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Once, whole council estates would sing "Oliver's Army" or "I Can't Stand Up For Falling Down" and it would be like the sun coming up over the hill. Now, well, say there ARE a handful of dark, cutting performances on When I Was Cruel. They are also so in-turned and convoluted - so knotted fathom-deep inside an acquired-taste Elvis Costello vocabulary - that I honestly can't see anyone but Greil Marcus sitting down and working them out. (And I'm sorry - but that's worse than Dad Rock: that's Weird Reclusive Uncle Bill - He Never Married, Don't Sit On His Knee, Dear - Rock.)
So. What do you want to know?
Is this a "return to form"? Is this the "good" Elvis all we fortysomethings wait for every year like a cross between Bruce Springsteen and Santa Claus? "Good" generally signifying a vengeful four-piece rock full o' smudgy puns, itchy riffs and vacant blondes like some Inspector Morse (Code) of the Fender Jazzmaster world?
Well, yes and no. The good news is that Elvis is no longer scared of remix/sampling/post-rap sonics (which, for all I know, is BAD news to you: maybe you'll HATE the tricky new EC, and not find it at all Attractive enough, even if he does quote "Watching The Detectives").
My initial reaction to the
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