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With nearly a half-century hindsight, the breakthrough that is Elvis Costello’s My Aim Is True (released 7/22/77) seems all the more like an ultra-savvy marketing campaign. While just the year before Graham Parker endured “Mercury Poisoning” afflicting his initial two equally-outstanding albums with the Rumour, Howlin’ Wind and Heat Treatment (both of which are superior to his counterpart’s), Declan MacManus went on to make an LP under his assumed name, produced by the same man who worked with GP and company, Nick Lowe.
At the same time, it wasn’t much of a reach for the mammoth operation(s) of Columbia Records media relations to spin the image-making in as contemporary a direction as possible, that is, fully in line with the burgeoning punk and New Wave movement of the times. Contrary to the cosmetic empathy within “Alison”–from which comes this LP title—the song and its author communicated more than enough bile to counteract the saccharine of early Seventies icons like Carole King: this Elvis was aiming for those who did not identify with the latter woman’s song “You’ve Got A Friend” (also covered by James Taylor in an equally treacly tone) and also wanted a respite from the rock dinosaurs of the time like Yes.
Within seconds of “Welcome to the Working Week” the real roots of Costello/McManus’ style reveal themselves however. A short snippet of doo-wop vocals hearkens to the Fifties while the verse/chorus/verse structure of that song (and most that follow) come straight from the Tin Pan Alley school of songwriting. “No Dancing,” in fact, sounds like a cookie-cutter melding of any number of girl groups tunes written and produced (or not) by Phil Spector, i.e., the Dixie Cups and the Ronettes. This arch approach is in contrast to Parker’s natural embrace of pop via his affection for Motown, to name just one major influence.
Like “Sneaky Feelings,” the easygoing amble of a shuffle titled “Blame It On Cain” is right in backing band Clover’s wheelhouse. A rootsy, eclectic ensemble with wide-ranging instrumental versatility (multi-instrumentalist John McFee would make a name for himself as an in-demand session man and eventually a member of the Doobie Brothers), theirs is hardly the sound of rage and frustration. Still, the frontman’s caterwauling corresponds to the caricatured pose he effects in the front cover photo: looking like Buddy Holly on a bender, Elvis Costello was reaching (straining?) for effect, all in the hopes of leaving just the right impression on his listeners, a potential audience comprised of two overlapping listening blocs: one ignorant of his stylistic precedents and another eager to savor those very echoes of the past.
Ultimately, My Aim Is True is the work of a novice artist on the threshold of but not fully in the grasp of, his own style. It is, however, evidence of skilled songwriting, the artful presentation of which Costello himself buttressed with quotes about much of the material having its source in themes of ‘revenge and guilt;’ he only barely camouflages such disingenuous comments with the written-on-demand likes of “Less Than Zero.” The negativism within that cut belies its chunky danceability, but otherwise serves as a handy tag to hang on ‘Elvis Costello,’ as does the self-conscious likes of “I’m Not Angry.” Appearing in this track sequence just prior to the defeatism and despair of “Waiting For The End of the World,” it prefaces the overweening paranoia of the reggae-tinged “Watching The Detectives,” itself a convenient nod to the well-entrenched mainstream popularity of the Jamaican music circa 1977.
As with that facile concession to the common denominator, this debut album of Elvis’ is a triumph of attitude and craftsmanship over invention. No matter that it’s couched in familiar pop-rock terms that, four and half decades later, plays even more like the slavish contrivance it was originally intended to be. But that very artificiality effectively set the course for the varied career of Costello’s that included collaborations ranging from work with the Kronos Quartet to Burt Bacharach and a 1981 album of country covers called Almost Blue.
To maintain pace with the faddist musical demographics of the time, not to mention consolidate his irascible persona, Costello tailored his sophomore LP ever more craftily. This Year’s Model features backing from a threesome called ‘The Attractions,’ prominent in the skeletal sound of which was the dulcet tones of Farfisa organ (that surfaced at the end of the prior record); a component of punk/garage rock back in the days of ? & The Mysterians, it was, even before that a prominent instrument in the sound of early Grateful Dead (of whom McManus has avowed he’s a fan).
Again produced by Nick Lowe, Elvis and company rose to the occasion of the promotion, recording and performing of songs like “Night Rally” and “Radio Radio,” the latter an impromptu focal point of an appearance on ‘Saturday Night Live’ (that got him banned from the program for over a decade). This sophomore outing of Costello’s is yet another in what would become a long line of chameleonic works from an artist who’s come to define careerism in the forty-five years since he first began shape-shifting with My Aim Is True.
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