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Punch The Clock
Elvis Costello And The Attractions
Steve Simels
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I think I've figured out why Elvis Costello wants to be the Cole Porter of the Eighties, or at least why he says he does. It's because in 1965 Bob Dylan (remember him?) told Les Crane (or him?) that C.P. was his biggest influence. The question, of course, is whether Dylan was being ironic. Come to think of it, the same question applies to Costello's expressed ambition, because if this album is supposed to remind anyone of the composer of "I've Got You Under My Skin," I'll be damned if I can see how. Say what you will about Porter and the tradition he came out of, at least he knew when to shut up. Punch the Clock, however, only demonstrates that Costello has become the windiest bore since Hurricane Barry.
Song after song here (for a total of thirteen, if you can believe it) finds the former Angry Young Man suffering from a fatal inability to distinguish between a lyric and the list of ingredients on a TV dinner. (It's no accident that you practically need a magnifying glass to read the supplied lyric sheet.) As for the music, jazz trumpeter Chet Baker (of all people) contributes a lovely, limpid solo to one of the songs, but his brevity fails to provide an example to the nominal star. I suggest Costello try a stint as a cub reporter on a provincial newspaper — and fast. If anybody ever needed an editor....
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Performance: Not thrilling
Recording: Nice
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Page scans.
Cover.
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