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"Well, nobody's gonna call this album a masterpiece."
Thus begins the Rolling Stone review of Punch the Clock, the new album by Elvis Costello. The review then proceeds to comment (with reservations) about the album's "terrific tunes" and its "extra aural punch." It calls Costello "the most consistently interesting songwriter in rock 'n' roll," before dismissing his latest work as "a satisfying, if unstartling, opus."
Have we come to expect too much from Elvis Costello? If we have, its because Costello has so consistently exceeded expectations. During the past six years, he has set the standard for contemporary songwriting in the way that Bob Dylan (or is that Smokey Robinson?) once did.
The "we" in the previous paragraph is not meant to be all-inclusive. There are many within the splintered pop-rock audience who remain unconvinced — among them, plenty of radio people (who control the amount of air play exposure Costello receives) and masses of record buyers (who can transform a successful recording artist into a superstar).
To the casual pop observer. Costello might still seem something of a joke. He's the guy who emerged in 1977 with the funny name (which was picked for this man born Declan MacManus by his manager, Jake Riviera — "I thought he was out of his mind," Costello once told an interviewer). Some still see in Costello the rocker-as-nerd. pigeon-toed. horn-rimmed (although his sense of style has matured almost as much as his music in recent years).
Of course, all this is the stuff of image. But in the beginning, image was by no means beside the point. Except for perhaps the pre-Beatle '60s, there wasn't a more depressing time for rock 'n' roll than the early-to-mid-'70s.
Grandiosity and gimmickry were turning rock into something bloated, monstrous. Subtlety, wit and any sense of exuberance were lost to the demands of bigness. A band's makeup and light show were more important than its creative spark. Virtuosity and spectacle diverted attention from the emptiness inside. Emerson, Lake and Palmer was very big during this period: so was Kiss.
Compared with the macho rockers, pretty boys and instrumental show-offs then ruling the roost, what Costello offered was a stripped-down sound, a no-nonsense stage demeanor and a collection of the crispest, most consistently passionate and intelligent material that rock had heard in years.
It may have been difficult to describe what songs such as "(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes" and "Watching the Detectives" meant, but there was no question that Costello meant them very deeply. They made perfect emotional sense. "Alison" and "Mystery Dance" were so straightforward in their vulnerability that they were painfully compelling. In 1977, My Aim Is True was not merely the best debut album of the year; it was the year's best album.
Since then, Costello has continued to get better. Subsequent albums have been marked by the sort of growth that has initially seemed surprising and has later sounded inevitable. The melodies have become stronger, the range broader (both musically and emotionally), the arrangements more subtly intricate, the lyrics sharper and deeper, the singing more expressive.
In recent years, Costello has established himself as popular music's great generalist. He seems to understand — intuitively, instinctively — that the greatest music within a variety of different genres shares more of an emotional affinity than do greater and lesser works that share the same surface style. Where music of the heart is concerned, he has more in common with such diverse idols as George Jones, Smokey Robinson and Chet Baker than he ever has with most of the insubstantial trendiness that passes as "new wave."
Perhaps he has offered a richer brand of creativity than many listeners are prepared to digest. Where most albums these days offer eight or 10 tunes. 1980's Get Happy!! forced the listener to absorb 10 songs per side. While it still stands as Costello's most soulful disc, it seemed like too much of a good thing to all but the most ardent fan.
The most amazing display of Costello's feverish creativity could well be Taking Liberties, a collection of B-sides, alternate takes and previously unreleased cuts compiled through 1980. During the course of four years, he had already released four "legitimate" albums. That at least half of this 19-song collection of "throwaways" could stand with the best of Costello's work suggested an apparently inexhaustible talent.
Three years later, Costello still shows no signs of burning himself out. Last year's Imperial Bedroom represented a most sophisticated brand of popular music, barely rock at all, and was widely hailed as Costello's masterpiece (hence the Rolling Stone quote). While the craftsmanship was characteristically impressive, the songs remained pointed and personal.
Despite its workmanlike title, Punch the Clock is lighter, brighter, and (to these ears) infectiously irresistible. While his command of pop-rock traditionalism remains total and absolute, the material rarely sounds derivative.
A master pop strategist, Costello sounds fresh and familiar simultaneously. The more one listens to Costello's music, the more one hears. He is generally clever, but rarely is he merely clever. He places his trust in musical understatement, recognizing that little things make the big difference in the best pop.
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