1991
Joe Jackson
Thebarton Theatre
Coppel/SA-FM
Elvis Costello and
the Rude Five
Entertainment Centre
MTV/SA-FM
Reviewed by Murray Bramwell
Someone once said that after the Beatles made it big the pigeon-chested weaklings got all the best girls. That’s not entirely true – Buddy Holly had already made it despite his nerdy horn rims and so did English rockers like Adam Faith even though he, clearly, never ate his vegetables. In fact, the ectomorphs have ruled the earth since the beginnings of rock and roll. But it took runty little jokers like Dylan to set new benchmarks which the poms matched in imperial measure. Keith Richards, Townshend t-talking about his generation, Hendrix and the young Rod Stewart, they were all lording it, kicking sand in the face of Charles Atlas.
The late seventies saw a further flowering of weeds and while Malcolm McLaren adroitly ensured that spotty Johnny Rotten and his mate Sid got icon status, it was the triumvirate of Graham Parker, Elvis Costello and Joe Jackson who were the real McCoin. From the pubs and the lounges they came -ready-made geniuses, shaping two minute forty second power pop that put paid to the windy meanderings of art-rock. Queen survived the onslaught, Yes and Supertramp sank like Stones. New wave, some vaguely nouvelle publicist was calling it- these punchy little quartets with whiney vocals and a lot of spivvy energy. In his pork pie hat Joe Jackson looked like a barrow boy, Graham Parker in his dark glasses, like he’d never seen daylight and Elvis Costello, well, he was Buddy Holly back from borstal.
More than thirty albums on, all three are still in the hunt. This year’s Parker, Struck by Lightning, is a return to amiably acoustic form while Jackson and Costello have not only released new material they have been whistlestopping through the country performing it.
It was something less than a stroke of genius to have Joe and Elvis hitting town a day apart. By the look of the gaps in the Costello crowd at the Entertainment Centre I’d say Joe got most of the cherry. Not that we’re talking Tweedledee and Dum here. Since Night and Day, Jackson has gone for a creamy Manhattan sound, stepping out with a percussive, croony urbanity. Meanwhile Costello has produced album after album of lyrically brilliant , densely eclectic country honk. It was horses, you might say, for courses.
At Thebarton, Jackson performed the sort of splendidly suave set that has you almost hoping for a glitch. Solo at the Roland he opened with Stepping Out while the band appeared in fugue formation. On came Melinda Jostyn violin, harmonica and vocal, Sue Hadjopoulos on percussion, Graham Maby on bass – and It’s Different for Girls. Enter Dan Hickey on drums and guitarist Tom Teeley. Finally Ed Roynesdal took over the synths and the whole band swerved into a fast-ticking Got the Time. But even though Maby hit those famous bass-lines you wouldn’t exactly call it beat crazy.
In his mustard-coloured, teddy boy frock coat and burgundy baggies, Joe has clearly ditched the Dick Powell look. Relaxed, but measured, he started on the Laughter and Lust material – Obvious, Goin Downtown- pausing for some drolleries about lip-synching on Hey Hey it’s Saturday,and then into Hit Single. A double-header followed from Night and Day- Chinatown and Another World- featuring splashy keyboard work from Roynesdal and Teeley on fuzz guitar. There was a sharp shift to Look Sharp and to the newest standard, The Other Me.
The new material is unmistakeably Jackson but sometimes you can’t help feeling that he’s only moving the deckchairs around. It was the oldies that stopped the show in its tracks – Real Men and Precious Time. And for the encore, I’m a Man – fast but not entirely furious, not like the version on that double live set, no hernias here.
Once again Joe Jackson had played a pin-sharp set with a great band. Finally, alone again at the keyboard , he sang a dreamily-phrased version of A Slow Song , pressed the repeat button and while the riff infinitely restated itself, left the stage. It was like all the other carefully rehearsed repeat buttons in the show, in impeccable taste but curiously short on flavour.
By way of contrast, Declan Patrick McManus with the three members of his Rude Five performed an erratic, ecogentric set that could have benefited from a bit of Joe’s premeditation. In contrast to his show with the Confederates back in 1987, Costello favoured a rough and artless sound. A nice idea – Elvis jumping from Rickenbacker to Gretsch, playing lead on some very respectable grunge rock. But the sound in the Entertainment Centre, new home of the people’s music, was – from my balcony at least- all trebles and drums. Either the air traffic controllers at the sound-desk had their heads in a bucket or the acoustic in the Centre has a nasty problem. Every time Larry Knechtel hit the Hammond, former Attraction Pete Thomas his over-hyped drums or E.C. his wonderfully ironic guitar hero chops, the upper registers shrieked.
Fortunately, the shitty sound did not noticeably inhibit the faithful. As indeed it shouldn’t have. The new shaggy Elvis, compleat bodgie in shades and shiny shoes, was more personable than ever. A dry comic and a majestic talent he roared through twenty-odd songs- opening with She’s Happy Now. He really found his feet with This is Candy from the new album, Mighty like a Rose. Then he moved to the brilliant I Want You and went mellow with the Very Thought of You. Completely steering around King of America and Blood and Chocolate, Costello looked instead to Spike- and the latest work , with its new expression of anti-war sentiment, Playboy to a Man, and smoothies like The Other Side of Summer.
The high points were the solos -Let Him Dangle sandwiched in hard-driving medley with Watching the Detectives. Of the oldies Oliver’s Army hit the spot as did Almost Blue. In the encores- with Alison the aim was true and with God’s Comic it was divine. Closing the set Elvis hit the wah-wah pedal and he and the Rude boys worked hard to put some funk into the incomparable Costello rocker, Pump it Up. But, again, the sound mix stuffed things. The Pump don’t work – because the vandals took the handle.
The Adelaide Review, No.93, October, 1991, p.39.