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What passes for artistic maturity in the pop music field is usually just one of the quieter modes of burning out — going acoustic, going back to one's roots, going to the Grammys on the strength of duets with your dead dad. These showbiz moves usually go no deeper than the surface of what the public accepts as maturity. In the pop world, if you make it to 40 and you're still making records, you're mature. It's easy but sad.
Elvis Costello isn't yet 40, but he's obviously done a lot of maturing since we last saw him. His previous pair of records, Spike and Mighty Like a Rose, have been hailed as mature works, but the concerts that promoted them were major steps backwards, or perhaps sideways. During the last time the esteemed British singer-songwriter performed in the Bay Area, he sounded hoarse, spoke with bitter asides, looked like Jerry Garcia and appeared with musicians that had no idea how to convey the wit and wisdom of his songs. He was dreadful. Only a Co(stello)-dependent would beg to differ.
Despite the presence of violins and the absence of guitars, Costello's Monday concert with the Brodsky Quartet at Davies Symphony Hall was closer to the spirit of his early shows with the Attractions than those with The Conquered Dogs, his last touring band. Every song was A Major Performance, a chance for the spectacled star and his unlikely accomplices to prove they were meant for each other.
Although it couldn't have been more musically simple, '70s punk was wildly ambitious: People who could barely play three chords set out to change the world. Unlike many of his peers, Costello has rarely lost his ambition. He never sought to change the world, only to keep his aim true to his own wayward musical vision. Although it hasn't set the charts ablaze, The Juliet Letters, Costello's collaboration with the Brodsky Quartet (a British chamber music ensemble akin to our own Kronos Quartet), is the truest testimony to Costello's talent since he left the Attractions.
Monday night's show confirmed this. Costello was ON, from the moment he walked on stage to the last time he walked off after the fourth encore. He hasn't put so much effort into his singing in years and his manner couldn't have been more ingratiating. Pulling funny faces, moving his arms with thespian flourishes, striking more poses than Madonna and hurling his body at the high notes, Costello played with his role as the art song purveyor. This may be his flirtation with "serious music," but it's hard to remember when Costello has visibly had more fun in front of a crowd. Just the way he approached his music stand — as a bowler approaches his lane, with a swivel of the hips and an arch of the feet — was a joy to behold.
The first two parts of the evening were devoted to The Juliet Letters, a song cycle composed for two violins, viola, cello and voice that deals with the writing and reading of several kinds of letters — love letters, suicide notes, letters home, junk mail. A true collaboration, The Juliet Letters was written in different combinations between the five musicians. Some of the most Costello-like melodies were written by violinist Michael Thomas and some of the more "classical" tunes were penned by Costello. It's a tribute to how free and trusting the singer is with the Brodsky Quartet that he also worked with them on many of the lyrics.
The mood flipped from somber to silly, with plenty of nuances in between. The sold-out, unusually well-dressed crowd was wildly appreciative throughout the two sets. For the encores, Costello and the quartet played arrangements of appropriate songs by Tom Waits, the Beach Boys, Jerome Kern, Kurt Weill and Costello himself. It was as if he had selected the songwriting sources that made him the Renaissance composer he is today.
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