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If Elvis Costello's ironically-titled King of America is about anything at all, the subject must be confession.
On the opening number, "Brilliant Mistake," Costello sings not only about a loss of ideals in America, "a boulevard of broken dreams," but about self-doubt as well: "I was a fine idea at the time / Now I'm a brilliant mistake." Any claim to the throne is strictly tongue-in-cheek.
The entire album is stripped musically and emotionally down to the essence of each of the songs. Here, more than on any other album of his except possibly Imperial Bedroom, Costello (or Declan MacManus, his once-and-future name now that he has gotten tired of the "Elvis" tag) is concerned with each song's optimum sound. This lack of an overall production scheme is different from the ABBA-meets-the-Angry-Young-Man plan of Armed Forces or the drunken Stax Records sound of Get Happy.
For instance, the only instrumentation on "Little Palaces," a stirring song about middle class doldrums, is acoustic guitar, mandolin and bass, with Costello's voice placed way up front where it cuts through the bitter lyrics like a machete. Yet on "The Big Light," a rollicking number about hangovers, he seems to be singing from inside a bottle of gin, swallowed and numb in the busy mix.
Many of the songs on King of America are concerned with breaking down distances. On the spare "Indoor Fireworks," Costello even alludes to his own penchant for cleverness at the expense of emotion: "We play these parlour games / We play at make believe / When we get to the part where I say that I'm going to leave... It's time to tell the truth / These things have to be faced / My fuse is burning out and all that powder's gone to waste."
Unlike earlier efforts ("Green Shirt," "Beyond Belief," etc.) in which the listener can marvel at the witty phrases without having any idea what they mean, most numbers here have readily-apparent lyrics. But Elvis the wordsmith hasn't disappeared completely, as off-hand lines like, "Well you try to love her but she's so contrary / Like a chainsaw running through a dictionary" conclusively prove.
Why did Elvis opt for this kind of album, in which there are more slow numbers than fast ones, and in which his backing band is not the Attractions (except for one track) but is instead a strange mix of Los Angeles sessioneers, jazz veterans Ray Brown and Earl Palmer, and members of the other Elvis' TCB troupe?
Maybe it has something to do with Costello's 1984 solo acoustic tour, when he finally let loose with his vocals and forced the songs to stand up for themselves instead of hiding behind the pub-rock trashiness of the Attractions. Maybe it also had something to do with his two previous albums, Punch the Clock and Goodbye Cruel World, which were the worst pieces of pretentious mechanical schlock he ever made. In any case, the result is a very assured and confident effort that hints at American folk, country and blues without sounding regressive or mannered.
But, alas, there are a few miscues on side two. An obscure cover, "Eisenhower Blues," has a nice sloppy musical feel but Elvis betrays no nuances in his voice; it is all ironic posturing, like Bill Murray as the lounge singer on the old Saturday Night Live. "Jack of All Parades" is marred by some Falco-like vocals which are totally out of place on this very un-European record, and "Suit of Lights" features a wincingly awkward vocal performance. Yet 12 strong performances out of 15 isn't a bad batting average.
Comparing Costello's ill-fated 1981 Nashville excursion, Almost Blue, to King of America, one can hear the difference in the maturity of Elvis' voice. This time he really means it. His performance on the torcher, "Poisoned Rose," is simply astonishing. He loops the song around with ease, reaching and hitting all notes but never grandstanding. On "I'll Wear It Proudly," he fluctuates from hushed tones to full throttle with impressive acceleration.
And on "Don't Let Me Be Misunderstood," Elvis brings back his "Riot Act"/"High Fidelity" gruff soul vocal, transforming a mediocre Animals song into an impassioned plea for compassion. He sounds so desperate when he moans, "Oh, don't you know I'm human" that the listener has to wonder. However, when Elvis and band bang out every syllable of "I'M JUST A SOUL WHOSE INTENTIONS ARE GOOD," one is inclined to believe him.
King of America invites the listener to accept Elvis (or Declan) as he is, a jumbled bag of intensity, self-pity and genius.
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