20: Hello, Clockface
Let’s begin with a middle eastern
soundscape and a spoken-word thing,
“Love is the one thing we can save;”
follow that up with a trashy punk
number, “I’ve got no religion/ I’ve
got no philosophy;” and third, a kind
of demented sounding country song.
Here’s a jazz ballad, replete with a
horn section and trumpet solos,
straight out of murder-ballad land.
The title track sounds like something
out of that 20’s or 30’s era fusion
of blues and jazz, something
one might hear in a juke joint.
The opener on side four, “Radio
Is Everything,” a longer, spoken-
word narrative, cinematic and
strange: is this the first Elvis
album on which he recites poetry?
I think it is. I think it is.
Elvis Costello’s pandemic offering
is about as far away from a rock
album, or an easy-listening Bacharach
as one could get. It’s not a “band”
record, but a collaboration with
Argentine-American engineer and producer
Sebastian Krys, recorded, I gather,
in part in Helsinki, in New York, and
maybe written while Elvis was
stranded in Paris during the plague
that was Covid-19. A genre hopper,
a record that looks and sounds like
the era it comes out of, angry, kind
of desperate, melancholy, dark,
and all over the place. Lots of ballads,
my favorite tunes on the record.
It might be, not my least favorite
Elvis Costello album, but for sure
the least-loved of my records of his
on vinyl. I would argue that Elvis
has never made a bad record, but
because he can be such a stylistic
chameleon, there are simply albums
that stick with me less than others.
If this was one of only a few records in my
collection, it’s good enough to listen
to over and over, but it’s not, and
I didn’t. Listening today, it feels new
and unfamiliar. It deserves more
attention: a reminder about why
I’m doing this wild listening challenge
in the first place. Note to self:
some of these records you have
neglected in favor of other, newer,
more shiny things, are calling out
to you with unexplored riches.
22: A Boy Named If
Opens with an absolute rocker.
Back with The Imposters, Elvis
isn’t messing around. Released
in its deluxe edition with an
illustrated book of stories
(unfortunately not in my
possession), A Boy Named If
is a return to the high energy
and feisty pop-punk of earlier times.
Some of these songs would
fit nicely right alongside the
rockers from This Year’s Model.
Is this “Pump It Up”? No, this
one’s called “Mistook Me For A
Friend.” Almost a companion,
albeit far more sophisticated.
Looking more closely at the
liner notes, Sebastian Krys
co-produced all three of these
records on the new Concord label,
and, as different as all three
of them are from each other,
my guess is that Krys did more
engineering than producing.
It appears that he just let
Elvis loose, which I think is
what one would have to do.
Costello strikes me as the kind
of artist who might not take
kindly to instruction–collaboration,
yes, obviously (his catalogue
is full of partnerships with
unlikely co-conspirators)–but
Elvis won’t be tamed or subdued.
And that’s just the way it should be.
This record kicks ass to these
fresh ears of mine. I haven’t spun
this album in three years.
There is a kind of sadness in
the pursuit of new music as
older favorites, a common theme
of this series of poem-like-things,
gets put aside. The only solution
to this dilemma would be to
bring home fewer new records.
I’m here to tell you, barring some
kind of financial catastrophe:
that’s not happening any time soon.
Notes on the vinyl editions: Hello, Clockface, Concord Records, 2020, translucent red double vinyl. A Boy Named It, Concord Records, 2022, opaque purple double vinyl.
FYI: I’m listening to almost everything in my vinyl collection, A to Z, and writing a long skinny poem-like-thing in response for each artist. These things look like a duck, but they don’t quack like a duck. Hence: “poem-like-thing.” They’re just long, skinny essays. Some artists, Bowie and now Elvis Costello, because of their elevated place in my musical imagination, and because I may have a ton of their stuff on vinyl, deserve more than one poem-like-thing. This is my fourth and final Elvis Costello entry.
michael jarmer 