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Subtlety is not the strongest suit of Elvis Costello and his band, which was just great for the thousands of fans Saturday night who were standing on their chairs long before the man in the red shoes had stepped on stage.
This was two hours of no-nonsense rock: snap music, old and new, punctuated by The Attractions — all old pros — but led — and there was never any question who the leader was — by an angry young man who riffed his guitar with a vengeance and carried it as if it were a machine gun.
At his best, Costello is a dash of Dylan — that whiff of indifference he struts about with, like a chip on his shoulder — hardnosed like Patti Smith, perpetually in motion, playing so damn hard that it almost seems like he's paying off a dare up there on stage.
His eyes behind sunglasses, Costello seems to care not a fig for projecting any kind of personality, except, perhaps, that of a wicked and soulful guitar player. For the first 15 minutes of the set, either though forgetfulness or design, there was no spotlight on him. So what.
It's not that Costello is inaccessible to his audience; they revel in his whirling-dervishness, applaud the fervor with which he dishes out each song, and they were rewarded with a two-hour concert that was all work (the lighting men and stagehands could've taken a nap during this show) by the leading man.
But it seems that Costello is terrific at mass-merchandising songs that don't really relate to the mass. He is reportedly unfazed when artists like Linda Ronstadt, Dave Edmunds and George Jones cut covers of his material, even though songs like "Alison" and "Girl Talk" — both gems — gave Costello a lot of credibility with the record buyers.
He has shown great consideration of other artists — developing and producing Nick Lowe, Edmunds, the late group Squeeze, and a sparkling new group called The Special AKA. Whatever demon Costello is chasing is his own.
He pulled no punches with the past Saturday. "Alison" was on the menu, along with "(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes," "Watching the Detectives" and "Everyday I Write the Book." The crowd seemed anxious and jumpy with the bunch of stuff Costello performed from his new album, Goodbye Cruel World; for some reason, Costello replayed his current audio-video single, "The Only Flame in Town." in an encore.
"Worthless Thing" and "Inch by Inch" from the new record were numbers that rambled. Costello sang both ballads with a sour look on his face; they have none of the bite of "Radio, Radio," none of the vitriol of "Accidents Can Happen."
As close as Costello was able to get to his audience — the distance can be measured in miles, just like some of his music — his audience would not let go. "Pump It Up," from This Year's Model, was a rave-up closer, a Costello-ized "Subterranean Homesick Blues," performed with surgical precision. This show wasn't a lot of fun — it was certainly not funny — but it was as passionate as it was unsatisfying.
Nick Lowe was fun. Lowe is part of the Costello mafia (along with Lowe's keyboardist, Paul Carrack, formerly of Squeeze; these guys have all written and produced for each other) but not of the same temperament; his 40-minute set was just good-time music, a "warm-up" in the nicest sense of the word.
You gotta love a guy whose first major gig was in a band called Brinsley Schwarz. A regular excitable boy on stage, Lowe's arrangements were crisp and uncomplicated, well executed by Paul Carrack, who plays a jump-up piano like Jerry Lee Lewis used to, and kicks his legs higher than Jerry Lee ever did. Lowe returned twice to the stage, pleased as punch with himself and his band.
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