Elvis Costello 38: The Coward Brothers

In the summer of 1984, Elvis Costello’s career found another path when he embarked on a solo tour and got along with his opening act, T Bone Burnett, like a house on fire. They bonded over their love of all American music and related arcana, and created wacky alternate egos called the Coward Brothers to play covers together. A collaborative single, “The People’s Limousine”, was their only credited output, though T Bone would go on to produce a handful of albums for and with Elvis over the years, beginning with King Of America.

Forty years later, right on the heels of an expanded reissue spurred by that album, an official Coward Brothers album finally appeared, billed as the soundtrack to an EC-penned radio play. Directed by Christopher Guest and available exclusively on the Audible platform, The True Story Of The Coward Brothers is full of forced wordplay and inside jokes in the guise of a documentary about the mythical duo. T Bone exaggerates his Texan accent, while Elvis leans so much on his Scouse origins that he often sounds like a raspy John Lennon caricature. Even reading his own words, the man is still no actor.

Unfortunately, the storyline does little to illuminate the 20 songs on The Coward Brothers, and vice versa. Most were written by Elvis alone, four are collaborations with T Bone (who’s solely credited on just one), and three were written with Guest, who also adds vocals and instrumentation here and there. The production has T Bone’s stamp all over it, and not just on the tracks featuring Burnett regulars Dennis Crouch and Jay Bellarose. But what works very well for Robert Plant and Alison Krauss just sounds here like they spent a lot of money making the recordings sound cheap and distorted, like the primitive tapes they’re purported to be. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if the songs were stellar, but they’re not.

“Always” is a wonderful opener, a gentle duet, shoved aside by the dotty piano and wheezy organ of “Like Licorice”. “My Baby Just Squeals (You Heel)” may have been their mythical smash single, but the pointedly amateurish production and female interjections don’t do the track any favors, nor does the steal from the Stones’ “Connection”. “Devil Doll” would have promise, except that T Bone recites the verses; apparently they couldn’t find a melody worthy of the choruses. “Tipsy Woman”, however, has all the hallmarks of a future classic, with not too clever wordplay and a compelling delivery.

The story would have us believe that “My Baby Just Purrs (You’re Mine, Not Hers)” was the cash-in follow-up to that earlier alleged hit, but it’s better song and recording, worthy of early Attractions. However, “My Baby Just Whistles (Here Come The Missiles)” pushes the gag too far. Past the opening line (“Eating ice chrome at the spaceball game”) “World Serious” has inscrutable lyrics about something we can’t discern but it’s still one of the better tracks, whatever it’s about. “Early Shirley” has a pleasing rockabilly skiffle quality, but “Yesteryear Is Near” is an obnoxious parody of wartime music hall. Elvis’s affected Cockney delivery doesn’t help.

He keeps the Scouse going for “Birkenhead Girl”, mostly a distorted litany of local landmarks. “Smoke Ring Angel” is one of the ones with Guest, and we’ll give him credit for its success. “Wooden Woman” is another one not sunk by its own cleverness, but “(I Don’t Want Your) Lyndon Johnson” doesn’t have any; plus, we’re getting tired of the clunky sound. “Lotta Money” doubles down on it, and there’s that dotty piano again. (Guest was also partly responsible, but he already encapsulated the subject decades before.)

“Pure Bubblegum” is an Elvis solo experiment; these don’t usually work under his own name, and this one is just plain obnoxious. The apparent Vietnam protest of “Cathy Come Home” sinks under the weight of its ambition; he’s written better songs on the same theme without relying on effects. All this makes T Bone’s “Bygones” very welcome, musically as well as literally. Despite the forced calypso party atmosphere, “Row Me Once” is a fun singalong, and also the third Guest contribution. The simply tuneful “Clown Around Town” finally ends the album, albeit on a hoarse note.

Maybe this is a case of good songs produced badly, or maybe we should treat it as a lark and not a Major Statement. At any rate, The Coward Brothers is about as anticlimactic as such planned sequels as Little Village was to John Hiatt’s Bring The Family, or the second Traveling Wilburys album. The brothers should have stuck to acoustic duets.

The Coward Brothers The Coward Brothers (2024)—2

Elvis Costello 37: The Resurrection Of Rust

In 1972, an up-and-coming singer-songwriter named D.P. MacManus joined forces with a fellow aspirant named Allan Mayes in the latter’s combo, a folk-rock outfit dubbed Rusty. Eventually whittled down to the duo, the pair performed under that moniker for about 18 months in and around Liverpool before going their separate ways. In time MacManus would change his name to Elvis Costello, and while Mayes has continued to play music professionally in the decades since, he hasn’t attained a fraction of the acclaim or notoriety his erstwhile partner has.

Roughly fifty years after their initial collaboration, the two reunited to finally record what amounts to a six-song demo. The Resurrection Of Rust is supposedly drawn from their old repertoire, now with the added extra of having the Imposters backing them on each track. (As with Elvis’s last album, all the parts were recorded from various studios around the world, brought together in the mix. Thanks, Covid.) As a bonus, the prominent organ on the infectious “Surrender To The Rhythm” is contributed by Bob Andrews, who played on the original Brinsley Schwarz recording.

That song and the slower, soulful “Don’t Lose Your Grip On Love” are Nick Lowe covers—a writer who looms large in Costello’s history, and whose voice that of Mayes occasionally resembles—from the same album, while “I’m Ahead If I Can Quit While I’m Behind” was also covered by the Brinsleys back then. “Warm House (And An Hour Of Joy)” is a D.P. McManus original said to be a crowd-pleaser back then; here he sings it in his “precious” voice and harmonizes with himself as well as Mayes. “Maureen And Sam” is possibly the most intriguing song, since this original co-write would one day emerge heavily re-written as “Ghost Train”. In this incarnation, the subjects of the song are treated with much more pathos, with major-seventh chords to match. The staccato sections may have been part of the original arrangement, but here Elvis plays it way too heavy, and the canned applause halfway through distracts. The mood is lifted by their medley of Neil Young’s “Everybody Knows This Is Nowhere” and “Dance, Dance, Dance”; Elvis makes his long-awaited debut on electric violin here, in addition to the mandolin he trills here and elsewhere. (We’re pretty sure he wasn’t proficient on those in 1972. To make collectors even more irate, the Japanese version includes an actual Rusty demo from that year, the lo-fi “Silver Minute”.)

Pleasant as it is, the duo’s voices aren’t a natural blend—Elvis tends to emote to his nature, while Mayes sings low yet convincingly on his own. He’s the better guitarist, having spent all that time on the road playing covers, but Elvis nudges his own leads into the mix here and there. Nonetheless, The Resurrection Of Rust is a labor of love, and the mutual affection is evident in every note. A sequel would be welcome.

Rusty The Resurrection Of Rust (2022)—3

Elvis Costello 36: The Boy Named If

Considering how many genres he’s spanned in his career—particularly in the 21st century—PR folks have an easy time of it whenever Elvis Costello releases “his most rocking album since” whatever the last one was that fit that description. In the case of The Boy Named If, this is not hype. The album crashes out of the speakers from the first moment, and more or less stays at that volume. Due to the nature of the post-Covid world, and the worldwide residences of individual Imposters, the album was pieced together via the mixing stage from at least five different recording locations. Yet incredibly, it sounds live and dynamic, a testament to the intuition and interplay of the performers, as well as the engineers.

With a nearly dissonant riff that keeps the song off balance, “Farewell, OK” is all spit and spite, a kiss-off like he’s often done. The title track limps into place like that of When I Was Cruel, but this is a better song as well as performance, with lots of input from Steve Nieve’s keyboards. While we’re talking throwbacks, “Penelope Halfpenny” recalls “Georgie And Her Rival”; his voice even sounds 30 years younger. “The Difference” threatens to be one of the character studies on Momofuku but emerges as a lost Brutal Youth track, right down to the violent revenge in the lyrics. “What If I Can’t Give You Anything But Love?” expertly condenses the rustic Americana and propulsion of The Delivery Man, with some wonderfully chaotic fretwork. After all that onslaught, “Paint The Rose Red Blue” provides some welcome, not exactly useless beauty, but again, the violence in the lyrics isn’t focused, despite the strong melody. “Mistook Me For A Friend” kicks the pretty mood away with more verbose anger and throwback sound.

“My Most Beautiful Mistake” isn’t the first time he’s used a film set as a setting and metaphor; this one is notable for the harmonies and more prominent input from one Nicole Atkins. One of our correspondents pointed out the bass riff of “Magnificent Hurt” being identical to that of Cyndi Lauper’s “She Bop”; as with “Farewell, OK” Elvis’s atonal fretwork against the key keeps the song fresh. “The Man You Love To Hate” is a noisy burlesque number, then Pete Thomas beats a busy tattoo on the busy samba of “The Death Of Magic Thinking”. “Trick Out The Truth” spews out a litany of rhymes and arcane references to describe a nightmare that’s more odd than scary, while crickets contribute to the tempo. “Mr. Crescent” also threatens to be another obscure portrait, but the song, a quietly strummed benediction, is much better than most of his similar titles.

The Boy Named If is basically the rock album Elvis Costello didn’t make for the better part of fifteen years, devoid of extraneous collaborators and dramatic works in progress. With Sebastian Krys he’s found a collaborator in the booth who can navigate his styles and whims. The Imposters continue to be valuable interpreters, and his voice is as sharp and melodic as ever, as if he’s been stuck in a time warp. It’s a welcome return. (Elvis also continues to save money on design by painting his own album covers. For those who had to have more, a limited edition package contained even more canvas daubs along with short stories to accompany each song that are as impenetrable as the lyrics. Then, by year’s end a companion album of sorts called The Boy Named If (Alive At Memphis Magnetic) was released digitally, including tracks and covers recorded during live rehearsals, plus a remix of “Magnificent Hurt” by a Japanese duo.)

Elvis Costello & The Imposters The Boy Named If (2022)—3½

Elvis Costello 35: Hey Clockface

Like many working musicians, Elvis Costello had to cancel a tour and other best-laid plans as a result of the COVID-19 pandemic. With his itinerary scuppered, he made the best of a restricted situation and emerged at year’s end with one of the most challenging—and ultimately rewarding—albums of his career.

Hey Clockface is a daring amalgam of recordings from three distinct sessions. The bulk come from Paris with a combo featuring Steve Nieve on all kinds of keyboards, with brass, reeds, and cello from some French musicians, and even Steve’s stepson AJUQ on drums and harmonies. (Steve spent the lockdown holed up in the French countryside with his wife Muriel Teodori and stepson, and streamed “Daily Improvisations” for weeks on end over Facebook.) For variety, some solo recordings come from Helsinki with a rhythmic approach inspired by Tom Waits’ Real Gone, and two songs were collaborated on and recorded remotely during the lockdown with Michael Leonhart and Bill Frisell. When put together, it all works.

“Revolution #49” begins with a sound not unlike Peter Gabriel’s Mideast experiments, giving way to a spoken narrative as clear as mud. It’s a nice lead-in to the angry “No Flag”, one of the Helsinki tracks that thankfully has enough instrumentation to cover his mouth percussion. One can imagine what the Imposters would bring to this tune. “They’re Not Laughing At Me Now” is mildly smug song of schadenfreude, sung at a slow pace, almost relishing the comeuppance. The mysterious “Newspaper Pane” is one of the Leonhart-Frisell collaborations, fitting seamlessly with the rest of the tracks (thanks to the Nieveian organ parts), while “I Do (Zula’s Song)” has a mournful gait that recalls several facets of Tom Waits, whoever Zula is. “We Are All Cowards Now” is the best of the Helsinki recordings, as it sounds like an actual band, and provides less ambiguous protest than “No Flag”. The title track comes at an odd place smack in the middle of the program, with a jokey vaudeville delivery already satisfied by “A Voice In The Dark”. It seems to exist only to be shackled to Fats Waller’s “How Can You Face Me?”, which he’s careful to credit.

Lovely as it is, “The Whirlwind” is a mysterious ballad that is part of the batch written for the musical staging of the political fable A Face In The Crowd, coming eventually to the Broadway stage. Unfortunately, “Hetty O’Hara Confidential” is the least successful of the Helsinki experiments, another portrait of another fictional muckraker, the story overtaken by the auteur’s human beatbox. Just as inscrutable, “The Last Confession Of Vivian Whip” doesn’t explain who she is or why we’re hearing it, but it’s a lovely melody contributed by Nieve and Teodori. “What Is It That I Need That I Don’t Already Have?” pits an aside by Bob Dylan to an arrangement recalling Leonard Cohen, then “Radio Is Everything” is another mysterious monologue over Frisell’s loops and Leonhart’s accompaniment. The mood shifts again for “I Can’t Say Her Name”, more cocktail ragtime oddly positioned in the sequence, particularly when he repeats the cartoony scatting from the title track over what should have been a fade. Thankfully, all is redeemed by the heartbreaking and gorgeous “Byline”, from the piano and his melody to the lyrics and AJUQ’s harmonic chorale.

In some ways, Hey Clockface can be seen a vast improvement over the similar experimentation that sank When I Was Cruel, delivering the late-night autumnal feel of North for easily Elvis’s best jazz excursion to date. Maybe in a few years we’ll actually know what the hell some of these songs are about.

Elvis Costello Hey Clockface (2020)—3½

Elvis Costello 34: Look Now

You can’t argue with math, so it really had been ten years since Elvis Costello’s last album with the Imposters, and only his fourth album of “new” material in that same span. Look Now arrived in something of the wake following a tour that focused on 1982’s Imperial Bedroom (a big favorite around these parts) as well as work with Burt Bacharach on more songs for a projected Broadway musical based on 1998’s Painted From Memory. Both albums show up in all the press for this one, but we hear shades of Mighty Like A Rose in the baroque horn arrangements, and Punch The Clock in the female backup vocals. One thing the album doesn’t do is rock; the spirit, as well as the musical and piano contribution, of Bacharach looms large over the proceedings, which tend mostly toward soulful pop. (For another clue, Dusty In Memphis gets a clever acknowledgment in the notes.)

The big drums and sound of “Under Lime” are about as loud as the album gets, a catchy sequel of sorts to “Jimmie Standing In The Rain” with a plot that gets more disturbing with every listen. “Don’t Look Now”, written with Bacharach, is just one of many songs sung from a woman’s perspective, this one bringing to mind either an aging ingénue or a young model. It’s pretty, yet brief. “Burnt Sugar Is So Bitter” is a collaboration with Carole King that sat unheard from the ‘90s; while it’s hard to discern her mark, the theme of a spurned divorcée is carried over in “Stripping Paper”, something of a cousin to “This House Is Empty Now”, wherein the narrator finds the remnants of her marriage amid the décor. The “daring” teen pregnancy ode “Unwanted Number” makes a surprising appearance, being the other song he contributed to the soundtrack of Grace Of My Heart, the film that brought him together with Bacharach in the first place. We take a break from female problems to world issues, as “I Let The Sun Go Down” is concerned with the impending Brexit.

The modern-sounding “Mr. & Mrs. Hush” bears the most echoes of his collaboration with The Roots, and catchy as it is, still befuddles the listener still trying nail the identities of Harry Worth, Mr. Feathers, Stella Hurt, and the like. “Photographs Can Lie” is another Bacharach co-write, this time from the point of view of a woman considering her father’s infidelities. Things pick back up in “Dishonor The Stars”, which deftly sets up the soul promise made real in “Suspect My Tears”, another 20-year-old tune making its welcome appearance, with a terrific Hey Love arrangement and occasional falsetto. (Nobody told him he lifted the chorus from Diana’s version of “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough”.) “Why Won’t Heaven Help Me?” continues the R&B revue, with a samba backing and clever interlocking vocals. It makes “He’s Given Me Things”, the final scorned woman tune written with Burt, something of an anti-climax; it’s a little too quiet, and we’re left wondering if all these women are the same character.

Because it had been so long, Look Now is a big deal, with a lot of expectation for it. The history of some of the compositions puts it across not so much as a statement but a reason to give these songs some exposure past the concert stage, where he’s been living for most of the decade. The diehard fans will also eat up the Deluxe Edition, with four extra tracks: “Isabelle In Tears” sounds like an unfinished audition for Bacharach; “Adieu Paris”, a smarmy excuse to write and sing in lounge French; “The Final Mrs. Curtain”, a decent contender for the album proper if not for the Hush couple; and “You Shouldn’t Look At Me That Way”, written for the movie Film Stars Don’t Die In Liverpool.

But that cover art? He’s a much better songwriter than a painter.

Elvis Costello & The Imposters Look Now (2018)—3

Elvis Costello 33: Unfaithful Music

Fans who’ve devoured his liner notes, interviews and magazine articles over the years know that Elvis Costello doesn’t always let the truth get in the way of a good story. For example, the manor of opulent decadence depicted in “Man Out Of Time” has been said to have been inspired by the stand-in for Buckingham Palace in the Beatles’ Help!, the house where the Profumo affair occurred, and in Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink, his official autobiography, the location where he filmed the promo clip for “Good Year For The Roses”. He admits such embellishment elsewhere, such as how his anecdote about himself, his parents, and the cat all took notice the first time “Penny Lane” played on the radio. (His parents had already split up by then, and they no longer had a cat.)

Still, Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink is an engrossing read, diverting from chronology just when you think it’s going to stay linear. Moving around from era to era actually works, using stories about his father’s musical career and his grandparents’ wartime travails to spur other memories and accounts. While he insists that he was never a confessional songwriter, and he doesn’t explain the genesis of all of his most famous songs, key lines do pop up in unexpected places, and when he explains how a cashier at a grocery store inspired “Alison”, you believe it.

The author himself narrates the unabridged audiobook, breaking into accents or impersonations when the text calls for it. While often accused of being pretentious or glib, even by his own fans, it is sometimes heartbreaking to hear him recount his own infidelities, weaknesses, and failures, as well as those of his father, just as his excitement over discovering a wonderful record in his youth and encountering musical heroes in his adulthood is real. Much of his early image is ascribed to a character he found himself playing, thinking that “bad” behavior would cause people to leave him alone to do his work. In the end, only the sales charts left him alone, and he spent the second decade or so of his fame immersed in self-loathing and recrimination for the damage he did to his first wife and their son. Having survived all that and still allowed to make music, he seems grateful for his family and friends, and slings very few arrows at any remaining grudges.

A narrative that references so many songs demands a musical companion, and some stalwart individuals have gone so far as to curate Spotify playlists that cover every band and artist mentioned. The author wisely compiled a two-CD set, Unfaithful Music & Soundtrack Album, that touches on many of the compositions discussed in the book. As it includes most of those hit songs from earlier best-ofs, it could be considered a rehash of Girls Girls Girls, the Costello-curated double disc from 1989 that pulled in tracks from his first decade with the Attractions. This one isn’t quite as random chronologically, but it does sample nearly every one of his albums, with only a few alternates to deviate from the typical. Those of us purchasing yet another disc with “Alison” and “Watching The Detectives” will shoot right to the end of the second disc for “April 5th”, a surprising collaboration with Roseanne Cash and Kris Kristofferson, and “I Can’t Turn It Off”, a demo from 1975 with lyrics that would end up in “Watch Your Step” and “Sulky Girl”. A hidden track features so-called “Sketches” from the memoir, anecdotes about Paul McCartney, Lou Adler, and the Royal Albert Hall left out of the manuscript. But as Costello compilations go, this one has more purpose than most others. And of the songs chosen, there’s nary a clunker to be skipped.

Elvis Costello Unfaithful Music & Soundtrack Album (2015)—4

The New Basement Tapes: Lost On The River

Given the development of this unique little album, it’s bound to confuse people who aren’t obsessed with Bob Dylan or any of the participants. (Especially since its release was arguably overshadowed by a product more important to those obsessed.) Basically, it’s new music written to suit a pile of handwritten lyrics most likely dating from prior to the recordings known for years as The Basement Tapes. (Something similar happened in the ‘90s with unused Woody Guthrie lyrics, so there’s another precedent.) The project was driven by T Bone Burnett, so ultimately, it’s a T Bone Burnett album, familiar to anyone who’s heard the O Brother, Where Art Thou soundtrack or Raising Sand, the stellar meeting of Robert Plant and Alison Krauss. The New Basement Tapes is the name given to the collective, these song gathered under the title Lost On The River.

They’re not trying to recapture the basement sound of “Million Dollar Bash” or “Please Mrs. Henry”, but living within the country, blues and Appalachian folk that people like Greil Marcus insist inspired the original sessions. Banjo and fiddle courtesy of Rhiannon Giddens of the Carolina Chocolate Drops make this a distinct slice of Americana, and that’s considering that two Brits—Burnett buddy Elvis Costello and Marcus Mumford on leave from Mumford & Sons—are involved. Jim James of My Morning Jacket and Taylor Goldsmith from Dawes round out the group, and everybody swaps instruments when one is needed. (Of course, there’s a deluxe version with five more songs, one per band member.)

As per his recent work, Elvis tends to over-emote and spit. “Six Months In Kansas City” is two songs stuck together, encouraging shouted asides from the rest of the group, but still fares better than “Married To My Hack”. “Golden Tom—Silver Judas” could go on his “Sugarcane” albums, and the lovely melody on his version of “Lost On The River” (denoted “#12”) makes it the keeper of his contributions. (It was a smart move to record several versions of each song to inspire collaboration, and certainly to set up a possible sequel already in the can should demand arise, but the mind shivers at the possibility of stabs at “Hidee Hidee Ho” that didn’t make the first cut.)

Elvis is arguably the biggest “name” here, but he doesn’t nudge aside the lesser-known players. If anything, this album will expose people to them. Jim James already made a stamp as a Dylan interpreter from his appearance in the surreal faux-biopic I’m Not There. Arguably, his songs sound the most like potential Dylan songs, given his voice’s similarity to the Nashville croon. “Down On The Bottom” builds well, while “Nothing To It” is both jaunty and rocking, infused with a wonderful fuzz.

The original basement sessions were a pointed boys’ club, so having a woman sing on these also makes it separate from that established norm. At first appearance Rhiannon Giddens reminds the listener of Natalie Merchant, who appeared on the Billy Bragg and Wilco collaborations on the Guthrie material, but that comparison is grossly unfair considering how much more she offers. She infuses “Spanish Mary” with a melody that Bob would have been happy to pinch himself (and if he keeps making albums, he still might). And her closing take of “Lost On The River” (denoted “#20”) is pleasingly spooky. Taylor Goldsmith’s “Liberty Street” also recalls the Bragg/Wilco project, only because it’s so damn gorgeous, while “Card Shark” sounds uncannily like early Bruce Cockburn. Marcus Mumford’s offerings sound a lot like what’s thus far brought him a fan base; “Kansas City” and “Stranger” are his standouts, the latter a welcome example of Dylan wordplay.

But even though Dylan was the spark for the project, and he did endorse it while keeping his distance, the album is best appreciated out of that context, and for that, it succeeds. To get a better appreciation for their accomplishment, the Lost Songs: The Basement Tapes Continued documentary is rather illuminating, though the staged recreations of the events of 1967 inspire more winces than wonder.

The New Basement Tapes Lost On The River (2014)—4

Elvis Costello 32: Wise Up Ghost

Usually, when an established-for-decades artist attempts to sound contemporary, the results can be abysmal. Elvis Costello is too smart a guy to sound younger than he is, but he’s long been a champion of the esoteric, and works best with people whose record collections are as deep and diverse as his. Still, because his knowledge of the history of popular music is so deep, he knows that you don’t have to go too far to risk repeating yourself or someone else. Therefore, he will work with a spark other than guitar or piano to get his creative juices aboil. (For example, When I Was Cruel started as an album of loops, amended by actual players; the last “loud” thing he put out before that was “The Bridge I Burned”, which was also heavy on loops, with a monologue spouted through a megaphone effect.)

Wise Up Ghost is a collaboration with The Roots, best known these days as being the house band on Late Night With Jimmy Fallon, but also respected as an innovative R&B combo. They’re a terrific live band (?uestlove in particular being a fascinating drummer), so it’s too bad that so much of the album sounds sampled.

Perhaps because their mutual attraction came from their familiarity with his catalog, several songs are either triggered by samples (albeit obscure) from the Costello catalog or apply new arrangements to whole sets of established lyrics. This becomes a game of “Spot the Reference” for Costello-heads; we’ll do our best not to list them all here, but suffice it to say the songs he chose makes this one angry antiwar diatribe, demonstrate that nothing has changed since he first wrote the words. The tracks that truly stand out do so because not only do they not sound like reworked older songs, but they also don't sound like everything else on the album.

“Walk Us Uptown” was the smart choice for lead track, since it’s not overtly derivative of other Costello tracks, but the mix and organ part evokes Christopher Walken flying through a hotel lobby pre-dawn. “Sugar Won’t Work” is more impressive, with a neat guitar snaking its way through the verse, plus an intriguing string counterpoint and harmonies that suggest this could be a great tune by the Imposters one day (assuming they’re still on retainer). “Refuse To Be Saved” grants a new chorus to “Invasion Hit Parade”, delivered in a sing-speak voice that makes the debt (and reference) to “The Revolution Will Not Be Televised” more overt, and an arrangement that recalls the Temptations’ “Ball Of Confusion”. In the same tempo, “Wake Me Up” combines three Costello lyrics over a quote from another; it’s otherwise enlivened by some great jagged rhythm guitar. “Tripwire” is the first classic tune, despite its reliance on the four-chord sample that runs through it. What saves it are the thoughtful lyrics, and loads of layered harmonies. But “Stick Out Your Tongue” is an unnecessary reboot of “Pills And Soap” (with a few other anti-media verses mixed in). While the original was indeed influenced by early rap, at least it managed to incorporate chord changes.

“Come The Meantimes” kicks up the tempo to recall the glory days of ska, while depending on a ‘60s soul sample. “(She Might Be A) Grenade” is a reworking of “She’s Pulling Out The Pin”, and not much better than that little-known, lackluster track. He's probably revisiting his older political songs to prove that nothing has changed. If you thought the brief sample from an Italian lounge record on “When I Was Cruel No. 2” was genius, then you’ll love “Cinco Minutos Con Vos”, which is an actual duet, finding melody over a grinding F-E progression. “Viceroy’s Row” recalls a less cluttered “Bridge I Burned”, its horn figure recalling a more kitsch era. The title track builds from an orchestral sample from North to a disquieting degree, adding martial drums and a heavy guitar doubling the line. “If I Could Believe” is the long-awaited ballad, culminating in a pretty little flourish of strings that winds up in discord.

There is an awful lot of sameness throughout Wise Up Ghost, but what keeps it worthy of return are the songs that feature him singing, as opposed to reciting. It definitely improves with familiarity, as after a while you can actually discern a song underneath the dressing. Maybe we’re being too nice; it’s recommended with an emphatic caveat that it might not resonate with the casual listener.

Naturally, a deluxe edition in wacky packaging came out simultaneously, with three extra songs to entice those aforementioned Costello-heads. Why these weren’t included in the album proper is a mystery, as they’re no worse than some of the ones that were. “My New Haunt” and “Can You Hear Me?” are both slowly funky, the latter relying on another mix of lyrics from three older songs. However, “The Puppet Has Cut Its Strings” is a remarkable “afterthought”, a paranoid lyric wandering over a claustrophobic piano and simple rhythm.

Elvis Costello and The Roots Wise Up Ghost (2013)—3

Elvis Costello 31: In Motion Pictures

We’d lost count of how many times Elvis Costello has “retired”, citing public apathy and industry misbehavior. Yet again, in the midst of his most recent recording hiatus, came a Costello release with little more about it than a surefire way to simultaneously take his most fervent supporters’ money and draw their ire. Having accomplished both with this correspondent, we report herewith on In Motion Pictures, an alleged celebration of his appearance on movie soundtracks.

If it collected every extraneous song written for films without repeating songs already available, then we might have something. Instead, in a clear attempt to seduce a crowd outside of the usual Costello diehards, it opens with “Accidents Will Happen”, already collected on every one of his hits collections (not to mention the Armed Forces album) and included here solely because a character can be heard self-consciously singing it in E.T. Likewise “Miracle Man”, “Lovers Walk”, and “I Want You”—all album tracks borrowed decades after their initial appearances.

Other songs hadn’t exactly been rare for years. “Crawling To The U.S.A.” and “Seven Day Weekend” each appeared on B-sides compilations and expanded album reissues, just as “Days” and “Oh Well” have been available for some time. “God Give Me Strength” went on to spur a whole album. Only “A Town Called Big Nothing”, ignored in the Rhino years, can be considered a fresh find, though EC fans have it already.

So is there anything here for people who try to limit the Costello section of their CD racks to jewel boxes with his name on the spines? Well, kinda. “You Stole My Bell” comes from the pre-When I Was Cruel period, and “My Mood Swings” will be familiar to Big Lebowski fans. (Both also credit co-writing to ex-wife Cait O’Riordan, which is nice of him.) The newest song is “Sparkling Day”, from an Anne Hathaway movie nobody saw, with a string arrangement that links well to the next track. The inclusion of “She”, from Notting Hill, makes a little sense, since it was pretty big hit, and gives some of us a chance to remove the 1999 best-of from the rack.

The album also has him squarely straddling the pop and “alternative” worlds, with none of the country or bluegrass shades from his last two real albums. The hard part is assigning a rating. From a musical standpoint, In Motion Pictures is palatable. On the whole, it’s inessential. The biggest value will most likely be the thinly veiled “ghostwritten” liner notes, which make clear reference to all the songs that weren’t included—many of which would have been welcome over the retreads.

Elvis Costello In Motion Pictures (2012)—3

Holiday Special #2: The Bells Of Dublin

The Chieftains are one of those mainstream outfits peddling their own brand of traditional Irish music, found once upon a time at most big box stores in the “Celtic” section next to the Clancy Brothers. After having something of a boost from Van Morrison, they released a series of albums that featured collaborations with a variety of established artists, all singing to their accompaniment. One of their nicer projects—surpassed only by The Long Black Veil a couple of years later, teaming them with the likes of Tom Jones and the Rolling Stones—was a Christmas album based around The Bells Of Dublin.

Besides presenting a pleasant selection of airs and graces (if you like that sort of thing), the collaborations were unexpected. Honorary Dubliner Elvis Costello contributes the gory tale of a family dinner gone wrong (not for the first or last time) in “St. Stephen’s Day Murders”. The McGarrigle sisters offer a medley of French carols, then Burgess Meredith sets up a Gaelic shepherds’ tale. Marianne Faithfull adds her sweet rasp for “I Saw Three Ships”—contrast that with Rickie Lee Jones, who sounds like she’s either on the verge of tears or a sneeze for “O Holy Night”. Jackson Browne had been quiet for a few years when he came up with “The Rebel Jesus”.

Beyond the “star” aspect, the traditional selections are the glue of the album. The Voice Squad lends support to several carols, as well as the extended dance demonstration of “The Wren” (even if singer Kevin Conneff sounds a little like Popeye on some of his scatting). The final section of blends three carols into a big finish on “O Come All Ye Faithful”, with the organist from a Belfast cathedral playing into those bells.

The Bells Of Dublin will likely irritate those who aren’t fond of Irish music, but we find it awfully soothing. As various CDs (and LPs) have gone in and out of our holiday stack over the years, this one is a constant.

The Chieftains The Bells Of Dublin (1991)—3½

Elvis Costello 30: Return Of The Spectacular Spinning Songbook

His albums have become increasingly diverse and far between, and his concerts supporting them tend to attract only the devoted few. A man’s gotta pay the bills and support his family, but when you’re Elvis Costello, you will also go out of your way to keep from being accused of living off the past, even in the slightest.

Despite all the people he’s worked with over the years, the most consistent has been the band now known as the Imposters. For the past ten years (as well as a few combinations in the decades before that) they’ve provided the reliable backbeat for his rock ‘n roll tendencies, and can just as capably follow his dynamics down to a whisper. Their ability to think on their feet means they can handle pretty much whatever’s thrown at them, even when decided by a gigantic roulette wheel festooned with forty different song titles and wild cards.

The Return Of The Spectacular Spinning Songbook!!! is a document of the highlights of just two shows from their 2011 Revolver tour, which revived that legendary wheel of fortune 25 years after it was first rolled out. The wide variety of songs and possibilities played throughout the tour couldn’t possibly be contained on a single CD; the companion DVD presents a single concert with all the visuals necessary to convey the moment. For the most part, the edits are seamless; only the transition from “Lipstick Vogue” to “Man Out Of Time” is obvious.

While it is something of an “oldies” show, he’s careful to stack the crowd-pleasing raveups at either end of the set, with plenty of space in the middle to handle the spins of the wheel, any oddball requests and some otherwise little-heard surprises. That’s how we get some incredible renditions of Nick Lowe’s “Heart Of The City” and the Stones’ “Out Of Time”. Special guests The Bangles take the lead and harmonies on “Tear Off Your Own Head (It’s A Doll Revolution)”. “National Ransom” is translated from its Sugarcanes incarnation into a rousing rock tune. “All Grown Up”, originally recorded without any Attractions or Imposters, gets a lovely voice and piano treatment, courtesy of Steve Nieve. And the whole band shines on extended workouts of “Watching The Detectives”, “I Want You”, “Everyday I Write The Book” and “Peace, Love And Understanding”.

The Return Of The Spectacular Spinning Songbook was first made available as a pricey collectors’ edition denounced by the man himself, so its appearance as a standard-priced CD (as well as DVD and reasonable CD/DVD combo) gives the 99% a chance to experience it. Granted, it’s only one snapshot; only those who follow Elvis with the dedication of Deadheads—and those people do exist—could possibly get the whole picture. For the rest of us, this will do.

Elvis Costello & The Imposters The Return Of The Spectacular Spinning Songbook!!! (2011)—3

Elvis Costello 29: National Ransom

Elvis’s flirtation with bluegrass on Secret, Profane & Sugarcane proved to be much more than that once he took the show on the road. Several new songs came to fruition, and having taken the newly christened Sugarcanes back to the studio with T Bone Burnett at the helm, he emerged with National Ransom, a much more cohesive work than its predecessor.

The sheer variety of sound and style certainly makes it more interesting, with lots of nooks and crannies to hide the details. He hasn’t put out an album this, dare we say, eclectic since Spike. While that album—also a T Bone Burnett production—flirted with Celtic and New Orleans influences, much of National Ransom is colored by country and bluegrass instruments, with “pre-war” and Western swing being the predominant genres.

Thankfully, any and all drums are provided by Pete Thomas, and Steve Nieve is allowed to contribute some piano and organ here and there. The raveup title track has some new alt.country elements, as does “Five Small Words” and the truly catchy “I Lost You”, yet it’s not a stretch to hear these played by the Imposters. And good luck not getting swept up by the twisted Merseybeat of “The Spell That You Cast”.

“Bullets For The New-Born King” shows off his guitar prowess, those little hands of concrete finding gentle parts to play. Even more effective is the moving “One Bell Ringing”, with its horn parts reminiscent of Joni Mitchell’s jazzier albums. Other tracks seem familiar; “Stations Of The Cross” borrows heavily from “My Dark Life”, while “Church Underground” appears to be a development of what started in “Just Another Mystery”. “That’s Not The Part Of Him You’re Leaving” follows in the R&B/soul tradition of The Delivery Man and The River In Reverse, while “My Lovely Jezebel”, despite the presence of Leon Russell and Marc Ribot, doesn’t quite make it.

Then there are songs that sound like they come from another time or place, like “Jimmie Standing In The Rain”, which would have fit on Spike, and the charming “A Slow Drag With Josephine”, with its closing whistle that reminds us of the Star Wars cantina scene. He’s been trying to write the big send-off of “A Voice in The Dark” for years, and he’s finally nailed it. Meanwhile, “You Hung The Moon” is a lovely crooner, even despite the subject matter.

In fact, some of these lyrics are so dense it’s not always clear what he’s on about, while others, like the clunkily-titled “Dr. Watson I Presume” are a little too obvious, but at least that one has a decent chorus. “All These Strangers” has potential, but takes so long to navigate the twists and turns of the melody following all the words.

At over an hour long, National Ransom was considered a bona fide double album, but he wasn’t done yet. Those who ordered it directly via his website had the option to receive the four-song National Ransack EP, later issued only on vinyl. Along with two excellent originals, a cover of “Big Boys Cry” by Bobby Charles and a surprising remake of his own “I Don’t Want To Go Home”, previously heard only in demo format on one of the My Aim Is True reissues, make it an essential companion to the album proper.

Elvis Costello National Ransom (2010)—3

Elvis Costello 28: El Mocambo and Hollywood High

Shortly before the worldwide release of his second album, Elvis and his recently acquired Attractions performed a fast ‘n sweaty gig at the same Toronto club that had featured the Rolling Stones just a year before. Live At The El Mocambo was then released as a promo album, and promptly bootlegged.

It’s a great snapshot of the band on their second North American tour, plowing through songs familiar and unfamiliar to a rowdy club crowd. You can hear Elvis baiting the audience, demanding repeatedly that they “stand up”. The songs have been transformed from their guises on My Aim Is True into a sound all their own. “Less Than Zero” even gets a new set of lyrics to reflect the mistaken assumption that the Oswald in the song was the surname of Lee Harvey.

Some fifteen years later, it got its first official release, somewhat, as part of a box set on Rykodisc, alongside his first three albums. (Those buying the three individually could collect coupons from each and get their copy that way.) In a packaging decision sure to excite those of us who notice such things, the title was listed on the spine and the disc itself as Live At El Mocambo.

When Rhino got a hold of the catalog in 2000, the album was pointedly left out, with the exception of “Less Than Zero” being added to My Aim Is True, making the Ryko version a collector’s item. Then, at the end of the decade, Hip-O’s version of the catalog initially eschewed any kind of bonus tracks on the albums, except for the Deluxe Editions of the first two albums. Two years after those landed with a resounding thud, the label initiated a series of standalone live albums under the banner “The Costello Show”. The first release? Live At The El Mocambo, complete with the missing article restored to the spine.

Much more interesting was the second installment in the series, which arrived a few months later. Live At Hollywood High presented the full concert that had previously been a bonus EP in the original Armed Forces package. Those three tracks were included on the Ryko reissue, expanded to nine songs on the Rhino version. In the absence of a Deluxe Edition of Armed Forces, for which this would have been a strong candidate, at least they found a way to let us hear the whole thing.

Starting with a piano-and-vocal performance of the recently written “Accidents Will Happen”, the band gallops into place for “Mystery Dance”. Only three months after the El Mocambo performance, there have already been changes to the set. Working versions of “Goon Squad” and “Party Girl” are already pretty tight, and a very non-country take of “Stranger In The House” adds some more variety. And of course, it’s nice to have an Attractions version of “Alison”. Overall, the performance is tighter—and probably more sober—than in Toronto, with Elvis interacting with a giddy high school crowd.

It’s a good show, but admittedly, overkill, as it makes a total of three concert releases covering the same three-month period. It was a good start, but the “Costello Show” live series did not continue past these two.

Elvis Costello & The Attractions Live At The El Mocambo (1978)—3½
Elvis Costello & The Attractions Live At Hollywood High (2010)—4

Elvis Costello 27: Secret, Profane & Sugarcane

This particular year’s model had sat in the can for some time, having been recorded back before the release of Momofuku. Sure, it sounds like a Costello country album, but Secret, Profane & Sugarcane had its genesis in a few other touchstones. It began (so he hinted) as a Coward Brothers project, which was a collaboration with T Bone Burnett; their “debut” had happened at the onset of King Of America, which featured the support of various American studio musicians. This time out he also had a few songs left over from the Delivery Man suite, and some others written for The Secret Songs, an opera(!) about Hans Christian Andersen and P.T. Barnum.

The CD package includes lyrics and Harry Smith-styled subheads for each of the tracks, identifying the Delivery Man and Secret Songs material where necessary, but the album is sequenced in such a way as not to call much attention to them. So what looked to be another odd collection of leftovers turned out, thanks to the players, to be a cohesive yet elusive listening experience.
Two of the songs had actually appeared on previous Costello albums. “Complicated Shadows” was a centerpiece of All This Useless Beauty in a blazing live-cum-studio performance, while a demo more in the style of Johnny Cash (for whom it was written) appeared on the reissue’s bonus disc (alongside “Hidden Shame”, which was also written for the man in black, and the catalyst for The Delivery Man).

The plot of the opera songs isn’t always clear, but “She Handed Me A Mirror” and “How Deep Is The Red?” provide some trademark ache. “Red Cotton” is too long, and “She Was No Good” ends too quickly. “Down Among The Wines And Spirits” adds some humor to the proceedings, though the bawdy jokes of “Sulfur To Sugarcane” don’t have the same impact after the first few listens.

But it’s still a country album. “I Felt The Chill” was written with Loretta Lynn, and “The Crooked Line” features the always welcome Emmylou Harris. (It still sounds like “Ring Of Fire” to these ears.) There’s no drums anywhere, with the percussion supplied solely by double bass and mandolin, and local color from Jerry Douglas on dobro and Jim Lauderdale on constant harmony.

Some may still dismiss this album as a typical Costello genre exercise, yet Secret, Profane & Sugarcane is another chapter in Elvis’s ongoing fascination with country music. Indeed, while he’s upfront about his influences, his take on country sounds like no one else. Time will tell if this album should be considered a major work or just another footnote. In the meantime, while it’s nice to listen to, we wish he’d go back to writing songs with singable choruses. The closest candidate here—“My All Time Doll”, which also sounds closest to his stereotypical style—doesn’t cut it.Elvis Costello Secret, Profane & Sugarcane (2009)—3

Paul McCartney 18: Flowers In The Dirt

Right in the middle of the hair metal revolution came the announcement that Paul was going to tour the world, including America. Oh, and there’d also be a new album. Flowers In The Dirt arrived amidst an exhaustive media blitz wherein Paul told the same stories with the same eyebrow raises and subtle nudges we knew by heart. (To his credit, Paul is oblivious to the sad fact that thousands of us know his history better than he does.) He was also sure to show off his old Hofner bass with the setlist still taped to it, as if he was picking up where he left off in 1966.

“My Brave Face” was upbeat enough to be a strong first single, if a little skewed; the late afternoon counterpart to “For No One”. It was the most successful of four included projects with Elvis Costello, who didn’t ignore the classic McCartney style and helped him to write what came naturally. “Rough Ride” starts out interestingly enough, but when performed live became background music while everybody headed to the john. It deserved better. “You Want Her Too” is a harsh sounding cartoon, and brought out the worst in both Macca and EC. (He’d point to this as a comparison to writing head-to-head with John—not a wise move.) “Distractions” is a half-asleep little number, and a step in the right direction. Then we go two steps back with the obvious “We Got Married”, the oldest recording in the set, produced by MOR yawnmeister David Foster; even he said it wasn’t a good song. “Put It There” ends the side pleasantly enough, with a “Blackbird”-type accompaniment and inoffensive lyrics about fatherly advice.

The second side begins with a possible future classic, “Figure Of Eight”. It would be reworked the following year when released as a single; that version seems better rounded, but this original still shows off all the hooks. “This One” is almost as good, even when the words get clumsy (“if I never did it”—thud). But it’s also the last above-average song here. Neither of the other two Costello songs flow well; “Don’t Be Careless Love” is written in too high a key for either of them, and while “That Day Is Done” would be much better served eight years later when performed by the Fairfield Four in a gospel harmony setting, this rendition has only the briefest glimpse of its potential. “How Many People” is very well intentioned, but Paul never learned not to write protest songs. “Motor Of Love” is slathered in Cars keyboards and a Tears For Fears mix to the point where the bare framework of the song is camouflaged.

That’s how the LP ends—the CD finishes with “Ou Est Le Soleil?”, which is worse than even the instrumentals left off of McCartney II. He liked it so much he sanctioned numerous extended remixes of it. It’s safe to say the vast majority of the consumers who bought all those versions didn’t listen to each more than once, if at all. (The same could be said for the disposable “Party Party”, included as a single with a re-release of the album in certain territories to promote the tour.)

With all the different producers credited on all the songs, it’s only natural that Flowers In The Dirt is a schizophrenic listening experience. It retains its late ‘80s glaze, but at least the musicians who would accompany him around the stages of the world are credited and pictured. It’s certainly better than most of what he spent the decade doing, and it has not aged well at all. But just as in 1976, we didn’t care about the new songs—we were gonna see him on stage again.

Nearly three decades later, when it was reissued after many delays as part of his ongoing Archive Collection series, Paulie made the smart move of including all of the much-bootlegged demos recorded with Costello on the two-disc expansion, making it essential for EC fans. In the more expensive Deluxe Edition, a third disc contained full band demos of the same Costello co-writes, giving an intriguing glimpse into the album’s early incarnation as a full Costello collaboration, including songs that would eventually make it to future albums by both guys. However, most (but not all) of the pertinent B-sides and remixes were offered as downloads only, along with three further rare Costello demos that also saw separate release as a limited-edition cassette. (Yes, a cassette. In 2017.) While much could be said of the improved fidelity—and making it easy to delete over half an hour dedicated to variations on “Ou Est Le Soleil?” and “Party Party” from one’s hard drive—McCartney’s ongoing indifference to what his fans really want, not to mention the whole point of an “archive”, continues to disturb.

Paul McCartney Flowers In The Dirt (1989)—3
2017 Archive Collection: same as 1989, plus 9 extra tracks (Deluxe Edition adds another 9 tracks plus DVD and downloads)

Elvis Costello 26: Momofuku

With Elvis reveling in his disgust of the state of the record industry, the announcement of a new album called Momofuku sounded like another typical Costello red herring. Internet sleuths thought it was a reference to a Manhattan restaurant, but it turned out that the inspiration was the eponymous man who invented ramen noodles.

All this speculation—which wasn’t helped by initial reports that it would only be available on vinyl—was moot when we finally got to hear the music. The songs were recorded as quickly as they were written, with the two notable exceptions being collaborations with Roseanne Cash and Loretta Lynn. The Imposters provide the backbone, while a handful of young musicians a couple of generations removed fill out the sound without getting in the way.

After the smoother pop and jazz elements of the last couple of albums, this time it’s mostly back to the welcome clamor he played so well. “No Hiding Place” is a great opener, pointing a not-so-subtle finger at those Internet sleuths. “American Gangster Time” follows with more political anger, and from there the noise becomes a matter of taste. The least successful tracks attempt to pull puns out of names (“Stella Hurt”, “Harry Worth”, “Mr. Feathers”) and fail to connect, but it’s the comparatively gentler songs that win here, from “Flutter And Wow” with its shades of Brian Wilson, the tender apology and lullabye of “My Three Sons” and the haunting “Song With Rose”.

He was starting to take his sweet time between albums again, but it was clear that like the elder statesmen he was beginning to emulate, when he felt like saying something, it was worth hearing, and on that level, Momofuku didn’t disappoint. Since he was insisting that his income came from live performances and not from album releases anymore, we could only guess when we’d hear from him again.

Elvis Costello and the Imposters Momofuku (2008)—3½

Elvis Costello 25: The River In Reverse

Elvis had long acknowledged Allen Toussaint as one of his favorite songwriters and composers, going so far as to work with the man twice in the '80s. When Hurricane Katrina left Toussaint among the thousands of homeless, Elvis channeled his anger into a variety of performances and eventually a full-length album designed to spotlight both Toussaint’s talents and the musical legacy of New Orleans.

The River In Reverse was recorded quickly over a two-week period, and mixes six older Toussaint compositions with six new collaborations. Toussaint plays piano and sings throughout, with the stalwart backing of the Imposters, a horn section and an additional guitarist to boost the sound. Not only do the lyrics for the new songs echo the disgust Costello felt at the situation in the Delta, but oddly enough, the “covers” also sound sadly timely, even those he’d been performing for years.

Comparisons with Painted From Memory—the collaboration with Burt Bacharach that could have also mixed new versions of old songs, but didn’t—are inevitable, no thanks to photos of Our Hero wearing yet another stupid hat. While the recording is full and hits a smooth groove, the covers are just okay and the new songs themselves aren’t especially memorable. It didn’t help when live performances of the title track, which blatantly addresses the political situation, would inevitably incorporate lyrics from other songs from the album, confusing one’s recall. But despite all this, it’s an important recording, and better that the album stands on its own rather than get lost in the shuffle of a few album tracks here and there. (Elvis thought so strongly about it that he soon took all the musicians on the road to showcase the new songs and preach the gospel of Allen Toussaint. And initial copies of the album came with a bonus DVD documenting the sessions, the first recordings held in New Orleans after the devastation of Katrina.)

Elvis Costello & Allen Toussaint The River In Reverse (2006)—3

Elvis Costello 24: My Flame Burns Blue

Despite the moderate success of both his new work and the back catalog, the ever-contrarian Costello insisted on releasing albums that showed off his talents in genres outside those which had brought him notoriety. Only the faithful had purchased Il Sogno, the score for a ballet based on Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream, released the same day as The Delivery Man. Perhaps because of the lack of interest, a “suite” of music from the recording was a bonus disc added to My Flame Burns Blue, which collected various highlights from a pair of shows recorded in 2004 at a Scandinavian jazz festival with a large orchestra. These concerts featured new arrangements of older songs along with some neo-jazz-cum-classical pieces he’d rarely been able to perform without such a big ensemble behind him.

The selections are a little jarring. “Favourite Hour” and “Almost Blue” benefit from full arrangements, but the evil circus vibe of “Clubland” kills the mood. His commissioned lyrics for melodies by the likes of Mingus and Strayhorn may spark heretofore untapped interest in those composers. And of course, there’s yet another version of “Watching The Detectives” to add to the pile.

Infinitely more enjoyable is Piano Jazz, which documents his appearance on Marian McPartland’s popular NPR show a year earlier. The two disparate performers discuss old songs—and some of Elvis’s—in between performing them, and the mutual respect comes through the speakers clearly. A few of the standards will be familiar to fans who’d already indulged in various reissues, and these versions are surprisingly welcome to the canon.

Elvis Costello My Flame Burns Blue (2006)—2½
Elvis Costello & Marian McPartland Piano Jazz (2005)—3½

Elvis Costello 23: The Delivery Man

It seemed that anytime there was a reissue program underway, Elvis would get prolific and start issuing new albums on an annual basis. So after the argument-starter that was North, he took the Imposters down south for a residency at a few tiny clubs, and began honing elements of a song cycle of sorts that he’d been pondering for a decade or so. The Delivery Man appeared on the heels of advance reviews that made it seem like we’d be getting a cross between the Americana of King Of America and the live chaos of Blood & Chocolate. (Pointedly, the all-country Almost Blue had been reissued earlier that year, adding to the Southern mood.)

The resulting album, while a cohesive whole, is still a hodgepodge. The story (or what there is of it) is only slightly helped along by the upfront contributions of Lucinda Williams and Emmylou Harris; the former is an acquired taste, but Emmylou could sing the phone book and it would sound like heaven. It also includes a few songs that had already been recorded by other people for earlier bespoke projects, but if you didn’t know that it wouldn’t make a difference. Best of all, the Imposters are given full rein to do what they do best. Steve Nieve explores every keyboard he can reach, Pete Thomas pounds the skins as hard as any punk, and in bassist Davey Faragher Elvis finally has a decent harmonizer to help him cover those notes. (John McFee returns to add pedal steel to a few tracks too.) As usual there are a few wordy rants, like “Bedlam” and “Needle Time”, but songs like “Country Darkness”, “There’s A Story In Your Voice”, and even a few of the retreads—namely “The Judgement”, “Either Side Of The Same Town” and “The Scarlet Tide”—stick in one’s head. (One great moment: the end of “Heart Shaped Bruise”, while Elvis and Emmylou join on “it will fade” while the song does just that.)

Fans were very pleased with the album, when in a growing and annoying trend it was reissued a few months later with a new cover, an additional track (the underwhelming “She’s Pulling Out The Pin”) that had been exclusive to the UK version, and an EP of alternate takes plus covers of “The Dark End Of The Street” and “The Monkey” (the inspiration for “Monkey To Man”, natch) and his own “In Another Room”, which includes a snippet of “Tipitina” in a prophecy of a future project. Still, we wished he’d’ve left it alone.

Elvis Costello & The Imposters The Delivery Man (2004)—3½
2005 Deluxe Edition: same as 2004, plus 8 extra tracks

Elvis Costello 22: North

Despite a career spent dabbling in countless musical styles, whenever Elvis put out an album that didn’t include another clone of “Pump It Up”, it got slammed. North had the honor of being named on lists for both the best and the worst albums of 2003 in Entertainment Weekly. The key complaint raised there, and all over the Internet, is that the album doesn’t have any melodies, which is horse-hockey. North is full of melodies, and gorgeous ones too, with arrangements are closer to such classic torch song collections as Frank Sinatra Sings For Only The Lonely. That’s where people object, but consider that the songs were all composed on the piano by someone who considers himself an amateur keyboard player at best. (A guitar appears on only one song, albeit mixed so low as to be inaudible.)

Though he was quick to say otherwise, the album was written and recorded in the wake of his separation and subsequent divorce from his (second) wife of 17 years, followed by his romance with Diana Krall, a respected singer/pianist known for her reverent versions of jazz standards—not unlike the contents of this album. Whatever the inspiration, it’s still a haunting song cycle examining the arc from love lost to love found.

After a swirl of strings that functions as a prelude, “You Left Me In The Dark” is a fairly straightforward statement of melancholy solitude. “Someone Took The Words Away” goes even deeper, and it’s not often you hear someone as verbose as EC admitting to being left speechless. The extended sax solo that brings to mind Tom Waits’ beatnik era. “When Did I Stop Dreaming?” breaks out of the startled mood with an arrangement worthy of Tony Bennett, followed by the brief but effective “You Turned To Me”. “Fallen”, the album’s best song, evokes the images of leaves falling from trees, with a plea for “someone to shake me loose” out of despair.

“When It Sings” is loaded with clever rhymes and oblique wordplay, accompanied by punctuating strings, and lead track “Still” is a rare display of tenderness from a guy known for songs about jealousy. Lest we feel we’re eavesdropping, he chooses to hold his joy close to his chest in “Let Me Tell You About Her”, featuring rhymes straight out of Cole Porter. It closes with an extended flugelhorn solo, accompanied by EC’s own piano playing. (The majority of the piano performances on North come from the dexterous hands of Steve Nieve.) “Can You Be True?” goes back to Sinatra territory, and “When Green Eyes Turn Blue” has all the hallmarks of a Big Finish, from its grand arrangement and dramatic strings to the perfect ending. But the last word goes to “I’m In The Mood Again”, in which the narrator slings his coat over his shoulder, his hat at a jaunty angle, and wanders among the lampposts out of Manhattan, happy again. (There was a title track of sorts, only available via a download ticket. It’s just as well; the song—like two others included as bonus tracks overseas—is more of an afterthought or B-side that really doesn’t fit with the rest of the album.)

North is a successful experiment, and fine accompaniment for dusky autumn evenings with a bottle of red wine. This was not the first time he’d put so many low-key ballads together; every album from his first (remember “Alison”?) has had its share. Its closest relative in the canon would be Painted From Memory, another album that pissed off many in his fan base. Those who gave it a chance—and to this day it still divides the faithful—were happy to have it, moreso than the over-hyped, disappointing When I Was Cruel.

Elvis Costello North (2003)—4