|
Elvis Costello and the Attractions belong in the pantheon of groups whose particular chemistry could define an attitude and an era, however mercurial or marked for flame-out. Like Miles Davis's seminal '50s ensemble with John Coltrane, or Bob Dylan with The Band, it's a combustible union of wills that made a certain, special sound much imitated, and hard to rekindle.
Costello, the prolific British songwriter whose persona has evolved consistently since he emerged from the punk explosion of the late 1970s, isn't known for staying put. Though his songs continually work through densely knotted themes of obsession, romance and its discontents, and tangled personal and political agendas, each successive album seems to reach in a different direction.
So it was a little surprising to see Costello revisiting his glory days Sunday night at Chastain Park Amphitheatre. The two-hour show was the last stop on an American tour that reunited the singer with his erstwhile Attractions: Steve Nieve on keyboards, Bruce Thomas on bass and Pete Thomas on drums, the only band member with whom Costello routinely records.
There was a new album, Brutal Youth (Warner Bros.), to promote, with its batch of twisty tunes spun around chilling psychosexual narratives, and music that could be complex and ornate one minute, dizzyingly off-kilter the next.
But because the musicians also have a sizable back catalog (reissued on Rykodisc), much of the setlist was drawn from Costello's first few albums, the ones that once sounded like the product of a highly literate sociopath's lost weekend.
If this meant unavoidable nostalgia, at least Costello's passion wasn't faked. The show wasn't about challenges, just a chance to knock some great songs around. And as long as a listener could revel in the musicianship, or the odd vocal curveball (a version of "Tracks of My Tears" in the middle of "Alison," for instance), that was enough.
Nieve, especially, was a phenomenal treat. His playing veered like an out-of-control carnival ride, swollen with regal grandeur on a ballad such as "Party Girl" (from Armed Forces), spitting nails on adrenalized numbers such as "Pump It Up" and "No Action." He could make Beatlesque melodies shimmer like a music box, or slam home an organ riff with garage-rock abandon.
Unfortunately for anyone not in the foremost rows, much of this was hard to appreciate. A singer like Costello, who relies so wholly on lyrics and nuance, can be lost on an outdoor venue like Chastain Park, where audiences chatter loudly throughout the show and the band's amplification isn't loud enough to combat the conversation.
The situation improved during the second half of the concert, but the damage had been done. Next time, Elvis, try the Fox. Or crank it up.
One of the year's singular pop anomalies, the Canadian sextet Crash Test Dummies has scored a major breakthrough with its album God Shuffled His Feet, a collection of brooding, art-rock tunes that vocalist Brad Roberts distinguishes with his sea-bottom bass. Groaning out the all-consonant chorus of the group's big hit, "Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm," Roberts sounds like the well-scrubbed bastard spawn of gnarled old grizzle-throats like Tom Waits and Nick Cave, only he lacks any defining grit.
Because of Roberts and his ponderous lyrics, the music seems profound; analyze it, though, and meaning evaporates into novelty.
During its opening set at Chastain, the Dummies proved innocuous, a melodic if underwhelming bunch whose demeanor suggested nothing so much as a bunch of high school nerds who struck it lucky at a talent contest.
| 
