
Wearing a black suit and a shiny blue tie, Elvis Costello turned UCLA's Royce Hall, normally used for the university's graduation ceremonies, into a Greenwich Village piano bar on Wednesday night (3/3)--minus the bar and clinging glasses.
The set list spanned Costello's 27-year career and included several songs off his newest LP, "North." Together, he and pianist Steve Neive finessed every number--from "Pump it Up" to newer material--into fertile ground for the evening's two-man format.
His sunburst acoustic Gibson guitar slung over his shoulder, Costello started the two-hour performance by launching into the opening chords of "45," the lead track off 2002's "When I was Cruel." An early, emotional highlight was "This House is Empty Now," about the final stages of a divorce. As Neive offered the song's last solemn measures, Costello stepped away from the microphone stand and continued singing, his voice booming through the hall. Like a lost divorcee inspecting his old home for the last time, he sang mournfully, "This house is empty now/There's nothing I can do." It was damn near operatic.
Costello's vibrato, probably his most underrated skill, punctuated several songs, especially "You Left Me in the Dark." The next tune, "Indoor Fireworks," easily described the scene inside Royce Hall, despite that there were only two musicians onstage and that it's yet another of his turbulent relationship songs.
Introducing "Fallen," off his new album, Costello announced, "Like most of the songs tonight, this one is about a change of heart, a change of season." And like all the music on "North," "Fallen" is a quiet, introspective piece. But as its final notes rang out, a delinquent fan in the balcony yelled out, "Radio Radio!" Tension filled the air until Costello, showing signs that the angry man of his youth remains, looked up in the man's direction and rebuked, "Amazing--I had to come all the way to Los Angeles to find an asshole like you." The audience promptly gave the singer his loudest applause of the evening.
While it was surely a jarring moment, Costello's response--and the audience's palpable affection--loosened him up. Before he finally exited stage right, Costello would mock the Bush Administration, Mel Gibson, Hobbits, and Phil Collins. Clearly, Costello is a crack-up of the highest order, and the Westwood crowd loved every word.
With the lyrics, "And now you say that you've got to go/Well if you must you must," from "Sleep of the Just," the performance seemed to be winding down--but it was just a ploy. Costello rounded out the set with "Shipbuilding," perfect with its spare piano and torch-song vocals; and "Peace, Love, and Understanding," which concluded with Costello stomping on a distortion pedal. Letting the final chords blare through the house P.A., he and Neive earned themselves a well-deserved standing ovation.
But the night was far from over.
As he would several times, Costello returned to the stage after he seemed to be finished for the night. (This guy would not go away--and that was a very, very good thing.) He played "Either Side of Town," another break-up song, and "When It Sings" and "Still," both off the new album. Possibly, many thought, he was closing with "God Give Me Strength," a song he composed with Burt Bacharach. Afterwards, Neive and Costello left the stage once more to thunderous applause and another standing ovation.
But again they came back for more, offering up "Inch by Inch" and "Almost Blue," during which Costello jumped over to the piano. The new album's most upbeat and positive song, "I'm in the Mood Again," was next. Then Costello was back at the microphone, ukulele in hand, for his and Alison Krauss' Oscar-nominated hymn "The Scarlet Tide," which he deemed an "anti-fear" song.
The miraculous show closed with awesome versions of "Pump it Up," the audience taking part in the chorus, and, of course, "Radio Radio." "Don't get mad at him," Costello told his fans, referring to the foolish concert-goer. "He's probably just drunk." And still Costello picked up his guitar to (finally) close with Percy Sledge's "Dark End of the Street." With the fans singing, "You and me," the intimate night ended in a perfect union of performer and audience ... just the way that guy in the balcony had hoped it would.
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