Christgau on Elvis Costello

My Aim Is True [Columbia, 1977]
I like the nerdy way this guy comes on, I’m fascinated by his lyrics, and I approve of his rock and roll orientation; in fact, I got quite obsessive about his two cuts on the Bunch of Stiff Records import. Yet odd as it may seem, I find that he suffers from Jackson Browne’s syndrome—that is, he’s a little boring. Often this malady results from overconcentration on lyrics and can be cured by a healthy relationship with a band. Since whenever I manage to attend to a Costello song all the way through I prefer it to “The Pretender.” I hope he recovers soon. B+

This Year’s Model [Columbia, 1978]
This is not punk rock. But anyone who thinks it’s uninfluenced should compare the bite and drive of the backup here to the well-played studio pub-rock of his debut and ask themselves how come he now sounds as angry as he says he feels. I find his snarl more attractive musically and verbally than all his melodic and lyrical tricks, and while I still wish he liked girls more, at least I’m ready to believe he’s had some bad luck. A

Armed Forces [Columbia, 1979]
Like his predecessor, Bob Dylan, this ambitious tunesmith offers more as a phrasemaker than as an analyst or a poet, more as a public image than as a thinking, feeling person. He needs words because they add color and detail to his music. I like the more explictly sociopolitical tenor here. But I don’t find as many memorable bits of language as I did on This Year’s Model. And though I approve of the more intricate pop constructions of the music, I found TYM‘s relentless nastiness of instrumental and (especially) vocal attack more compelling. A good record to be sure, but not a great one. A-

Taking Liberties [Columbia, 1980]
OK, twenty more songs, all B sides etc., how could it hold together, but some sentimental part of me is taken with its reflexive passion and half-finished serendipity—this detritus was the work of a punk fellow-traveler, and he’ll be missed. “Girls Talk” and “Stranger in the House” and “I Don’t Want to Go to Chelsea” are more indelible than Get Happy!! at its happiest, and let me put in a word for all 1:43 of the previously unreleased “Hoover Factory,” a punless piece of melancholy throwaway sarcasm that reminds us that he’s in this because he’s pissed, not because he’s glib. B