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Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you Mr. Napoleon Dynamite!!
(Applause follows, then the sound of a confused audience).
Napoleon Dynamite is the guise that Elvis Costello takes on his latest LP, Blood and Chocolate. He’s called Napoleon Dynamite under his picture, the LP is credited to “Elvis Costello and the Attractions,” and the songs, with one exception, are credited to “D. McManus.” (Declan McManus is his real name.)
Though some may see Costello’s change in name as a bold or flippant move, we should all see it for what it is: a stupid gimmick, no better or worse than Kiss’ makeup, or Menudo’s age. I take that back. It is worse than the aforementioned gimmicks, because Costello uses this name and/or persona-switching to draw attention away from the fact that he has nothing to say anymore.
And although the concerts are supposed to be great lately, Blood and Chocolate is more like a hollow chocolate Easter egg. There’s nothing inside, and it leaves you with precious little afterwards.
The man who used to never be at a loss for words now substitutes empty cliches, needless verbosity, or incomprehensible gibberish for substance. Some artists, when they run out of ideas, have the courage to take a break (John Fogerty, John Lennon, and Robbie Robertson, for example). Some confront their audience with their impotence (Neil Young and Steve Winwood, for instance). And some, like Costello, go right on plugging away, to the dismay of their fans.
Blood and Chocolate, Costello’s ninth album in twelve years, opens with a punky beat, almost reminds one of My Aim Is True. But with “Uncomplicated,” we find no such treasures. Instead, we’re fed empty lyrics, sloppy music (die-hard Costello fans call it “punky” that’s bullshit), and awful singing. The song itself, like most of the others, is weak and forgettable.
“I Hope You’re Happy Now,” credited to “Costello” instead of “McManus” for no reason, is a pleasant mid-tempo number, reminiscent of Presley’s “Little Sister.” Attraction Steve Nieve livens things up a bit with his dependable keyboard washes, and Nick Lowe’s production (his first with Elvis since 1981) brings out the best qualities in the performance.
The single, the horrendous “Tokyo Storm Warning (Part One)” follows. Despite the pretentious, muddled, idiotic, “psychedelic” lyrics, the tune is a banel rewrite of “The Deporters Club,” from Goodbye Cruel World (which, in turn, was a rewrite of “Luxembourg,” from Trust). The song is a dismal failure; I shudder at the thought of hearing part two, which is the B-side of the single. “Tokyo Storm Warning” equals psychedelia as artificial turf equals natural grass.
To close the side, Costello comes up with two acoustic-oriented songs, presumably as relief after the “heavy” psychedelia of “Tokyo Storm Warning.” “Home is Anywhere You Hang Your Hat,” is again, pleasant, with nice bass and keyboards. The melody is almost reminiscent of that old Boz Scaggs/Rita Coolidge tune that went “Close the window, calm the lights, and it will be alright.”
“I Want You” (not the Dylan song) is a very low-key number in which Costello tries to employ the dynamics of his limited voice to great effect, but he comes up sounding awful. The song, by the way, steals chords and melody from the Beatles’ song of the same name. This song is so terrible, it might almost be misconstrued as a parody of Costello, or John Lennon, or both. If it had been on a National Lampoon album, it would’ve been great!
If you’re wondering why this review is so sarcastic, keep in mind that at one time (‘80-’81), Elvis was nearly a savior to many rock music fans. He consistently said things that needed to be said, in a way that no one else could say them. He was a step ahead of the pack, and all of those other cliches that sometimes are true.
But since 1983, when he attempted “commercialism” with Punch the Clock, things haven’t been the same, and his artistic floundering has put off many fans who one held him in high esteem. With each release, it seems his credibility gets more shreaded, and it’s always difficult and disappointing to watch a hero fall from grace. Blood and Chocolate represents yet another rung down the artistic ladder.
Costello may have discarded the “angry young man” role, but for what? A “confused, old man” role? Perhaps his deliberate break with his image has caused the lessened creativity of his work.
It would be nice to say that things pick up on side two, but that’s not really the case. There is one great song, “Crimes of Paris,” in which Costello regains some of his old spark (and a background vocal from O’Riordon, Costello’s latest flame). This helps the song build to an uplifting chorus.
However, upon closer inspection, the song reveals itself as a pale rewrite of “Man Out of Time,” from Imperial Bedroom (which was also rewritten as “Every Day I Write The Book” on Punch the Clock, and “Worthless Thing” on Goodbye Cruel World). A great song here, “Paris” would be an average song on many other Costello releases.
“Blue Chair” is a striking effort - striking in its similarity to “Crimes of Paris,” that is. One thing that both of these songs have in common is Costello’s voice straining to reach notes that he can’t really hit, Is this a new vocal style?
Confusion abounds in “Battered Old Bird,” a convoluted attempt to expose the evils of abusing a spouse - a topic covered much better on Trust’s “White Knuckles.” Here, the only observation made is “There’s a place where time stands still if you keep taking those little pink pills.” A limpid sentiment from the men that gave us “Pump it Up,” “Waiting for the End of the World,” and “Beyond Belief.”
“Poor Napoleon,” with its unnerving, tentative melody, good vocals, and catchy rhythm, might have begun to grow on, if Cait O’Riordon didn’t have to deadpan the title throughout the entire song. Sympathize with Elvis at home, Cait - not in public. The closing “Next Time Round” sounds like “Blue Choir” and “Crimes of Paris,” but remains a catchy song despite that. There’s a total of eleven songs: some are good, but most are not. All of them seem to be the work of and artist who’s too tired and/or self-conscious to produce anything of substance or meaning.
There was a time when each new Elvis Costello release was greeted with awe by the critics and discerning fans. Now, his name brings a roll of the eyes, or snickers. He’s lost “it,” and if you’re wondering what “it” is, go buy This Year’s Model or Trust or any pre-1983 album.
Although he released two albums, King of America and Blood and Chocolate, 1986 was not a good year for Costello fans. And if Costello keeps releasing albums of sub-standard quality, most of those fans will go away due to disgust, disinterest, or disillusionment.
Poor Napoleon, indeed.
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