When he ambled onto the stage of Chan Shun Concert Hall last Wednesday (Nov. 23), as part of the Vancouver Writers Fest, Elvis Costello immediately made it plain that very few of us – pop legends or otherwise – know how to age gracefully. His posture now seemingly somewhat stooped, and his shape fuller than that of the spasming electrical wire he resembled in the earliest years of his career, the 62-year-old singer-songwriter appears born to have become a distinguished elder statesman of the arts – despite having sprung from the assault to polite society that was punk rock.
And then, in his elegant black suit and silk scarf, he sat down next to an avowedly beside-himself Stephen Quinn of CBC Radio, and shared as many anecdotes about his life – both before and after the arrival of fame – as could be shared in 90 minutes. Which, it soon became apparent, wouldn’t be very many. Costello knows how (and clearly loves) to hold court, going off at tangents of 20-plus minutes in response to a 10-second question. Attempting a chronological approach, the most recent event Quinn was able to dive into before running out of time was the making of the 1982 album Imperial Bedroom.
Luckily for those who came away from the interview with unanswered questions, Costello’s 2015 autobiography, Unfaithful Music & Disappearing Ink, exists to fulfill many of them. The almost-700-page tome skips with mischievous randomness across his life of amateur and professional music-making, from being persuaded by his first record label to sacrilegiously adopt the forename of rock’s most famous icon, to sabotaging his ascendant US celebrity in the late ’70s (thanks to some drunken, knowingly provocative remarks about James Brown and Ray Charles), to becoming one of the most prolific, respected and stylistically restless songwriters of the 20th century.
Recently published in paperback, Unfaithful Music is an ideal holiday gift for any friend or relation whose home is full of IKEA shelves buckling under the weight of LPs and back issues of Mojo. As well, much of Costello’s key back catalogue has been reissued on heavyweight vinyl (although inexpensive second-hand copies are surprisingly easy to find). Here are five of the best.
This Year’s Model (1978)
Costello’s second album (and the first with long-time backing trio the Attractions) finds him discarding the American vocal mannerisms and roots influences of his debut, My Aim is True, and attacking his latest material with near-relentless velocity and lyrical wit. Instant classics “Pump it Up” and “(I Don’t Want to Go to) Chelsea” are both here, but every song is astoundingly good.
Get Happy!! (1980)
Ensconced in a studio in Holland and despairing of recordings that bear too much resemblance to the in-vogue but tiresomely uptight New Wave sound, Costello and co. wipe the slate clean and recast themselves as a swinging Motown-style party band. Stripped to the bone in every regard, the album charges through 20 songs in 48 minutes.
King of America (1986)
A declaration of independence of sorts, Costello takes (temporary) leave of the Attractions to collaborate with a raft of unfamiliar musicians, including T-Bone Burnett and Elvis Presley’s former backing band. The style is country, folk and early rock ’n’ roll – proudly out of step with the ’80s. A cover of “Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood” boasts an impressively ragged vocal that seems to have been recorded after a month-long diet of whisky and cigarettes.
Painted from Memory (1998)
Rock formalists turned their noses up at this collaboration with Brill Building-era legend Burt Bacharach, but open-eared listeners swooned at the sound of Costello’s trademark wordplay finding common ground with the elder’s widescreen melodic genius.
The Delivery Man (2004)
Recorded in Mississippi and drawn from a song cycle originally envisioned for Johnny Cash, this is a notion of country rock as loud and loose as anything Costello has ever done. Tom Waits ranks it among his favourite albums for a reason: You can imagine the California maverick aspiring to this sort of freewheeling racket on one of his own records.
