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"Oh, I just don't know where to begin..."
It seems like only yesterday (actually, it was March 1977) that the first single popped up here in a relative handful of specialty record shops. The hit was "Less Than Zero"; the flip was "Radio Sweetheart"; and the picture sleeve ("Cool! A picture sleeve!") depicted a slouchy little guy with no distinguishing features whatsoever, save for his over-sized specs and general air of nerdiness.
It was an image so ordinary, it was striking — the way that, say, Talking Heads first stood out from the pages of Rock Scene between Freddie Mercury and Gene Simmons. The music within — "Less Than Zero," at least — took repeated spins to sink in at a time when Punk Rooled. But the elements were there: the semi-monotonal delivery, the sparsely functional backing track, and the lyrics. The lyrics... they tumbled out slowly in what sounded like a Darvon parody of Dylan, until that spin of the disc when they actually began to mean something. "Less Than Zero" was/is about the rise of the Right in '70s England, and the ghosts of Oswald Mosley and Martin Bormann, and the way the "cool" medium of TV hides the madness of the message. And all the while, that chorus kept reminding me of (Billy J. Kramer & The Dakotas') "Little Children"!
Not-so-clearly, a Major Artist was among us.
Because to tell the truth, the guy first came across as more Wreckless Eric — an amiable pop lightweight — than New Elvis. "Alison" was more, or less, of the same: a tuneful ballad (Hadn't this guy heard the Ramones album yet?) with a heartfelt delivery, a spare, anonymous backing track — and a twist. "Sometimes I wish that I could STOP you from talkin' / When I hear the silly things you say..." This wasn't Marmalade crooning "The world is / a bad place / a terrible place to live"; there were more powerful, more complex emotions at work here than mere pity. In a way, this world was killing them both, Alison and Elvis.
Things were getting deep. After "Alison" I stopped thinking too hard about the lyrics, counting on the melodies and those neatly-cut, diamond-hard riffs to make Costello's songs endlessly playable; the words would come in their own time. The first album arrived on import and set sales records as such. It was produced by Nick Lowe with backing by Marin County country-rockers-in-the-U.K. Clover, and sounded like a collection of good-quality demos. Today I tend to skip around the album, playing favorites like "Mystery Dance," "No Dancing," "Miracle Man." But it was a pretty impressive debut for a nerd. As Mercury began to fumble the promotional ball on Graham Parker, Elvis began to make inroads Stateside.
By this time, the (anti-) hype had begun to waft across the Atlantic. He was — according to Nick Kent, who got the first alcohol-soaked interview with E.C. for New Musical Express — an angry little man carrying a sharp instrument (a huge nail, wasn't it?) and an actual written list of those who'd done him wrong. He wrote songs out of only two motives, Guilt and Revenge, and was extremely reticent to say anything of his personal or family life. (Costello — real name Declan MacManus — was a hard-to-believe-but-true 21 years old at the time of My Aim Is True, but already married with one child. He had previously labored as a computer programmer and in some long-forgotten country-rock band for a pub season or two.)
Soon after My Aim Is True came "Watching The Detectives," an import single equal if not superior to any track on the album. "Detectives" was a slice of white reggae as tough as anything Bob Marley had done, for Chrissake, with a killer chorus and an inexorable momentum that carried you through every twist and turn of the lyrics. (And there were plenty of those — I can't say yet that I know what this song is "really about," only what it feels like it's about.) The pic sleeve gave us our first glimpse of the Attractions, as anonymous and archetypally Anglo-cool as Gerry's Pacemakers or Billy J.'s Dakotas. In this particular shot, they're all wearing shades, and would you recognize one if he bummed a quarter from you on the street?
But I'm rushing things. The image-building process, as conceived and directed by manager Jake Riviera, took a little longer. Months before the American release of the first album, Elvis went on Top Of The Pops and came on like a contender. He went on the first Stiff tour and came back a star with a mess of new songs, including "Pump It Up": "Like every night the encore would be 'Sex and Drugs and Rock and Roll,' right... but it quickly reached a point where the tour started to take on the manifestations of the song. And it was getting so ugly, I was compelled to write 'Pump It Up' as you know, 'Well, just how much can you fuck, how many drugs can you do, before you get so numb you can't really feel anything?" (New Musical Express, 1/27/79).
Elvis was busted for performing on a London sidewalk outside the CBS Records convention in London, but he'd soon be signed (along with stablemate Nick Lowe) to Columbia in the U.S. Between albums, Jake moved the two from Stiff to Radar Records, a kind of Warner/Elektra/Atlantic response to the Stiff phenomenon, its small image backed by big bucks and established distribution. Robert Fripp tells a story, perhaps apocryphal, about Elvis' time between labels, when one British A&R man approached Riviera, fat contract in hand. "Can you name three songs from Elvis' first album?" asked Jake. "Why, no," came the reply. And Jake's answer: "That's why he's not signing to your label!"
Elvis Costello came to America then, and the word was out. I recall his Bottom Line debut — the show I saw, anyway — as one of the most anti-climactic performances of recent years. What did I expect? The energy of Gene Vincent, the charisma of Dylan, a crack band to make it all sound just like the records? It didn't sound like that, not at all; in fact, Elvis seemed to be working out many of the kinks in the act right before our eyes. Some songs went by in a rush, others sounded thin and tentative, and some were entirely new or rearranged almost beyond recognition. In his ill-fitting suit and tie, Costello sweated and jerked, stiff and abrasive. People went crazy anyway. I couldn't quite see why.
Early in '78 came This Year's Model, and even people who don't like Elvis Costello will grudgingly admit that this is one hell of a rock and roll record. Clover was long gone, and the Attractions were in solid. They "pumped it up" like Texas derricks, they flowed like red blood; Steve Naive's organ playing could take you from St. Patrick's Cathedral to Side Three of Nuggets, sometimes all in the one song. Elvis himself had developed into a masterfuly understated guitarist who always left you hungry for more. He said it all in the ominous, burbling intro of "Detectives" and the blurry, manic chords of "Lipstick Vogue." He turned out melodies and choruses as memorable as anything on Philles Records. And he penned at least one certified anthem that the new wave (was he in it, of it, out of it?) instantly took to heart: "Radio, Radio."
Elvis returned in the spring of '78 and dutifully crossed America once again, this time in the company of Rockpile and Mink DeVille. The excitement was building: headlining a sold-out Palladium show, he was more confident, more expressive, but no less intense, from the opening (as yet unrecorded) "Accidents Will Happen" backed only by Naive's baroque organ, through a longer and even more dramatic "Watching The Detectives" to the now-obligatory standing ovation and "Radio, Radio." (He let fly with "I'm Not Angry" much too soon, however; in Philadelphia, placed later in the set, Elvis had hundreds screaming along on the chorus.)
In San Francisco and Los Angeles, along the East Coast corridor, his name was nearly made. In the South and Midwest, he was still a minor cult figure playing any club that would have him. But in a platinum era, neither album was even close to gold, and with Armed Forces Costello's major-label career was on the line. (Just ask Southside Johnny. He turned in his third and best-by-far album with Hearts Of Stone, received increasing FM airplay, toured hard despite a serious physical injury — and was dropped by Epic in mid-February, with his album still lingering in the charts.)
True, many of the cards were in Costello's favor. He'd managed to keep himself visibly above and apart from the British punk bands who'd scared off American audiences, radio programmers, and industry types. He'd established himself as a critical favorite almost from his first single; This Year's Model swept top honors in '78's Village Voice critics' poll. Finally, Costello's credentials as a songwriter were confirmed by cover versions from Rachel Sweet, Dyan Diamond, and — most important to his American success — Linda Ronstadt, whose blank version of "Alison" landed Costello a royalty check in the area of $50,000.
But — Elvis Costello?
Yes. For our boy — almost unnoticed — had slowly grown into the very thing he'd always seemed most the opposite of: A Rock Star. Jamming with Richard Hell at CBGB on impromptu versions of "Shattered and "Love Comes In Spurts," he left the creepy suit at home for a black leather jacket. His hair grew out. He took up with a certified Rock Star's Girlfriend, Bebe Buell (turned recording artist in her own right now, for whom Elvis has composed half a dozen new tunes). And he's presently involved in divorce proceedings — just like Bob Dylan or Rod Stewart — which are being kept as quiet as everything else about his personal life.
Jake said: "We either make it all the way with Armed Forces or we don't. If this album doesn't break in America, then Columbia will still keep us, but we'll be considered pretty much a spent force." (New Musical Express, 1/27/79) There is haggling with American execs over the tracks and their running order, until finally "Sunday's Best" is deleted in favor of "(What's So Funny 'Bout) Peace, Love, And Understanding." It is Jake who has created many of the advertising images, cover concepts, and promotion notions throughout Elvis' career; now he hits on the inclusion of a limited-edition EP to boost sales of the first 200,000 copies. The three tracks ("Watching The Detectives," "Accidents Will Happen," and "Alison," recorded live at Hollywood High at the close of the '78 tour) are leaked to FM stations on a 12" disc for immediate exposure. Simultaneously, import copies of Nick Lowe's new single "(I Made An) American Squirm" begin to filter in, and Costello cultists discover "Peace; Love, and Understanding" on its B-side.
Armed Forces is released in the second week of January — and enters Record World's LP chart at an astonishing #42. (In England, where Costello had just completed a triumphant national tour supported by Richard Hell and John Cooper Clarke, the album enters at #21) The word goes out to Columbia's AOR promotion men, and the album is suddenly a "National Breakout," a "Top Add-On" at stations around the country. A full-color back cover ad appears in Rolling Stone. A sticker is plastered across the messy, imitation-Jackson Pollock cover for improved customer identification.
Inside of three weeks, Armed Forces is at #15 (with a bullet) in Billboard — and Elvis' two-month U.S. tour had only just begun! In the hallowed halls of the Black Rock, 1979 will go down as the Year of Elvis, the way 1978 was Billy Joel's year and '76 belonged to Bruce Springsteen. The EP (now added to an additional 200,000 copies of the album) and the post-Christmas, post-blockbuster timing of release are cited as key factors in Elvis' stunning success. Ben Karol of New York's giant King Karol chain tells Record World: "In the first day, we sold over 600 copies. We haven't seen anything like this in years." and Norman Hunter, quoted in the same story (RW, 1/27/79) states: "The only word to describe the movement of this record is 'phenomenal' ... I think people trampled over each other into the stores to get the album with the EP."
Wow. We almost forgot the music.
Armed Forces isn't a bad album by any means, and it's certainly the best record you'll find in this season's Top Twenty. And if you're the sort whose appreciation of a record is vastly multiplied by a close study of its lyrics, you may find Armed Forces Elvis' most intriguing set yet. (If that's the case, check out Greil Marcus' review in the February 12th issue of New West, according to which this album is the heaviest thing to hit since The Gulag Archipelago.) Me, I just wished the music backed up the intensity of the lyrics more often than it does. WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS GUITAR? Even the delightfully weedy tone of Steve Naive's organ has been transformed into a lush carpet of keyboard sounds.
I wouldn't notice the difference so much if there weren't one track here that cut everything else to shreds by comparison — "Peace, Love, and Understanding." The Brinsleys' original was nice; this is the sound of a man trying to shout down everything that ever scared or enraged him. With its booming drums and rolling wave of guitars, it's the kind of song I like to sing on subway platforms at the top of my lungs, as the train thunders by and its din covers my cries. And I'll never say that about "Oliver's Army."
But you'll buy the album (and it's worth buying) and come to your own conclusions. And the tour? Again, I'm not sure that Elvis Costello is your idea of a great live rock and roller. (Consider: Springsteen, Reed, Rotten, Strummer/Jones, or Townshend and Jagger in their respective primes.) It seems that the same forces that fuel Elvis' demonic creativity (Bruce Thomas of the Attractions says he sleeps little on the road, staying up to write, write, write — a fourth album is already composed) often prevent Costello from connecting with a live audience, particularly an American one. Reports appear in the British weeklies of Elvis curtailing sets and storming offstage because he didn't like the crowd's attitude; in Australia, his tantrum triggers a minor riot. He is moody and ever-changing, so he cannot, will not, stick to the proven success formula of a pre-planned set. He is angry, so he cannot be generous. He is paranoid, so he (and we) can't really have a good time. And a good time is still what people are plunking down their dollars to have.
Many elements of Elvis' performance will change in the course of this tour, but early reports are not exactly ecstatic. Dick Potts, for example, is a confirmed Costello fan who's sold dozens of copies of Armed Forces across the counter of Cellophane Square Records in Seattle. Of Elvis' opening night at that city's Paramount Theater, Dick said:
"It was a good show, I enjoyed it, but it could have been better. Last year, I know, was better — with Nick Lowe, Dave Edmunds, and Rockpile and Mink DeVille — for $2! The band is very tight, very high-energy, and there were four unrecorded songs in the set: 'Celibate Girls,' 'Big Opportunity,' a slow number written, I think, by Steve Naive, and a fourth song — I didn't catch the title. Also, his version of 'No Dancing' was completely rearranged from the album version — he only did two songs from My Aim Is True.
"Elvis was kind of stand-offish to the crowd, like he wasn't too happy to be there. People were standing up in the front rows and he seemed to take that as some kind of insult... His guitar playing was notable on about three songs — he played beautifully on 'Party Girls' — and almost unnoticeable on the rest. The encore was 'Radio, Radio' and 'Pump It Up', but the whole set lasted less than an hour.
"People were kind of pissed-off about that. I mean, for $7.50 ... Granted, the guy's songs are only about three minutes long each, but he only did two from his whole first album. I think that people who were already fans dug the show, but I'm not sure he made many new ones."
Patti Richards of Cottage Grove, Oregon more or less concurred with Dick's report:
"The album is #1 in most of the record stores in Portland, where we drove for three hours to see the concert. It was kind of weird, driving three hours to hear an hour-long set. Of course, the songs were more powerful and engaging than on the album — and Elvis played most of the album, except for 'Two Little Hitlers' and maybe one other cut — but it was a little disappointing. He played nothing I recognized from the first album, and he hardly said anything at all to the audience except to introduce 'Radio, Radio,' when he mentioned that now that he was back in the States, he could see that there'd been some changes in radio since he wrote the song — and that now it was even worse than before!
"His attitude was surly, really, like he didn't want to be there. But I could see why he didn't play longer — it was really intense. Elvis was wearing this baggy plaid suit, dark-colored with glittery threads running through it, a tie and a white shirt, and by the end of the show he was really a sweaty mess. Steve (Naive) was dressed like a 1967 Mod or something — tight pants with a brocade stipe down the side, Beatle boots, a shirt with gathered sleeves.
"Oh, I liked what I heard, mostly, though I could hardly hear his guitar at all. But the combination of the drive up there and the ticket price ($7.50) — I don't know. Springsteen was here this year, at the same hall, for the same price, and he played for more than three hours!"
(Tour note: Carl Perkins cancelled out of his support slot due to lack of tour support by his label, Jet Records. Beserkley's Rubinoos will substitute on all shows.)
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So Armed Forces is Elvis Costello's Born To Run, and his American success is nearly clinched (though a genuine hit single will probably prove as elusive to Elvis as it has to Bruce). What, you may ask, does all this bode for the future of rock and roll? Nothing, probably. The Underground will stay under, and every now and then a group or an artist will emerge whose style and sound will (with the help of a good manager) ultimately capture the imagination of the music business and the general public. You can read the next issue of New York Rocker for a glimpse at what Elvis hath wrought (i.e. Nerd-Rock) but keep in mind that from good things (i.e. Bruce Springsteen) do mighty monstrosities grow (i.e. Meat Loaf). Even more astonishing than the sight of Elvis Costello's third album at #15 is the sight of Dire Straits' first album at #7. Costello, Dire Straits — hell, even the Blues Brothers — these are the records, oddly enough, that now represent 25 years of R&B/British Invasion/Fan Consciousness/ New Wave spirit at the top of today's charts. Hey, you know something? This rock 'n' roll stuff could be really big someday!
Stick around.
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