it is thoroughly digested by its intended audience. Whomever, of course, that audience may be.
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