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Who is this person who keeps turning up on the album covers of Eddie Money albums? Playing before the Rolling Stones in Lexington and at Louisville's Summer Jam, the man on stage calling himself Eddie Money was a bit shorter and stouter than the Eddie Money on the album jackets.
What kind of self-respect does this man have when he feels that he must look cooler and more chic in this photo than in "real" life? And why does he have to look so hip?
Because he wants to conform to what he senses are the public's perceptions of cool: neckerchiefs and wind-swept hair or loose-fitting vests and neckties. And that's because, as he stated in his previous album, he "wanted to be a rock 'n' roll star."
To meet this goal, he tours aggressively and plays music that he feels conforms to your tastes. But for supposed rock 'n' roll, the music is passionless, and it sounds as if he'd play anything if that's what it would take to become a star.
But rock stars have usually become such not by conforming to public taste, but by molding it. The listener's lifestyle and outlook are in some way amended. That might not be the performer's original purpose; he or she might be trying to make music that is simply self-gratifying.
But, in the end, the audience that accepts it will be, even if just to a very slight degree, somehow changed by it.
It's these changes that will be remembered. I'll never forget the first time I heard Ziggy Stardust, or the summer "Hot Fun" by Sly and the Family Stone played on the radio.
A few years from now, no one will hear "Two Tickets to Paradise" or "Baby Hold On" and think of the summer of 1978 (or, conversely, remember the songs while reminiscing about the summer). The songs were part of 1978, but they didn't contribute to it the way "Miss You," "Frenchette" or even "Hot Blooded" did.
Nor will the songs from Money's new album, Life For The Taking contribute substantially to 1979. If anything, the songs have less impact than the last batch, with nothing even approaching the already low standards of the previous singles.
There are hardly any hooks to drive the meaningless lyrics, "An old man once looked me in the eye / He seemed to sigh / He seemed to sigh" (and that's the title cut!) or "Give me water / Cause I shot a man on the Mexican border."
"Can't keep a Good Man Down" contains the Billy Joel "I'm OK you're not" attitude, but none of the impact ("Sometimes the sign says stop, but I go" — Money's idea of anarchy in the U.S.?).
What little substance there is gets absorbed upon first listening. After that, it's only background music, hardly the type of platform from which to launch a career toward stardom. When Money talks, nobody really listens.
But, speaking of listening, listen to this: Elvis Costello's This Year's Model won first place on the Village Voice's critic's poll of top 1978 albums, the most thorough poll of its sort in the country. And not only that, it won by the largest margin in the history of the poll.
The album wasn't heard by as many people as "Baby Hold On," but for those who did listen, the impact was immeasurably deeper. The record, for many people, made 1978 different than it otherwise would have been. Costello is the artist that Eddie Money will never be. And because of his potential impact, even though he's not selling as well as Money now, he has a better chance of eventually becoming a star.
To help things along, his new album, Armed Forces, has also been recently released in order to get a jump on 1979. As was the case between 1977's My Aim Is True and 1978's This Year's Model, the new album's sound is radically different from that of its predecessor.
In fact, the new changes at first seem even more daring than the last one. Between "My Aim Is True" and "This Year's Model," the rough production and session men were replaced by a clean sound and a permanent back-up band dominated by a 1960s organ and tighter, faster arrangements. As radical as the change was, it wasn't really all that chancy. The second album moved in the same direction as the first, only faster and louder; a case of "If you liked 1977's album, you'll love this year's model."
The new album, however, appears to backtrack, or change direction altogether. Production is even more lush, and synthesizers are used. The other players function more as background musicians than as part of any real band, and most of the songs are noticeably slower, moved to the tempo of "Alison" or "Little Triggers."
However, the daringness of the changes is deceiving, and the calculated move is not nearly as risky as it originally appears to be. First, those of us who already love Elvis will make every possible attempt to listen to and like "Armed Forces." In addition, the calmer pace can only add listeners from the mainstream who in the past have seen Costello as "new wave," and new-wave music in turn as too frantic.
This appearance of seemingly taking risks carries over to at least one song on the new album, a Brinsley Schwarz cover, "What's So Funny About Peace, Love and Understanding." Originally a '60s-like social statement, Costello turns the lyrics into part of a personal one-on-one confrontation: "I ask myself / Is there only pain and hatred and misery?" The listener's first reactions are a show of amazement and a sign of relief that Costello pulled it off.
But, upon reflection, one realizes the song, in Costello's hands, couldn't be about anything but a personal conflict. His whole manner and style has always bespoken such an attitude. Now, if he could have sung the song and retained the original meaning, that would have been a feat.
How good is the remainder of the album? I just don't know yet. Unlike Money's one-play wonders, all of Costello's albums not only bear up to, but demand, repeated playings before the songs begin making an impression. I will say that nothing automatically struck me as powerfully as last year's "Radio, Radio" originally did (which, to be fair, I had seen performed on television and in concert before the song was released). Even "What's So Funny," as good as it is, fails to get my pulse racing.
And although "Accidents Will Happen," "Senior Service," "Green Shirt," and "Party Girl" are becoming increasingly great with each listen, others are too even, lacking drama or dynamics. And one, "Chemistry Class," is Costello's most overwritten and self-conscious song to date.
No doubt Costello wouldn't mind being a star, but he'll become one on his own terms. Armed Forces, despite its changes, still sounds different from anything else being played today.
Stardom for Money is an end in itself; not because he likes to play music (though he probably does), certainly not because he has anything to say but only because he wants to be a star.
If Costello at times appears too non-conformist or self-conscious, he's still superior to Money, for whom conformity is all and self-actualization is nothing.
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