Mojo Classic, Vol. 2, No. 5, 2008: Difference between revisions
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After a set of earthy pub rock from Mickey Jupp, the lights dim and The Attractions arrive on stage. For the next 40 minutes the shell-shocked audience is subjected to a sonic and psychological barrage as Costello — bug-eyed, stick-like, his flesh dissolving into sweat before their eyes — unleashes his demons via a dozen vitriolic musical exercises in self-doubt and contempt. "Lipstick Vogue" is stretched into a Velvets-style attack on the senses, racked with tension and fire. The band segues sharply into "Watching The Detectives," Costello spitting out the lyrics like broken teeth. And then, without warning, he stomps off stage. The audience erupts into the ritual call for an encore. Five minutes later, they're still stamping and cheering, but growing increasingly uncertain. Is that ''it''? Has Elvis left the building? Or is he sneering from behind the curtain, mocking his fans' dog-like obedience? | After a set of earthy pub rock from Mickey Jupp, the lights dim and The Attractions arrive on stage. For the next 40 minutes the shell-shocked audience is subjected to a sonic and psychological barrage as Costello — bug-eyed, stick-like, his flesh dissolving into sweat before their eyes — unleashes his demons via a dozen vitriolic musical exercises in self-doubt and contempt. "Lipstick Vogue" is stretched into a Velvets-style attack on the senses, racked with tension and fire. The band segues sharply into "Watching The Detectives," Costello spitting out the lyrics like broken teeth. And then, without warning, he stomps off stage. The audience erupts into the ritual call for an encore. Five minutes later, they're still stamping and cheering, but growing increasingly uncertain. Is that ''it''? Has Elvis left the building? Or is he sneering from behind the curtain, mocking his fans' dog-like obedience? | ||
After a hiatus that seems longer than the gig they've just witnessed, the fans are rewarded. Costello marches back to the microphone and glares at the audience. "About fucking time," he snaps, acidly, and Pete Thomas's snare drum marshalls the band into a crushing rendition of "Pump It Up." The fans troops home, feeling as if they've been mugged. | |||
"We used to love baiting the audience then," Costello told me two decades later. "We were on a crusade. It tended to make you more defensive. We had 35 minutes of material, and after our first couple of tours, and our first brush with amphetamines, we got that down to 25 minutes — and we didn't have any more songs. Then it became quite a knee-jerk thing, that we didn't play encores, particularly in the States. We liked the idea of leaving the radio simulcast still talking — 'Hey, I think they're coming back to the stage!' — and we'd be halfway back to the hotel. You can see how the mischief of that would appeal to a group on the road, who have this feeling of being in a lifeboat — or a trench — together." | "We used to love baiting the audience then," Costello told me two decades later. "We were on a crusade. It tended to make you more defensive. We had 35 minutes of material, and after our first couple of tours, and our first brush with amphetamines, we got that down to 25 minutes — and we didn't have any more songs. Then it became quite a knee-jerk thing, that we didn't play encores, particularly in the States. We liked the idea of leaving the radio simulcast still talking — 'Hey, I think they're coming back to the stage!' — and we'd be halfway back to the hotel. You can see how the mischief of that would appeal to a group on the road, who have this feeling of being in a lifeboat — or a trench — together." |
Revision as of 06:15, 8 July 2014
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