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Writing about Elvis Costello is a problem. Such a problem that we head to the store for cigarettes. The 7-Eleven clerk seems taken by our attire.
Him: Where are you coming from?
DD: Huh?
Him: Is that the new style? Is that the style somewhere?
DD: It must be. I guess it is. New York, maybe. Maybe London. I don't know.
Him: Oh. Are you a stylist?
DD: Yes.
Him: When I get some money, I'm going to have you take me out styling. No, I'm serious! I mean it!
DD: How much are cigarettes here?
Him: A mere pittance. 70₵!
DD: Oh, then I guess I can't get a beefstick.
Carol: Yes, you can! Because I have 75₵, & I'm only spending 60₵.
DD: Oh, good.
Him: (to Carol) And what's that you're wearing? Oh, it's a white heart w/a little violet flower on it.
Carol: Yes.... it's very feminine, don't you think? But she still didn't get the job.
Him: Yes it's very pretty. Do you two live together, down the street?
Carol: No, I live w/the blonde girl.
DD: I'm visiting, & we're writing an article.
Him: For a magazine?
Us: Yes! BACK DOOR MAN!
DD: For hardcore rock'n'rollers only.
Him: Where does it stand?
Us: Huh?
Him: The ARTICLE! Where - does - it - stand?
Us: Oh ... it's Elvis Costello. This Year's Model.
DD: We think he's a creep, but we like his music.
Him: Well, we all have a little creep in us.
Yes we DO all have a little creep in us, don't we. But Universal Creepiness is not why this album is selling so well. In fact, he might as well be saying "Quaalude, Quaalude" instead of "Radio Radio" for all these numbos know as they wait in the record store line, clutching this year's Kansas and Journey 8-tracks alongside This Year's Model. The reason people buy this record (and they DO - A LOT) is because the music, the structure of the songs, and the band are unquestionably GREAT.
Fat Biker (of the sleaziest species) walks into Licorice Pizza while EC is playing and belches out in a slow drawl, “What am I listening to? It's not
bad” Clerk hands him album cover. He studies it for a moment, gapes at it in abject horror, and then flings it away ¡n disgust and says indignantly
“Ewe’!! I would never buy a record by someone who looks like that!” — and swaggers out to his bike, hairy stomach heaving and writhing out from
under his greasy under-shirt. True story,
Well, that’s okay because I LIKE creepy boys. Like Pam always says sometimes. “Normal boys are boring.” Normal guys are too dull. They should be somewhere between Eno and Sal Mineo, y’know? Pure-out sleaze or pure-out crazy geeks. Or first-degree axe murderers, Elvis Costello is all of these things. And I love him for it.
Well, that’s okay too, because a lot of people who don’t like creepy boys are buying this record (the ones who aren’t as observant as our biker friend). And they’re taking it to their vans and in the middle of some magazine teen drama somewhere huddled around the tape deck, they will all of a sudden zone into What Is Being Said in these songs and will either not understand or be Very Offended. And it won’t matter! Because Elvis already has their $7.98 + tax.
Who Is this man w/the dynamic diatribe? Elvis Costello is CLEVER! He ushers in another era of pop music by writing & singing hate songs w/the ease that, in another time, love songs were penned & crooned. The songs don’t SOUND hateful, I mean like “I’m Sick of You;” they SOUND bouncy, melodic, quick, accomplished. You can whistle to them. They don’t SOUND like primal screams. But they are.
Elvis Costello appears to have been horribly frustrated for many, many years. If you were in any advanced math classes, he was there. . . somewhere. . a non-face, But 'neath that non-face beats a healthy HEAD and El & his type have suffered. Women are such bothersome creatures! They leave you stranded on the up-beat time & time again. Pump it up when you don’t really need it. I don’t want to be hung up. , . when you don’t call. I don’t think he has much use for flirting at all.
Costello’s got a list of gripes like the strangler’s victims. On the surface, he’s complaining about the magazine girls, but he’s just as angry about the music biz &, for that matter, all the politico-religioso-social STRUCTURES, which everybody knows are easily personified as women. Still, his lyrics are a lot more obscene than they first seem to be. Body language is everywhere — Costello uses the tongue of love. Lip Service! Little Triggers! Hand in Hand! Well. Pump It Up. Elvis. Sounds swell.
The songs on this album are so good that we’d be in trouble if we tried to convey in print just HOW GOOD they are. We knew we were in trouble when
we wanted to quote every song. Here’s a FEW: “You Belong To Me.” A fish-eyed serenade made by a guy who wants to go All The Way. Also could be about Hitler recruiting troops. Costello went to Catholic school, y’know. Remember the girls at St. Philomena?
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