Now that New Wave is nostalgia and Elvis Costello has become respectable enough to serve as Paul McCartney's songwriting partner, you might assume that Elvis isn't angry anymore. But that would be a not-so-brilliant mistake. Spike – Costello's first new album after an uncharacteristically long two-year layoff – is a far-flung sampler of his musical genius, a fascinating effort informed by its creator's justified frustration that his genius is not more widely recognized.
"You're nobody 'til everybody in this town thinks you're a bastard," Elvis sings in the chorus of Spike's opening number, "... This Town ..." Even the album's surreal, garish cover – with
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Costello as a sinister-looking clown, labeled as "The Beloved Entertainer" – seems to be Costello's defensive way of mocking the very concept of being a popular entertainer. In truth, Costello's problem is not so much that everybody thinks he's a bastard as that not
everybody cares about him these days. In the years since his late-Seventies commercial peak, a new generation has come of age that thinks "Less Than Zero" is just a book by Bret Easton Ellis.
That's a real shame, because, as Spike makes clear, Costello remains an astonishing talent. While less cohesive than his two 1986 albums – the justly lauded King of America and the underappreciated Blood & Chocolate – Spike is more ambitious.
As if to prove there's no genre he can't conquer, Costello has recorded Spike not with his trusty Attractions (though drummer Pete Thomas does appear on two tracks) but with a distinguished and eclectic group of musicians – the Dirty Dozen Brass Band, T Bone Burnett (who produced the album with Costello and Kevin Killen), Paul McCartney (who also shares two writing credits with Costello), Chrissie Hynde, Allen Toussaint, Roger McGuinn, Benmont Tench, Mitchell Froom and Jim Keltner, as well as two Tom Waits sidemen, Michael Blair and Marc Ribot, and a crew of Irish players including Christy Moore, Derek Bell and Donal Lunny.
With that kind of diverse support, it's not surprising that the only constant in the album is Costello's incredibly high standard of songwriting. Though he has rarely run out of things to say in his lyrics, Costello has in recent years had trouble finding interesting ways to express himself musically: Blood & Chocolate, for example, seemed to beat a hasty retreat from the folkish grace of King of America to the classic early Attractions sound.
Spike – a scattershot, genre-bending work – solves this problem, at least for the moment. In the fabulously malevolent "Let Him Dangle," Costello tells a frightening tale of crime and punishment with a rhythmically complex arrangement that recalls the herky-jerky, grungy style of Tom Waits's recent work. The instrumental "Stalin Malone" is an infectious piece of funk jazz played with considerable an
Helped along by the hit single "Veronica," this 1989 release became one of Costello's biggest sellers. While the musician is famous for trying on different stylistic hats, here he changes things up on practically every song, working with an all-star cast (including Paul McCartney) that moves across all genres from faux lounge jazz to art rock.
