 Elvis Costello with Burt Bacharach Word to Elvis Costello: 1. Stop it with the funny hats. 2. Get some new glasses. Having said that, I'll advance the idea that the weakest thing about this weak album is the inability of Costello's voice to carry any of these carefully crafted pop songs. The whole thing would've been better served by Bacharach and Costello writing these new songs and having Dionne Warwick sing them, or Dusty Springfield, or even Jewel. Elvis has a better command of emotional range and phrasing than most male pop singers, but he's still a totally limited performer vocally. More and more, I see Costello's greatest failure as his refusal to take the back seat on any of his projects. The man is mightily talented, but unfortunately for everyone, he thinks he is, and seemingly much more than anyone else does. I'm not saying a healthy ego is a bad thing, but this guy renders himself more and more irrelevant with each new release, even as he seems to think he's solidifying his stature as one of the great contemporary songwriters. Don't get me wrong, I am no Costello-trasher. I still think Spike is one of the best albums of the past 20 years, and that at his best he's a genius pop songwriter. Lately, though, his pretentions toward something "higher" than pop music have sunk what was once a pretty powerful figure in music. I look back and try to see where he went astray, but am only reminded that his actual masterpieces are few and far between. Don't believe the theory that his first four albums are perfect rock statements, or "important and influential" albums, or whatever. I'd say that with maybe four or five exceptions, all of Elvis's albums have approximately the same ratio of greatness to less-than-greatness. He's one of the many people who, possessing amazing talent, is unwilling or unable to partner up with someone just as talented, so what you generally get is the latest batch of Elvis Costello songs, never without a measure of unmemorable filler or straight ahead bad ideas ("Hurry Down Doomsday, the Bugs are Taking Over!" Triple YUCK!). For me, he really hit his stride in the mid to late 80s (King of America, Spike, and a couple of the songs cowritten with Paul McCartney) and has suffered from "They let me do whatever I want" syndrome. Someone needs to sit him down and say, "Okay, Elvis – no string quartets, no cover albums, no half-assed Attractions reunions – you're going downstairs with Diane Warren and writing TOGETHER! And I've instructed her to smack you if you start using too many words!" The promise of a duet album featuring "the new songs of Bacharach & Costello" is certainly tantalizing, given the theoretically perfect match-up of these two songwriters: an opportunity for Bacharach to once again deliver upon his much over-hyped reputation as a legendary pop composer, as well as one for Costello to overcome the yearly stumbling blocks that he's been putting out since like 1991 (Kojak Variety? I'll pass.) What has happened, though, is that the result of this union is actually an intensification of both songwriters' obtuseness. Bacharach's melodies have become as twisty and endless as most of my father's increasingly alcohol-soaked ramblings, while Costello's lyrics have reached his credit limit for songs of vague longing, regret, and tragedy. What might have been a superb album turns out to be a merely enjoyable, slightly annoying excursion in bloated MOR. Bacharach and Costello clearly light fires under each other, but it may well be that there is no more water in the pots to be boiled. As I stated before, the central weakness of the record is Costello's voice, which is stronger than ever but still very weak. His forced vibrato on all the high notes can officially be considered self-parody at this point; even on the string quartet album he at least sounded sincere. Here, he mainly sounds like he's trying to create a "passionate" pop album. He's written so many long-winded things for MOJO in recent years that you know he's thinking of critical reaction well in advance of any actual recording sessions. His voice can be grating on his own compositions, which at least have the advantage of being written for his voice, but a lot of the material on Painted From Memory is just not even in his range. It really might have been a fine album with another singer. I really think it's about time Costello steps aside and becomes simply a songwriter. I mean, Nolan Ryan was great, but even he had to hang it up at some point. Too bad there's no rock music trading card conventions Costello could headline for extra cash. Okay, memorable songs: "Toledo," "The Sweetest Punch," and "God Give Me Strength," which is the only song on here I'd actually say deserves to be called great. Too many of the others are just plodding and overwraught, clearly trying to capture a specific magic that Bacharach left behind as soon as he wrote "Raindrops Keep Falling on My Head." For Bacharach's part, I suppose it's not his fault that everyone wants him to be a lot cooler than he turns out to be. The guy wrote some amazing songs, but then he also wrote "That's What Friends Are For." For my money, the only person out there carrying on the sort of tradition that Bacharach and Jimmy Webb are representative of is Jim Steinman. I'd LOVE to hear an Elvis Costello/Jim Steinman collaboration. Yes, I know that'll never happen. Well, then, I'd love to hear a me/Jim Steinman collaboration. (Sigh.) Yes, I know that'll never happen, too. I won't be complacent like the many critics and fans that keep Costello propped up. He's capable of better. This is as good an album as he's made in years, and that's pretty pathetic. His best work of the 90s was probably his cameo in Spiceworld. Sad. This album looks great on paper, but it's tedious going in the CD player. Just one more lesson on why trendy things are never what they're cracked up to be when the sum is decidedly lesser than its parts.
Review by Brad Benchmörk |