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There was every reason to be skeptical when Elvis Costello and the Attractions (drummer Pete Thomas, bassist Bruce Thomas, and keyboardist Maurice Worm — a.k.a. Steve Nieve) took the stage of the Austin Opry House on the Wednesday before last. Here he was, promoting what was arguably one of his weakest albums (Goodbye Cruel World), which, apart from "The Only Flame In Town," showed no signs of being the commercial or critical success that 1983's Punch The Clock was. When the band began performing, my worst fears were nearly confirmed. Despite a so-so start with Get Happy!'s "Secondary Modern," things immediately began to swing for the worst, as the band literally raced through "Lipstick Vogue," "Watching the Detectives," and 1982's "Shabby Doll." There was Elvis, practically shouting out his own lyrics half-heartedly when he, of all people, should have caressed them like the Sinatra he so admires. It was almost like... like he didn't care.
Then something happened. I won't say anything about clothes making the man, but after "Shabby Doll" Elvis shucked his Fender guitar for an old Gretsch and lost his horn-rims for a pair of wise-guy sunglasses that gave him the look of a deranged lounge lizard. Then he unleashed the following monologue (diatribe) against MTV:
"About 30 years ago there used to be this kind of music with screaming girls and saxophones... something I try to keep close to always... and guys singing things like Who put the Benzedrine in the Ovaltine?"... And now we have these boxes with wires in our... abodes, and we can see these real tough guys singing things like 'We're not gonna take it anymore!'... This is a song that salutes this new innovation. It's called 'Worthless Thing'."
That song, one of the most incisive Elvis has ever written ("They're gonna take this cable now and stick it down your throat"), was the vital cog that finally set the wheels spinning in the proper direction.
After that came sizzling versions of oldies like "You Belong To Me" and "Mystery Dance" (featuring guest sax player Gary Barnacle), and newer songs (like Goodbye's "The Deportees Club" and "Sour Milk-Cow Blues") that carried more punch live than on record. Newer still was a tune called "I Hope You're Happy Now," which Elvis introduced by saying, "I heard it on Entertainment Tonight that mindless spite has gone out of fashion. We'd like to bring it back into style."
The highest of the high points, however, were the encores, in which El brought out his "special guests," Nick Lowe and Paul Carrack (actually they opened for him) to duet with the King, respectively, on the Shirelles' "Baby It's You" and Elvis' own "The Only Flame In Town." Then it hit me — this wasn't a concert — this was just one excellent party. Then came a shaky "Beyond Belief" (from Imperial Bedroom), his lone U.S. hit "Everyday I Write The Book," which he introduced as "Laura Branigan Meets The Smog-Monster," and incendiary versions of Van McCoy's "Getting Mighty Crowded" (the first time I've seen Elvis try a sing-along), El's own "Red Shoes" and "Pump It Up" which closed the show.
The best of the bunch, though, after all these years, is still "Alison." The Attractions' backup was superb, and Elvis handled the song's phrases beautifully. Here he not only showed the anguish of having to say "I know this world is killing you," but went so far as to offer a glimmer of hope. From shaky beginning to solid end, this show proved that while Costello doesn't always hit the mark, his aim is still true.
Opening for Costello and company, as I mentioned earlier, was old chum Nick Lowe and His Cowboy Outfit (Lowe produced Costello's first five LP's), who, in Lowe's own words, gave Elvis "a pretty bloody good run for his money." Starting with his 1982 anthem to nastiness, "Stick It Where The Sun Don't Shine," the King of Kitsch provided nothing short of pure pop entertainment throughout as he stuck to his stronger material like "Saint Beneath The Paint," "I Knew The Bride (When She Used To Rock 'n' Roll)," "Raging Eyes," his ode-to-insanity "Cracking Up," his new stomper "Half a Boy and Half a Man," and his classic "Marie Provost," the grisly funny tale of a silent film star who is devoured by her dachshund.
The Cowboy Outfit is as unlikely a conglomeration for a rock band as you're likely to see — drummer Bobby Irwin looks like Tom (Reuben, Reuben) Conti gone haywire, while guitarist Martin Belmont looks like he's preparing for a role in The Godfather — but both pulled off their duties with admirable zeal. Especially good, however, was keyboardist Paul Carrack (ex-Ace, ex-Squeeze, ex-solo), who drew the evening's first standing ovation with his fiery version of Squeeze's "Tempted" (later he stepped out for his solo hit "I Need You" and a cool dub version of "How Long").
It was announced that the next night these same two bands would be playing the Opry House, only this time Costello would open for Lowe. I would have paid even more money to see that. I mean, Costello was great, but like I told my date: if I was part of a band, I'd want to be like Nick Lowe's.
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