Called The Sweetest Punch, Frisell’s album was due to be released on Polygram’s jazz label, Verve, at the same time as the main album hit the shops, in order to showcase the duality and versatility of the new songs. However, that plan proved unworkable and eventually it was released on Decca, another arm of Polygram, in autumn 1999, undeniably deadening the impact of the venture.
Painted From Memory – as this dark, regretful record was now aptly called – was released on 28 September 1998 on Mercury. The essence of the record was melody and melancholy, two touchstones which neither artist had much of a problem locating. ‘In The Darkest Place’, ‘Toledo’, ‘I Still Have That Other Girl’ and ‘God Give Me Strength’ were as good as anything Elvis had written over the last decade, and certainly matched anything Bacharach had done since his ’60s heyday. Both ‘My Thief’ and the title track were truly mesmerising torch songs, worthy of Sinatra at his most forlorn, while ‘The Sweetest Punch’ zipped along, the one example of Elvis in pop mode.
But there were inevitable problems with the record. At either extreme of the collaborative spectrum, ‘Such Unlikely Lovers’ and ‘The Long Division’ strayed into the middle-of-the-road territory covered in Bacharach’s terminally over-cooked ’80s collaborations with the likes of Christopher Cross, while some of the more inventive word-play one might have expected from Elvis was missed on a record with such an unvarying mood. The instrumentation could also grate: the polished guitar solo on ‘This House Is Empty Now’, the Moog-break on ‘The Long Division’, the keyboards on ‘Such Unlikely Lovers’, the ultra-smooth, somewhat syrupy backing singers. There was a sense that few writers other than Bacharach would have been able to get such banal textures onto an Elvis Costello record.
In the end, the album was saved as an emotionally involving document by the strength of the songs and Elvis’s singing: dramatic, passionate, raw and deeply felt, his live vocals provided the perfect counter balance to the smooth sophistication of the music. His voice wasn’t what it used to be: what it had gained in richness, it had lost in crackle. It had widened and loosened, but had lost its laser-like precision and its ability to cut through in the process. It also often wobbled alarmingly, as though there was a whammy bar at the back of his neck.
But those reviewers who desired a more technically accomplished singer missed the yearning at the songs’ hearts, and if his voice was sometimes straining at the very top of his register or occasionally even cracking, very few singers could have wrung so much genuine and affecting emotion from songs like ‘My Thief’ or ‘God Give Me Strength’, even if it did make for an exhausting listening experience. ‘We’re not making an easy-listening record,’ said Elvis. ‘We’re making a passionate, emotional record the way we always intended to.’13
Even so, Andy Gill in The Independent wasn’t alone in finding Elvis’s voice and vibrato the sticking point. ‘The arrangements feature the familiar Bacharach trademark touches – the discreet brass, the piano, the solitary French horn – but it is like trying to gaze at a beautiful vista whilst a huge lorry belches diesel fumes in your face.’
With such a unique collaboration there was bound to be a certain amount of huffing and puffing from the critics. ‘Sumptuous arrangements, artful songwriting, timeless sophistication,’ said the Observer. ‘Costello’s ballads are top-drawer, showing none of his usual verbal contrivance, while Bacharach’s arrangements only occasionally become somnambulent.’ The NME called it a ‘powerful and occasionally elegiac reminder of the art of song’, while The Sunday Times heard ‘a compromise – classic instrumentation with glossy modern production’.
In the States, it was a similar story, most reviews split according to whether they felt Elvis’s voice was an attraction or an aberration. Music Week called it ‘a match made in musical heaven. Bacharach’s lush, sweeping sound finds a perfect foil in Costello’s frail yet distinctive voice. The enduring appeal of both these artists should pay dividends in the charts.’
Indeed, Mercury were expecting big things commercially from the record. Bacharach was cool again – albeit in a consciously kitsch way – following years of being dismissed as little more than a purveyor of plastic lounge music, while Elvis had a name which still resonated across musical boundaries. ‘Every year or two there is an album that crosses several demographics and brings together musical styles that galvanize audiences: we think this is one of those albums,’14 said Danny Goldberg, the CEO of Mercury. The promotional campaign was aggressive, including dozens of interviews, TV appearances on the Late Show with David Letterman in the US and Chris Evans’ talk show in the UK, in-store appearances, a proposed television special and, most significantly, a mini-tour of five dates in the US and Britain.
Opening on 13 October at the Radio City Music Hall in New York and ending at the Royal Festival Hall in London on the twenty-ninth, the structure of each concert was virtually identical every night. Elvis began by singing the opening verses of ‘Baby, It’s You’ off-stage, before introducing Bacharach over the PA. Then the two strolled onto the stage, Elvis looking more like an ageing boxing referee than a bobby-sox crooner in his swish tuxedo and bow-tie, Bacharach sliding smoothly behind the grand piano. It was pure showbiz.
The musicians on stage replicated the line-up on the album: Steve Nieve on keyboards and piano, a small orchestra, a band playing traditional rock instruments and three female backing singers. Following ‘What The World Needs Now Is Love’ – not a sentiment which many people would have expected to hear from Elvis’s lips – came the first of three segments featuring selections from the new record: ‘Toledo’, ‘Such Unlikely Lovers’, ‘This House Is Empty Now’, and ‘Tears At The Birthday Party’. Then he sang ‘I Just Don’t Know What To Do With Myself’, a song he had been performing live since 1977 but – as he admitted – never with all the right chord changes until now.
Then he left the stage to Bacharach, who played a medley of some of his greatest songs, including ‘The Look Of Love’ and ‘Raindrops Keep Fallin’ On My Head’. Elvis returned after half an hour to sing the rousing ‘Make It Easy On Yourself’, performing what Uncut magazine deemed to be ‘one of the most spectacular vocal performances of his life’ at the London show.
‘Painted From Memory’ and ‘What’s Her Name Today’ followed, before Bacharach departed and Elvis and Steve played a short set of Costello songs: a stripped-down ‘Accidents Will Happen’ was followed by ‘Veronica’, where the orchestra joined in towards the end and stayed for versions of ‘Just A Memory’, ‘Almost Blue’ and ‘Alison’. After the opening shows in New York and Washington, Elvis added ‘Still Too Soon To Know’ to the solo set.
Then Burt re-emerged for the final flourish of ‘In The Darkest Place’, ‘The Long Division’, ‘My Thief’, ‘I Still Have That Other Girl’ and ‘The Sweetest Punch’. The encores were ‘My Little Red Book’, ‘Anyone Who Had A Heart’ and a closing ‘God Give Me Strength’, the latter more than holding its own in such exalted company.
It was all very tasteful and respectful, although at $75 and £50 a ticket it was debatable as to what would have represented value for money. Elvis’s short set with Steve and strings was a high point, providing a little grit in the shows, while the suitability – or otherwise – of Elvis’s voice remained a moot point. Many were thrilled by the combination of the two unlikely bedfellows, the old-fashioned emphasis on the songs and the voice. Others seemed happy to talk through many of the performances.
In the end, Elvis cared little for what the critics said one way or another. The collaboration with Bacharach had been a piece of wish-fulfilment that was far more personal than merely writing a few songs. Elvis had grown up watching his father singing big, emotive ballads – sometimes Burt’s – in a dinner jacket in front of a pop orchestra, and after working with Bacharach he felt he had finally made his own mark on Ross’s territory. Hence the eager, non-ironic adoption of all the auxiliary hallmarks of the genre: the tuxedo, the glitz, the occasional lounge singer affectation, the
respect for the sanctity of the song. ‘It was very much an ambition of mine that one day I might end up doing exactly what [my dad] had done,’15 Elvis admitted. Painted From Memory was a fitting realisation of those childhood dreams.
* * *
Once again, there were ominous clouds on the horizon. Polygram was merging with Universal as part of a takeover deal by Seagram, and there had been a large amount of blood-letting, including the departure of the man who had been instrumental in signing Elvis to the label, Danny Goldberg. The disruption meant not only that the post-release promotion of Painted From Memory got caught somewhat in the middle, but also that Elvis’s plan to record a rock ’n’ roll album in 1999 was shelved. He wasn’t going to let any more releases get caught in the corporate crossfire.
Painted From Memory was listed in many of the year-end magazine and newspaper polls as one of the top albums of the previous twelve months. Indeed, it had attracted some of Elvis’s best notices of the last ten years, benefiting from the kind of marketing campaign from his new record label that he had so long desired from Warners.
Furthermore, in February, Elvis and Burt bagged a Grammy in the slightly obscure catergory of Pop Collaboration With Vocals for the single of ‘I Still Have That Other Girl’, beating the motley crew of R. Kelly, Stevie Wonder, Celine Dion and Babyface in the process. Typically, Elvis did his utmost to conceal his pleasure. ‘I am sceptical about these things,’ he said. ‘The first time I was nominated, The Attractions were up against Chic for Best New Artist of the Year. We thought we might be in with a distant chance of second. What won? A Taste of Honey with “Boogie Oogie Oogie”! So I can’t take it too seriously.’16
Over all, there could be very few music fans in the western world who weren’t aware of the album’s existence, and yet it proved a huge commercial disappointment, peaking at No. 32 in the UK – his worst-ever chart position for an album of new material – and No. 42 in the States.
Predictably, Elvis pointed the finger at Polygram, but his continuing insistence on blaming record company problems for his lack of commercial success was becoming just a little suspicious. The musical landscape had changed beyond all recognition, and Elvis had for some time been a cult act, albeit one who had flirted with huge, global superstardom and then backed off. He was well-respected and well-rewarded, both renumeratively and in terms of the respect of his peers, yet he also appeared to believe he was living in a halcyon age of songwriting where Burt Bacharach records still got to No. 1 and sold a million copies. It was faintly absurd.
Instead of locking horns with the spirit-sapping forces of the musical industry, Elvis spent most of the year on the road with Steve. Before setting out, however, there were sombre duties to address. Elvis attended Dusty Springfield’s funeral on 12 March at St Mary the Virgin Church in Henley on Thames, saying a few words during the service in appreciation for the unique talents of the great soul singer whom he had loved since his teens, and who had recorded a version of Elvis’s bespoke composition ‘Just A Memory’ back in the ’80s. Less than a month later, on 10 April, Elvis was at the Royal Albert Hall for a memorial concert for Linda McCartney, who had – like Dusty – recently died of breast cancer. He and Steve were accompanied by the Duke String Quartet on Wings’ ‘Warm And Beautiful’, having already played an emotional ‘That Day Is Done’ as a simple duet. Again, Elvis spoke movingly, this time recalling how Linda made him feel at ease and calmed his nerves when he had started working with Paul back in 1987. The three-song set ended with ‘(What’s So Funny ’Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding’, backed by The Pretenders, and Elvis later joined the ensemble finale to sing backing and play guitar on ‘Let It Be’, Ricky Nelson’s ‘Lonesome Town’ and ‘All My Loving’.
The ‘Lonely World’ tour kicked off in Amsterdam two days later, coming on the back of a handful of brief collaborations with the pianist following their Italian tour the previous spring.
Which version of the Costello-Nieve roadshow were audiences going to get? A performance together at the Fuji Rock Festival in Tokyo on 1 August 1998 had been disappointing, a mere forty-five minutes in length and almost an apology for the non-appearance of The Attractions. For the first time as a duo they played old standards such as ‘Less Than Zero’, ‘Chelsea’, and ‘Everyday I Write The Book’, songs generally unsuited to the pared-down format. They miscued the ending of ‘Chelsea’, Elvis fluffed the words to ‘(What’s So Funny ’Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding’, and generally the performance was subdued and seemed to lack heart, as if he wasn’t really feeling these songs anymore.
In contrast, a brief jaunt around New Zealand, Japan and Australia in February had seen some genuine treats thrown into the sets, some often played just once: ‘Baby Plays Around’, ‘Love Field’, ‘Pads, Paws And Claws’, ‘Inch By Inch’, ‘I Hope You’re Happy Now’, ‘Hand In Hand’ and ‘Town Cryer’ among them.
In the end, it was the latter incarnation which came out of the blocks for the ‘Lonely World’ tour on the twelfth of April. Elvis and Steve had worked out about seventy songs in all, ensuring that the setlists were open to substantial change every night, but the tour was loosely designed to promote Painted From Memory. ‘Toledo’ was released as a single in April, but predictably did little business, and following the upheavals at the record company, Elvis felt the tour was ‘the only way to spread the word about these songs’.17
The duo had become an awesome live act, with a huge repertoire not only of songs, but also of moods, textures and emotions. In the absence of Bacharach and his orchestra, the songs were stripped down from their original recorded states and the lush presentations of the concerts the previous October. In many ways this freed them. ‘Steve Nieve’s stream of inventions and embellishments allowed Costello to take the songs to places they’d never seen before,’ said Adam Sweeting in the Guardian, reviewing the Albert Hall show on 15 April.
The shows were a Costello fanatic’s dream. In Copenhagen on 30 April there were a couple of real rarities: ‘After The Fall’ and ‘Suit Of Lights’, while ‘Little Palaces’, ‘Any King’s Shilling’, ‘Waiting For The End Of The World’, ‘Little Triggers’, ‘Blue Chair’ and ‘Rocking Horse Road’ also popped up throughout the tour. Each show ended with Elvis singing ‘Couldn’t Call It Unexpected No. 4’ without a microphone, trawling the front of the stage as he serenaded the crowd, like a modern-day John McCormack. Audience reactions were genuinely passionate.
When the tour hit North America halfway through May, the duo incorporated the Charles Aznavour ballad ‘She’ into the set. Elvis had recorded the song as the theme song for the film Notting Hill, a vehicle for Julia Roberts’ smile that went on general release at the end of May. His unironic and emotional reading – with vibrato in full effect – was recorded at Abbey Road with a ninety-six-piece orchestra as he gazed at Ms Roberts on the studio cinema screen. ‘She’ gave Elvis his first Top 20 UK single since 1983 – reaching No. 19 in the summer and yielding an unlikely Top Of The Pops appearance, following which the single promptly plummeted.
The US tour ended with a show at the Woodstock Festival on 25 July, a misguided attempt to tap into the nostalgia surrounding the thirtieth anniversary of the original. It was an incongruous place to find Steve and Elvis, but they nonetheless won the Sunday afternoon crowd over with a fourteen-song set which covered most points of his career. No longer merely contrary for the sake of it, Elvis even finished with ‘(What’s So Funny ’Bout) Peace, Love & Understanding’.
* * *
There was a break in live work in August and September, with further dates planned with Steve throughout the final three months of 1999. Culminating with two concerts in Japan on 15 and 18 December, the ‘Lonely World’ tour would end up being Elvis’s most intensive spell on the road since the late ’70s, featuring some of his most artistically satisfying shows. During the lull, Universal released a comprehensive double CD Best Of collection, which provided Elvis with an unexpected hit record, entering the charts at No. 4, his fi
rst Top 10 UK album since Brutal Youth five years earlier. While watching some of his old recordings climb the charts, Elvis spent much of his seven weeks off writing new songs.
It was the first time he had written ‘for himself’ for four years, and also the first time since 1994 that he had used the guitar as his principal compositional instrument. ‘45’ was written on his forty-fifth birthday, an autobiography in three minutes, dissecting late twentieth-century history and his own upbringing in clever nine-year chunks, with just a handful of chords and a classic 1978 melody. ‘Alibi’ was a long, forensic examination of a lifetime’s worth of lame excuses which could have graced Blood & Chocolate without sounding out of place. ‘I love you just as much as I hate your guts’ was the central refrain, and he would add several more over the next two years as the song evolved.
‘Heart-Shaped Bruise’ and ‘I Dreamed Of My Old Lover Last Night’ were more traditional tracks, both written from a woman’s perspective for a story-in-song cycle that Elvis was developing, provisionally called The Delivery Man. The tunes were simple, written on acoustic guitar with instantly arresting country and folk melodies, with shades of King Of America.
These songs were firmly within the classic Costello template, but Elvis was also experimenting with computers, samples and beat-boxes for his next record, which he planned to build on a heavy rhythmic base, using technology to explore different rhythmic settings for the songs. He had used computer technology since Mighty Like A Rose, but this was very far removed from writing carefully layered orchestral lines. ‘I want the music to be driven more by rhythm,’ he explained. ‘I want to use the same computer technology, but balance the harmony with rhythm. It might mean abandoning the accepted song structure a little bit, but I do think it’s possible.’18
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