A while ago Elvis Costello considered binning his whole back catalogue in the year 2000. "That would be kind of cool," he mused. "There comes a time when you have to acknowledge that every record has sold as many as it should." He's presumably decided there's life in the old tunes yet, however, and now presents this new fusillade of deluxe reissues. In the first batch are his debut from 1977 and two from his spell on Warner Brothers — the first, 12th and 18th albums, to be exact, and to hell with chronological order. The Warner CDs receive a sonic upgrade, while every CD in the series has a bonus disc of related tracks, plus a 28-page booklet of lyrics, pictures and Costello's own commentary on the songs. The final and definitive editions, then? Your wallet would like to think so, but you wouldn't want to bet on it.
A blast of My Aim Is True is always bracing. It might have looked unpromising on paper — gawky strummer is teamed with passing American country band to wrest attention from punk rock with detailed ditties of peevish discontent and squinting self-disgust. But such songs. From the atypically tender ballad "Alison" to the precision-targeted fury of "Less Than Zero," there was no mistaking the record's power. Meanwhile, in Memphis, the real Elvis responded by dying just four weeks after its release. Contemporary demos, rarities and out-takes complete the treat — indeed it's these second discs that, in general, comprise the most compelling case for trading up your Costello collection.
By the time of Spike, in 1989, our Elvis was a respected sage, not a chippy upstart, but his new songs were as dark as ever. For all that, Spike remains a record more admired than enjoyed. It reeks of ingenuity and the malice is positively forensic ("Tramp The Dirt Down," for example), but the experience feels more tiring than inspiring.
More welcome, really, is the second coming of All This Useless Beauty, from 1996. Though it features some songs he'd written for others, it's an uncommonly confessional set by Costello's standards — direct, affecting, and largely overlooked in its day.
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