San Diego Reader, February 22, 1979

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A fine madness


Steve Esmedina

Although the emergence of the new wave (to call it punk is now passé) was correctly hailed as a virulent reaction against the empty-headedness of both disco and pop-rock figures such as Boston, Foreigner, and Fleetwood Mac, the genre seems to have remained an insider's music. Neither the British nihilists (the Sex Pistols, the Clash, the Damned) nor the more campy, conceptual Americans (Ramones, Talking Heads, Devo) have been able to attract more than indignant or, at best, amused glances from the mainstream. But at a time when ninety percent of rock and roll has fallen prey to a pervasive insignificance, it's heartening to see that there is still room enough for a deliberately, obsessively profound artist such as Elvis Costello to achieve mass popularity. Twenty-four-year-old Costello has released only three records, but in less than two years he's become the darling of the moment with the rock press. That may he nothing remarkable in itself. Aside from capturing the fancy of the tastemakers, though, Costello also received a Grammy nomination for "best new artist" this year (losing with appropriate irony to a faceless disco crew called Taste of Honey). His current record. Armed Forces, is selling remarkably well, and all of his recent concerts have sold out with ease. If Costello can't quite fill the Sports Arena yet, he is surely no longer the obscure "pub" rocker he was in 1977. Any artist who can get tightwads like me to pay scalpers' prices for a ticket is one who has proven himself impossible to ignore. He performed at the Fox Theatre Sunday night to a dazzling zoo of contrived punks with painted bald heads, magenta hair, surgeons' smocks, and what they presumably believe Costello wears in his private hours.

The Mardi Gras festiveness is always a large part of the fun at new-wave shows, but it was strangely out of line in Costello's case. It is true that his freakish and frayed appearance contributed to his novelty appeal initially, but I can think of few other modern rockers whose work so consciously avoids frivolity. In fact, Costello doesn't seem a particularly festive or happy person.

The adjective most frequently applied to Costello is, of course, "artery." If that description has become tiresome through endless repetition, well, there is simply no way to get around it — on record at least, he is never in any other state of mind. He has successfully established himself as rock 's foremost misanthrope, Jonathan Swift with an electric guitar. More pointedly. some critics who consider themselves thoughtful humanists have chided him fur blatant misogyny; and it is true that unflinching mistrust and ridicule of women dominates much of his best material ("Miracle Man," "Alison," "This Year's Girl," "Living in Paradise," "Big Boys," "Two Little Hitlers"). But his attitude toward women is consistent with his outlook on everything else as well. Men don't get off any easier; they are inevitably portrayed as either whining sore losers or as vindictive and masochistic. Moreover, whether his narratives are in first, second, or third person, it's clear at all times that Costello is implicated in his own attacks. He's an equitable reactionary, and as far as he's concerned, victims always ask for it anyway. As perverse as it may sound, Costello must be respected for refusing to compromise his bile. In his work there is no room for love, only the contempt, malice, guilt, and thoughts of vengeance which rise from its ashes.

Costello fires broadsides at other targets as well. Like his better contemporaries in the British "dole queue" (Graham Parker, Tom Robinson), an urgent polemical undercurrent is evident in everything he does. Though he publicly discourages the notion that he should be considered a pop activist. Armed Forces proves conclusively that his persistent dwelling on human expendability can be equally convincing when directed at larger, less personal subjects. Everything about the album, from its original title of Emotional Fascism, the military motifs running throughout songs such as "Oliver's Army," "Green Shirt," and "Two Little Hitlers," to his brilliant comparison between personal frailties and institutional indiscretions, indicates that Costello is likely the most zealously "political" of all his peers. His attitude is further evidenced by such lines as "Nobody's gonna make a lampshade out of me!" (from "Goon Squad") and "There's always another man who'll chop off your head / Watch it roll into the basket / If you should drop dead tonight / They won't have to ask you twice" (from "Senior Service").

I realize that all this sounds terribly dire, but it shouldn't scare off potential listeners. No matter what a lyricist attempts, it means nothing if the music supporting his most abstruse thoughts isn't substantial (the main reason Bob Dylan leaves me frozen-faced). Costello, fortunately, is a thorough craftsman. He has a sublime melodic sense, a cogent knack for incorporating different related styles (blues, rockabilly, reggae), and an intriguing capacity for inserting quick-cut, off-kilter and occasionally melodramatic effects. A lot of his songs, however, on cursory listening, sound so catchy that a bizarre tension is created by what he is singing versus how it strikes us. He writes first-rate pop songs that do double duty as scintillating diatribes, an odd combination.

At the Fox on Sunday night, Costello was every bit as abrupt, arrogant, and diffident as he was last year at the Civic Theatre. There is probably no rock performer who is so unconcerned with his audiences. He doesn't pander; he just plays. With his gaudy sport coat, straight-legged high-waters, and thick-rimmed eyeglasses, he's entertaining enough just to gawk at. And his movements — jerky, pigeon-toed stomps resembling either an exotic mating dance or a Jerry Lewis-Crazy Guggenheim imitation of a spastic — were terrific. His rapport with the crowd, such as it was, was as warm and convivial as a raised middle finger. But you don't go to a Costello show expecting warmth; you must be primed for rancor. Although they played a characteristically brief set, Costello and the Attractions were no less exhilarating than anyone should have expected after so marvelous an album as Armed Forces. The Attractions are a tight, firmly anchored back-up group, hammering away at a quick clip that made the set seem even shorter than it was. The songs, largely from the new record, were rendered whole, with no embellishments or musical theatrics. Costello does not dabble in boogie jams.

It is no surprise that a good number of people find it difficult to respond in kind to Costello's on-stage demeanor. In a review in the Evening Tribune, Jack Williams scolded him for being "too cold, too limited, and too hard to understand." But it's obvious and understandable to me that Costello does not give a damn if he is not well-liked, a personality quirk that's in keeping with his recorded image, and also one that shouldn't concern anyone at all. He may be mean spirited and acid tongued, but if he wants to hold onto his hatred in exchange for masterful music, he has my approval.


Tags: Fox TheatreSan DiegoThe AttractionsFleetwood MacThe Sex PistolsThe ClashThe DamnedTalking HeadsA Taste Of HoneyArmed ForcesSports ArenaMiracle ManAlisonThis Year's GirlLiving In ParadiseBig BoysTwo Little HitlersGraham ParkerEmotional FascismOliver's ArmyGreen ShirtTwo Little HitlersGoon SquadSenior ServiceCivic Theatre

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San Diego Reader, February 22, 1979


Steve Esmedina profiles Elvis Costello and reports on his concert with The Attractions, Sunday, February 18, 1979, Fox Theatre, San Diego, California.

Images

1979-02-22 San Diego Reader page 18.jpg
Photo by Chalkie Davies.


Cover.
1979-02-22 San Diego Reader cover.jpg

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