2023-09-06 01:01:51
Black hat tilted to one side, smoked glasses, and a microphone like from another time, from when radio ruled the earth and his voice came in like a dazzling bolt of lightning, all static electricity and bad grapes of punk-rocker retold, over the airwaves. The mischievous smile sewn on his face and that throat that was once an anchor but, wow, now it fails, skids and, almost as if by magic, goes up. And she fails again. And yes, it’s coming back.
‘Accidents Will Happen’ is about to go off the rails, he chews the tragedy in ‘Shot With His Own Gun’, but then he grabs the guitar to attack ‘Waiting For The End of The World’ and, miracle, the world doesn’t end. On the contrary; he grows and multiplies in the hands of a Elvis Costello who has come to sing, yes, but also to tell. To undress songs, bend the arm to old acquaintances and remind us that art comes from crafts. To summarize with his buddy Steve Nieve, man for everything on the piano, the melodica and the synthesizer, five decades of career without abusing the emotional robbery card. Because one thing is nostalgia and another is memory.
As an example, that suit of cubist programming and rhythms that makes him just start ‘When I Was Cruel No.2’, or the fluttering dub, robust Jamaican smoke, of ‘Watching the Detectives’.
the british survived as well as he could in Granada, where the storm ruined its premiere in the Alhambra; she shared secrets and confidences at the Lope de Vega Theater in Madrid while Björk hypnotized almost all the musical chroniclers in the city; and tonight, before saying goodbye and heading to Sweden, Denmark or wherever she wants her to perform tomorrow, she had to top the Palace of Music And although the journey is irregular, with ups and downs and potholes from which it seems impossible to get out, the ending is one of those that makes the heart shrink: the tremulous and electric flesh of ‘I Want You’ and all the audience standing up cheering the most mischievous and playful of accidental ‘crooners’; to the last great artisan of the love song with detour and blur.
Elvis Costello remembers that a breath ago, thirty years of nothing, he played in the modernist venue next to the Brodsky Quartet, so a wild and huge raid is marked in ‘The Juliet Letters’. The voice is accurate, yes, but the emotion overflows. And the trade, plethoric, takes care of the rest. Before that, the Londoner had already brought the public to their feet with a shaky and acid rereading of ‘Alison’, had escaped to New Orleans aboard ‘Like Licorice in Your Mouth’ and had opened wide the book of the revelations to share juicy memorial details.
Steve Snow and Elvis Costello ADRIAN QUIROGA
The sauce? hates music Pink Floyd, his father learned to speak Spanish in bed, he wrote ‘Tart’ in Seville as if it were an erotic poem, and the death of Burt Bacharach left him so touched that he was unable to play the songs they recorded together for a while. Two are dropping today, ‘I Still Have That Other Girl’ and ‘Toledo’, and they are the best of the night. The first is by Costello in love with ‘crooners’ and the seductive power of jazz; the second is the work of a curious and savvy singer-songwriter, the same one who has been defoliating the pop daisy for more than four decades and knows exactly how to mold ‘(What’s So Funny ‘Bout) Peace, Love And Understanding’ so that the public is satisfied and satisfied .
The idea, he explains on stage, is to clear up the songs and show them as when he started writing them in 1980, the year in which he had enough money to buy a piano, but there is more. Much more. There is, for example, the jumble of broken rhythms and nods to Robert Wyatt in ‘Shipbuilding’, the nerve of ‘Mistook Me For A Friend’ and the subtle melodic cushion that Snow slides under the songs and turns them into something new, different. Better? Depends. To the three or four who leave discreetly when there is still half an hour left to finish the concert, it must not seem that way. For the rest, however, it is enough to listen to ‘She’ again to kneel once more before a Costello with inexhaustible bellows.
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