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He strode onto the stage in St. Paul with a scowl last Thursday, his gold lame coat buttoned over a black shirt without a tie. He paused at the microphone, a study in snideness.
With a downbeat, he launched the first tune, an electrifyingly loud plea by Nick Lowe, "(What's So Funny About) Peace, Love and Understanding," the most retiring song he would do all night.
If the 1970s has been the "Me Decade," as Tom Wolfe dubbed it several years ago, then Elvis Costello, currently in the middle of his third American tour, may just be an indicator of what the 1980s may hold for popular music.
Make no mistake: Though his albums have achieved critical success, Costello is far from being a household name, even among rock music lovers. His following is still relatively small, compared to a Kiss or even someone like Meatloaf. But, as Costello professes in his song, "Alison," his aim is true.
What makes Costello significant is the anger and defiance in his songs. While his musical form is hard-thumping rock with melodic underpinnings, Costello writes lyrics of slashing cynicism and pessimism. In an era where everyone is looking out for himself, Costello is doing just that—and coming up dissatisfied at what he's getting.
Moreover, he's singing about that dissatisfaction. Whether it is over romance or British politics (Costello is English), his complaints ring through with a sharp edge, disguised by the cleverness of his phrasing. He rails against hypocrisy ("It's the things you don't say that scare me most" from "Accidents Will Happen"), the state of radio ("The radio is in the hands of such a lot of fools" from "Radio, Radio"), even the conflict between Catholics and Protestants in Northern Ireland, in "Oliver's Army":
"All it takes is one itchy trigger
One more widow
One less white nigger
In concert, Costello exudes the tension and intensity of his songs. He stands stiffly at the microphone, vibrating with the energy of the numbers, as if he can't wait to sing the next one; it seems to be a cleansing process for him, as though by singing these songs, he is ridding himself of the demons that guide him in writing them.
He gave an eerie, even unsettling performance. Costello either stood stock still or, if when taking one of his infrequent guitar solos, he inched his way toward the front of the stage, as though in the hold of some powerful magnet that pulled him unwittingly forward.
The full house in the St. Paul Civic Center Theater was ecstatic from the moment Costello walked on to the end of his third encore number, "Watching the Detectives." Costello seems to ignore the crowd, even between songs. There was little pause between tunes; even as the final chord of one tune was being sounded, Costello was counting off the beginning of the next one.
While the largest number of the songs came from Armed Forces, his latest album, Costello dipped back to his first and second albums for "Beat," "Pump It Up" and "Angels Want to Wear My Red Shoes."
He also offered almost half a dozen new songs, from the snarling "Don't Turn Around" to the plaintive and vulnerable "I Just Don't Know." Obviously, Costello takes no pride in resting on his laurels. Rather than simply showcase his newest release, Costello is already polishing songs for his next album; most of them are sharp-edged gems.
Is there room for Elvis Costello in the music of the 1980s? While his concerts and his albums are some of the most vital and compelling to come along since the end of 1977 when his first record was released, his music does not receive the airplay it deserves. Apparently there is no room for lyrical hostility on the mellow playlists of this period.
Yet he has found an audience, mostly older rock fans in their 20s and 30s, who first heard about Costello in periodicals or from friends. Word of mouth is spreading. Like Bruce Springsteen, Costello may become a major attraction without a triumph on the singles charts.
Elvis Costello may be the Cassandra of 1980s' rock music. His posture is a kind of rebelliousness that would have made Elvis Presley blush in his prime. He charges it with an energy that cannot be ignored. And he will not let his message go unheeded, though others may try to stop him. As he notes in "Radio, Radio," "I want to bite the hand that feeds me."
Here's hoping the hand of the 1980s remains outstretched, vulnerable to Costello's toothprints.
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