Thesaurus-thrashing purveyor of perfect conscience-pricking pop
Uncut reviews Elvis in Glasgow -
WHICH ELVIS ARE YOU? Stark-staring, sparrow-legged,
bilious Buddy Holly? Speed-guzzling soulboy?
Whiskey-soaked, beers-and-tears country lover?
Thesaurus-thrashing purveyor of perfect
conscience-pricking pop? Soul-shredded red-and-black
revenge machine? Mutant balladeer with weird beard
ideas? Classical cognoscenti? Friend to the glossiest
stars?
All these Elvi enter Glasgow’s holiest building with
The Imposters for their only UK gig — their only
European gig — and rip into “How To Be Dumb”, the
astonishing 1991 stream of invective apparently
battered out after Costello read former bassist
BruceThomas’ less-than-flattering memoir The Big
Wheel. The Imposters, of course, are The Attractions —
whirligig keyboard wizard Steve Nieve, tonight
sporting a fetching kilt of uncertain tartan, and
Powerful Pete Thomas, pounding his drum kit with arms
that defy time — minus B Thomas, whose place has been
taken by Davey Faragher (dressed like Chas, Dave and
the supporting cast of Only Fools And Horses, and
pulling it off) .They make an imperial, whirling,
battering noise; yet Elvis still seems stung by
Thomas’ gang betrayal. And that’s key. No matter how
many Vanity Fair articles or string quartets he
writes, somewhere inside that tight purple suit still
lurks the brilliantly twisted suburban
computer-programmer with a churning brain and chip on
his shoulder, capable of hanging on to hate till his
fingers bleed.
Costello’s place in the punk wars which liberated him
remains open for debate, but he seems intent on
structuring tonight as four-to-the-floor Ramones
tribute. The first five songs are a furious rush,
opening chords crashing in before closing notes fade.
Flashing across the decades, “Doll Revolution”, “No
Action”, “The Next Time Round” and an enormous “Radio
Radio” go tearing past, making clear how consistent
his core, thick, wild mercury sound has been.
Things slow in the most surprising way with a rare
outing for Leon Payne’s schizo-Nashville “Psycho”. As
intensely, sweetly screwed-up as it ever has been, it
leads into the corrupted gumbo and bleeding Americana
of the new Delivery Man album. That Costello has
chosen Barrowlands to showcase the record is not so
surprising: he picked Scotland as safe haven to
premiere Almost Blue when ‘going country’ was enough
to get you lynched, and has racked up fistfuls of epic
stands in Glasgow. Still, the most frustrating element
of tonight is how half the audience seem to have
turned out for greatest hits, and take the jet-black
psychodrama of the title track, a sublime “Country
Darkness” and extended, clanking, curdling, rumbling
reworkings of “Button My Lip” (a summary of the
Costello catalogue) and “Needle Time” as chat-breaks,
flattening out the night.
An entirely unexpected “Blame It On Cain” demonstrates
how the big wheel’s still turning in Costello’s head.
The crowd is brought back to heel with “High
Fidelity”, “I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down” and a
singalong “Good Year For the Roses”. I stopped
counting at 25 songs. Biggest surprise: Costello
chanting “We Want You As A New Recruit” Village
People-style during “Uncomplicated”. Least surprising
realisation: we need him singing “Oliver’s Army”,
“Shipbuilding” and Nick Lowe’s “(What’s So Funny
‘Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding” more than ever —
and continuing to hunker down with all his internal
Elvi to write a few hundred more, growing older
outraged-ly.
UNCUT
Dec.04
The rules of Attraction
The beloved entertainer showcases his fine new album
north of the border
Elvis Costello & The Imposters
BARROWLANDS, GLASGOW Wednesday, October 6,2004
WHICH ELVIS ARE YOU? Stark-staring, sparrow-legged,
bilious Buddy Holly? Speed-guzzling soulboy?
Whiskey-soaked, beers-and-tears country lover?
Thesaurus-thrashing purveyor of perfect
conscience-pricking pop? Soul-shredded red-and-black
revenge machine? Mutant balladeer with weird beard
ideas? Classical cognoscenti? Friend to the glossiest
stars?
All these Elvi enter Glasgow’s holiest building with
The Imposters for their only UK gig — their only
European gig — and rip into “How To Be Dumb”, the
astonishing 1991 stream of invective apparently
battered out after Costello read former bassist
BruceThomas’ less-than-flattering memoir The Big
Wheel. The Imposters, of course, are The Attractions —
whirligig keyboard wizard Steve Nieve, tonight
sporting a fetching kilt of uncertain tartan, and
Powerful Pete Thomas, pounding his drum kit with arms
that defy time — minus B Thomas, whose place has been
taken by Davey Faragher (dressed like Chas, Dave and
the supporting cast of Only Fools And Horses, and
pulling it off) .They make an imperial, whirling,
battering noise; yet Elvis still seems stung by
Thomas’ gang betrayal. And that’s key. No matter how
many Vanity Fair articles or string quartets he
writes, somewhere inside that tight purple suit still
lurks the brilliantly twisted suburban
computer-programmer with a churning brain and chip on
his shoulder, capable of hanging on to hate till his
fingers bleed.
Costello’s place in the punk wars which liberated him
remains open for debate, but he seems intent on
structuring tonight as four-to-the-floor Ramones
tribute. The first five songs are a furious rush,
opening chords crashing in before closing notes fade.
Flashing across the decades, “Doll Revolution”, “No
Action”, “The Next Time Round” and an enormous “Radio
Radio” go tearing past, making clear how consistent
his core, thick, wild mercury sound has been.
Things slow in the most surprising way with a rare
outing for Leon Payne’s schizo-Nashville “Psycho”. As
intensely, sweetly screwed-up as it ever has been, it
leads into the corrupted gumbo and bleeding Americana
of the new Delivery Man album. That Costello has
chosen Barrowlands to showcase the record is not so
surprising: he picked Scotland as safe haven to
premiere Almost Blue when ‘going country’ was enough
to get you lynched, and has racked up fistfuls of epic
stands in Glasgow. Still, the most frustrating element
of tonight is how half the audience seem to have
turned out for greatest hits, and take the jet-black
psychodrama of the title track, a sublime “Country
Darkness” and extended, clanking, curdling, rumbling
reworkings of “Button My Lip” (a summary of the
Costello catalogue) and “Needle Time” as chat-breaks,
flattening out the night.
An entirely unexpected “Blame It On Cain” demonstrates
how the big wheel’s still turning in Costello’s head.
The crowd is brought back to heel with “High
Fidelity”, “I Can’t Stand Up For Falling Down” and a
singalong “Good Year For the Roses”. I stopped
counting at 25 songs. Biggest surprise: Costello
chanting “We Want You As A New Recruit” Village
People-style during “Uncomplicated”. Least surprising
realisation: we need him singing “Oliver’s Army”,
“Shipbuilding” and Nick Lowe’s “(What’s So Funny
‘Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding” more than ever —
and continuing to hunker down with all his internal
Elvi to write a few hundred more, growing older
outraged-ly.
DAMIEN LOVE