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It's a dubious obsession, to be sure: love songs — God knows we've heard too many, and have we come this fa-fa-far to find soulful music hopelessly cliched and hackneyed? From behind a cosmetic factory computer screen comes ball of emotion Elvis Costello to say, "Excuse me, uh, no" for those with any imagination left. Not since "Town Called Malice" have we heard as uplifting a slice of modern Motown as "Everyday I Write The Book" or as joyous a declaration of... aaaahhh... love as "Let Them All Talk" or "The Greatest Thing" or... er...
Yes, that dubious obsession belongs to Elvis. His previous two albums, in case we didn't notice, were made up entirely of love songs. If you push it, you could say the previous four. So what new does Elvis have to add to this poor, maudlin idiom that the Buzzcocks didn't add first?
First: he's proving that compassion never went out of fashion. While he won't by any stretch of the imagination call his last four years of work a penance for his frequently nasty behavior of the previous three years, his recent work does mark a readjustment of priorities, as ministers of state might say. He's reaching for all the angles with his pen and electric typewriter (dear, dear symbolism) — from under and above love, hostility, and indifference, which you might say he's fighting like mad (the last two, Adolf — the last two!!).
Second: crusading for certain humanitarian ends, bearing in mind the criminal complexity of "things" (War: motivated by material concerns: somehow associated with stability: somehow associated with happiness: which, in this ease. must be forsaken — see "Shipbuilding"; rulers, especially traditional or hereditary, are elitist swine, love or hate them — see "Pills and Soap").
In the end: he builds it all into great theatre. Whereas Costello records are involving and impressive, Costello performances are staggeringly spectacular. In his August 26 show at the Auditorium, not one song was delivered without passionate or, at least, assured singing, Taking apart his own words with glorious, inarticulate screams or intentionally awkward, Dylanesque (sorry) rephrasing (this show included the four-piece TKO Horns) so as to elegantly puke out the songs' naked emotions (ah, love, pity, and — bless the lad — understanding), Costello undermined the traditional entertainer role more than he'd ever admit. All right, just one tidbit: "Clowntime Is Over," now rightfully realized as a slow, plaintive ballad in the mold of the Taking Liberties take, saw a spotlit Costello pleading by himself for our caring in a 30-second upper-to-lower register whine — ignore it, I dare you — that Black Flag would have admired for its beautifully bold bequeathal of the most unabashed affection. Good, isn't he?
This can be all neat and nice when one can detach performers from their personalities and motives. But, lucky me, I caught a glimpse of Costello in the emotional buff before the show, having survived a bracing meeting in a hotel lobby and having observed strangely driven soundcheck performances of "King of Thieves" and "Charm School." Of course, Costello later proved to be a gentleman and expressed interest in even my mundane, fannish ideas during the subsequent interview, conducted at the Auditorium. Costello led the way upstairs and I steeled myself to make eye contact with the most difficult, bitchy, vitriolic artist in Christendom. It was fun.
How would you look back on Almost Blue now...? Some people say... the country songs have worked better as integrated into things like Trust, where you did "Different Finger."
Well... they couldn't really be integrated into an album of my songs because they would have stuck out by virtue of the fact that they were covers, wouldn't they have? So... the only way, really, they could have done an album to please those people would have been if I'd written a whole album of country songs, see. So, I mean, it was a different thing that I was after when we recorded the album. The whole point was to escape my own material.
Were the motives the same as (those behind) the record you made with the Rumour, Our Aim Is True?
I didn't make that with them... no, that's not with the Rumour, anyway. Those are old demos from a group I was in when I was about 19...
Was that Flip City or not?
Yeah. I think so. I don't really know, to be honest. I know it's not the Rumour, because I've never recorded anything other than "Watching the Detectives" and a sort of outtake version of "No Action," which was on the second album which has never come out because it was... sort of a bit distorted. I think we recorded that last thing in session. And that wasn't even the full Rumour lineup. That was only the rhythm section, so I never really recorded with the Rumour.
Will the songs "Jump Up" and "Poison Moon" ever see the light of day?
I doubt it somehow. I doubt it.
They won't be integrated in certain lines?
Well, I don't know. Maybe they might have already been; I don't know. I have to be honest with you... I can't remember how they go, so, I mean, I wouldn't really know.
Those were in your "Randy Newman period."
You could say that. I've read that much about them. They have lots of different showoff kind of chords in them — that's all I remember, really, about them. Some of the songs from that period which I didn't record... have resurfaced, or bits of songs. There were bits of "King Horse" that I wrote then, and the whole of "New Lace Sleeves" I wrote... before My Aim Is True.
A lot of British writers thought... that should have been the single off Trust.
It was originally going to be the single. We went as far as making a video for it, but somehow... at the time I thought "Clubland" was a maybe more definite sort of record. In retrospect, I would have released... "New Lace Sleeves" was the "Man Out of Time" of Trust, if you know what I mean. It was the record that I should have released off it, regardless of whether it was a hit.
"Clubland" was the one occasion where I released a record consciously because I thought it was going to be a hit, and I was proved wrong anyway. I generally release records... because I want to release them — the singles in England. I mean, over here, we don't have any say in the release of singles... The best way of doing it is to make it as obvious that that's a great track that should be released that they don't argue... I mean, basically, we don't have any big say-so in the release of singles.
Is "Clubland" about your father...?
No... it's just a collection of experiences or observations from playing clubs and being around them...
Do you really think songwriting will be beyond the sort of formulas it has now with rhymes... or do you think your songwriting will change drastically from your style? You do have one.
Obviously, you have one, because... it comes from inside your head, so... even if you're really brilliant, you could only come up with so many permutations of ideas and combinations... of use of language. And I don't think in terms of meter, alliteration, metaphor when I'm writing — those things just happen. So there is a style in that because they're the things that I'm capable of and they're the only things within my experience or my knowledge of language... If I don't expose myself to more language, then I obviously would end up repeating myself or coming up with less and less because there'll only be so much in there when it's all out — that's it. That's the end of it. So I think that maybe I'll do a whole album with no lyrics. (laughs)
That's great!
No, I'm only kidding...
Write a play or something; a musical.
I don't think I'd write a musical. I just think that I won't ever print the lyrics on the sleeve again.
Why?
Because... I would hate to think there were people that I really care about, which is listeners — you know, record buyers — paying the same kind of needless attention to lyrics... as these reviewers that criticize the lyrics on this album. If they've got the... attitude that... if you happen to be adept at using words, then that's wrong; then I'd rather not print the lyrics and them only get half of them. You know, if people aren't prepared to use their imagination, then I don't see why I should. I don't went to contribute to the conspiracy of ignorance...
As a coincidence, I happened to figure out all the lyrics for Trust and all the things that weren't in the songbook or on lyric sheets.
Well, there is going to be another one — I do want to do another songbook, see, because that's something you can refer to. But this thing — "I'm sitting with a piece of paper" — when you should be listening — you know, sitting and staring... I always was against it and it was against my better — well, not against my better judgement — I decided we'd done everything else. We'd left the lyrics off and we printed them in an odd form last time, and I wanted to print them in a very stark way, with certain lines highlighted for no apparent reason, just make people kind of wonder whether they were the important lines or whether it was a red herring... so that was it, really... The idea was that we'd not printed them for so long, no I thought, "I'll print them this time," but I don't think I'll do it again. Because I think it throws unnecessary emphasis on the lyrics... I already have a lot of emphasis on the lyrics, anyway, because people have come to sort of expect me to have something, at worst, clever to say and, at best, something interesting to say...
With Punch the Clock, a lot of the American criticism is that it's just clever-clever and just cute and not really revolutionary. This is absolute nonsense. The reason they think that is because it's the first time they've ever had the lyrics clearly printed out. If they saw how clever-clever some of the Armed Forces lyrics were, written out, where I really was doing that... then perhaps they wouldn't be so bloody reverent about Imperial Bedroom... I think it's absolute nonsense, but particularly what got me: the guy in Rolling Stone — the one he wrote about the verse in "T.K.O." If he can't see the sense in that, then the guy's an idiot and he shouldn't be writing for anybody.
I've heard that your lyrics are now being taught for O-levels. Is that true?
There's some kind of... I don't know whether it's an O-level or what it is. It's a Scottish examination... it's not been taught; there's a quote.
From what?
Er, "You'll Never Be a Man," but it was a misquote as well... they're not actually being taught or anything, so it's just... some kind of examination. Whoever sets exam questions just obviously decided to use something a bit more current...
You underwent a certain turning point in your songwriting. At first, you seemed to be ruled by emotion and you spat out things that you were really feeling — you know, the base emotions, and then, later on, it became compassion and sort of thought.
No, I don't think that. I think that I'm still being ruled by emotion — it's just a different one. The other thing in perhaps more idealistic and... just to follow the most obvious instincts. All the raw response; touch the rawest nerves. But if you continue to mine that it would become a bit... voyeuristic for your audience, I think, that just want to see somebody writhing in agony. So you have to be outward-looking at some point. And it's gone in phases, really...
You said at one point in the early stages... you were not a nice person and that it showed... in your songs. Do you think the turning point came around Get Happy!!, or did anything in particular happen to you?
Get Happy!! was probably about the turning point, definitely. I see the first three albums as a set. You look at it, I guess, as one person, and then a sort of different person as well as the other ones.
Could you have written a song like "The Long Honeymoon" in your early days?
Technically, I could have almost written it, because... there were songs that... if I could have written "New Lace Sleeves," I could have written that one anyway... I don't see any reason why not. I don't subscribe to this... critical opinion that... the first three albums are totally lacking in any compassion. I don't agree. I just think that the aggressive, vitriolic side of those records in perhaps more compelling — therefore, they drew more attention. There's a lot of sympathy in "This Year's Girl," which most people sort of completely misread as a song of hatred; it's more a song of sympathy — of feeling sorry for somebody.
For the girl.
Yeah. So many tended to presume that I was hating these people for being unattainable. It doesn't say that anywhere in the songs. That's something they just read into it because of the way I look. You know, it's presumed that "he looks like a — a geek, so he mustn't have got the girl, so that's why he wrote the song, and it's bitter." They never actually listened to the song. The song doesn't say anywhere, "I didn't get the girl, so I think she's horrible."
I think the most disturbing thing you did was — you couldn't call it really serious — but "Psycho" was kind of strangely funny and yet...
Well, that's a bit just the way the song was written. There's nothing very much you can do with it, anyway.
Did you change it much?
Didn't change it at all... the only thing that's maybe odd about the recording of it is that it's a live track... with a studio vocal. It's not, strictly speaking, live, though it says "live" on the record, because the live vocal wasn't really good enough, and I thought there was a much better way of singing that and I knew that... nobody was interested in re-recording it... I sort of... wanted to release it on the b-side, because I thought I always wanted to put the song out because it was such an obscure song. I thought nobody would've ever heard of it...
It's terrifying.
Yeah. I didn't like to take it too seriously... I regret releasing it, almost, in a way, you know, because too many people take it seriously... See, they think it's really...
How you feel.
It was written, I'm sure, humorously... Leon Payne is... a national songwriter who's written... lots of standard... sort of songs... off the usual subject matter for national songwriters. I think he probably wrote it... in a fit of humor or maybe he wrote it when he was feeling extremely down, so the man decided to write a really evil song, but I don't really know it, so I don't like to be associated with it, really, because I just put it out... You... can't be responsible to ever answer... for every song you release, and you can't identify with them all the time. It'd be impossible to identify with all of the songs; otherwise, you'd be a very boring person, because you'd have to just have one opinion...
Did you ever come close to scaring yourself when you perform, say, "Lipstick Vogue" or anything like that?
Uh, well, not really, in the sense of actually performing one particular number. I used to find sometimes, right before, it was quite frightening from the sort of... feeling that you would get out of control. Sometimes it was self-induced, though, before I stopped drinking and taking drugs, and... it's pretty easy to lose your mind, particularly when you're on stage where there's lots of fans...
Amphetamines?
Yeah, originally... you do actually sort of have to think back as to what kind of frame of mind you were in — what kind of influence you were under, apart from just the fact that you were maybe really, extremely emotional about something. Sometimes... it can be a very frightening experience, or what can come over you — the feeling that can come over you.
With all the talk of making money and putting out records end getting your thing across and talking to people — just communicating with them, is there any way you could sort of some up your goal that you've had? Has there been one since square one, or do you think you've just sort of enjoyed life as you've gone along?
Uh, I've always taken... every day as it comes, really. I never... really made any big plans, you know. I don't think you can, really, I mean, sort of "what am I going to do?" But I've not really got any ambitions an such, like any goals that, when I'm reached them, I feel that I've done everything. I don't want to go and play in Las Vegas or some of those things that people aspire to do... I've done lots of things that people would probably think would he the pinnacle of their career. I've played the Albert Hall, you know, which is a really prestigious venue in London. I played it with the symphony orchestra. But to me, that was a one-off kind of experiment — wasn't even an experiment, because I've had no intention of doing it again. "Experiment" suggests that you were trying it out, seeing whether you wanted to do it again. It was a conscious one-off, you know.
Well, I admired what you did with Rock Against Racism. I thought that that was... something — a good goal.
Yeah, I mean, you can be involved in those things. That's a goal, to try and use what authority or position that you get... just to do something other than just glorify yourself and make loads of money. So that's a goal, but I don't have any kind of ambition as such that I feel I have to achieve, but I have to have number one records. So I wouldn't write songs if I didn't want them to reach a lot of people. So it's just as simple as that... I do want to reach a lot of people.
Have you found it rewarding? Has it happened? Have you reached them?
Well, I haven't reached as many as I want to, you know. (laughs) But, you know, people naturally assume that you want to have hit records for the sake of being very, very successful and very wealthy. But it's very frustrating to write songs which you think are good and they only reach a limited amount of people, but you know it's possible that you could reach more. I think you've always got to weigh against that... To write a song that millions and millions of people like doesn't necessarily mean that it's a good song; because, to appeal to millions and millions of people, you... have to perhaps lower the standard a little bit of what you're trying to say. To try and say something that's simplistic so that it hits millions and millions of people all the same way is perhaps a cruder kind of sentiment than... you're capable of... or, alternatively, you could just say something that's just blindingly clear, but it's a worthwhile thing saying. So I've always got those two things bouncing up my mind — that's the reasons for... being cult, you know. And I actually currently subscribe to the feeling that, if you try hard enough and work on it, if you can write songs which appeal to millions of people, you can still be excellent, you know?
Obviously you admire some very, very popular people — Sinatra.
Yeah, but for different reasons. I mean, I don't just admire them because they're successful... and I admire Chet Baker, but he's not successful, really.
Well, punch the tape.
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As suggested before, the live show turned out to be a magnificent theatrical affair, with Costello playing the thinking crooner (well, still a shouter "Kid About It" and "Shipbuilding" were great technical leaps forward from, say, "Beaten to the Punch") to the hilt and the Attractions playing the prancing rogues to equally entertaining effect. What about the horns? They were, uh, "a nice embellishment" or something stupid like that... not quite breathtaking, though they made the affair a sort of all-entertaining, all-pleasing (sum a dem seh: "annoying") show, as did the tacky light show.
As always, the group was tight, well-arranged, blah, blah, blah, and they "ran masterfully through a diverse selection spanning yah yah yah and even cooked on the covers of the O'Jays' 'Back Stabbers,' Stevie Wonder's 'Master Blaster,' (tacked onto the middle of the stupendifying 'Watching the Detectives') and Smokey Robinson's 'Can You Hear the Bells,' all of which surpassed the originals for energy and such like emotions."
But Costello, as they say, writes the songs; thus, one is compelled to concentrate on him. And, if it is possible, he is now pouring deeper emotion into his singing (leave the guitar playing alone, all right? And, for that matter, forget that Pete Thomas sings almost every word while he plays and stop wondering if Steve Nieve knows how to read music, because he doesn't. Doesn't. Does.) than he ever did before. In 1979, at Milwaukee's Uptown Theater, Costello made himself overwrought — no, irate — no, furious — for an hour and a half, but he was never this plaintive or purposeful. When he winningly wailed at the close of "Alison," "I'm going to be happy some day," Chief Breier was seen at the rear of the Auditorium, arms folded, muttering, "All right, I'll buy that."
It rather smarts to have enjoyed (consumed? felt?) a show like this for its entertainment value and on the level of transubstantiation and predestination (the dude's always been a transmogrified kinda cat, know what I mean?) — no, I'm only kidding (I'M ONLY KIDDING, ASSHOLES !!!!): I mean compassion and PEACE, LOVE, AND UNDERSTANDING — THREE CHEERS FOR 'EM!! Usually I go for the shows that hurt a little more, but I think I learned a little about what we're all here for Friday night, and it's not "Fun, fun, fun," though that's a good guess. At last, Costello's "loving concern" was not lost in that suffocating fog of frenzied passion (heavy petting — I mean strumming). For once we could listen to the silence and Get Concerned, if not Happy. Julie Burchill and Tony Parsons once called Elvis Costello an "important myopic." I have two corrections to make: his glasses have no actual lenses in them...
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