 Elvis Costello God help me, I love Elvis Costello. His albums consistently disappoint me, and frequently infuriate me, but I keep going back for more. They reissue the albums that disapponted and/or infuriated me, and I buy them again. I'm a goddamned slave to this magical charlatan. Brutal Youth was an album that I gave up on in exasperation within three weeks of its release, but revisiting it with some distance via 2003 reissue, reconsidered that opinion and found it to be a pretty solid album. But listening again a month or so later, I lean more toward my original estimation: It's a pretty half-baked affair. After the non-start of "Pony St.," "Kinder Murder" and "13 Steps Lead Down" set what seems like it will be a sharp, humorous, rockin' vibe in the vein of "The Other Side of Summer." But things start to curdle right at track four, "This is Hell," which features a pat melody that is catchy enough to distract you from lines like: "This is Hell, this is Hell/I am sorry to tell you/It never gets better or worse/But you'll get used to it/After a spell/For Heaven is Hell in reverse." That seems like a great, pointed Costello zinger, but it doesn't stand up to logic or any barometer of wit. Worse still: "My favorite things are playing again and again/But it's by Julie Andrews and not by John Coltrane." Again, seems like a hilariously scathing line a la "God's Comic" (off Spike), but this one doesn't even stand up to grammar. If you're going to go for a pun that grandiose, at least make it work. And make sure your own music doesn't have far more in common with Julie Andrews than John Coltrane. Not to mention the high-pitched, nearly atonal backing vocals that leap forth to poke deeply into your ears. Elvis's vocals on this record are a real problem overall. He makes the mistake of singing all his own backgrounds, which results in simply too much Elvis Costello, even when he's on pitch. The leads are unpleasantly overwrought, piercing, and overindulged, wrung into every manner of distortion you can imagine. It's almost as though he's trying to convince himself this is a "bold return to form" sort of album. The fake anger has never sounded faker, and even when he has a superior melody, he subverts it with that snarly vocal style and his eternally brainy lyrics, which obliterate any emotional connection you might find. "Clown Strike"? What do you mean, "Clown Strike"? Most of the songs seem hastily knocked out, the awful "20% Amnesia" being a particularly egregious culprit. This is another of the dozens of Costello songs where anyone but the diehardiest diehard will quickly reach for the skip button, asking in irritation "Jesus, just what is this guy on about?" The song is notable for Elvis using the word "nigger" again, reflecting his own 20-80% amnesia regarding what hasn't worked for him in the past. Dude … just don't say "nigger." "Rocking Horse Road" proves the unlikely point that it is, in fact, possible to take the basic chords and feel of "Just My Imagination" and "Groovin'" and create something completely unmemorable. "All the Rage" is "All Grown Up '94," "London's Brilliant Parade" is "Invasion Hit Parade '94" … nothing new there, and they'd be a lot better if Elvis weren't singing in that piercing tone he hides behind so frequently. The lame rewriting of his own shit is a treat, though, compared with what may be Elvis's all-time worst song, the simply awful "My Science Fiction Twin." Strangely enough, this one rehashes "My Evil Twin" by They Might Be Giants, minus any melody and somehow boasting far worse lyrics. It's precisely this kind of horseshit that would be avoided if anyone would step in and force Elvis to slow down and not insist on recording every half-assed idea that pops into his head, and/or to rip the Thesauraus out of his fucking hand. Buried amid the sprawl are a couple of Elvis's finest ballads, "Still Too Soon to Know" (which, unfortunately, he oversings like he's caught in a bear trap) and "Favourite Hour," a gorgeous closer that most people probably never heard because they would have shut the party down around (yuck) "My Science Fiction Twin." "Sulky Girl," also, is affecting. Rhino has done Brutal Youth right, counterintuitively, by doubling its length for the reissue. It's a peculiar phenomenon that limp albums can actually be made stronger by beefing them up, when you'd think that what this album really needed was to be cut, not fleshed out. But the bonus disc features some nice demos for the better album tracks, generally less overdone and easier to listen to, plus a few outtakes that get into the weirdo risk-taking of Spike (still, to me, the man's coolest record). The ultra-raw "A Drunken Man's Praise of Sobriety" stands out as the most intriguing and satisfying track on the whole set, helping to convince you that you haven't been entirely ripped off with yet another Costello cash cow. Brutal Youth is a strong argument for the deep decline of Elvis Costello, and an even better one that he shouldn't be allowed to work alone. Perhaps someone ought to hook him up with Simon Cowell … in which case we might get a single, solid, no-bullshit E.C. album, for once.
Review by Sergio Photographer |