Elvis Costello
When I Was Cruel
Jesus and Elvis Costello: One's the beloved son of the God, the other a bastard child and snide martyr, whose role comprises a sad-comic routine of lamenting the world and poking fun at Dad's handiwork.
And like devout Christians, Elvis fans have heralded his second coming with the ecstatic, religious fervor of nuns in Medjugorje.
Yeah … but … it's not like he really went away. They say Christ dabbled in Buddhism during those lost years; likewise, Costello logged some time in his own apocrypha with The Brodsky Quartet, Burt Bacharach, Bill Frisell and many others. While this is all fine and good, fans of the man formerly known as Declan MacManus have been wondering where the rock has gone, pining for My Aim is True. Journalists chime in by claiming that Costello hasn't released a truly rocking album since Blood and Chocolate or a great album since Spike.
Well, folks, Elvis is back on the mount with a couple apostles/Attractions in tow (Steve Nieve on keyboards/piano and Pete Thomas on drums). His sermons have the wisdom of age, his delivery the passion of youth. Inspired by the highly evolved production wizardry of today's hip-hop and R&B, Elvis has brandished a well thought out, not overly polished slab of sophistication that ebbs and flows from high-energy guitar hooks to plodding rhythms. The range here is almost too much. He samples an Italian '60s girl singer in "When I Was Cruel No. 2," does wicked things with synths in "Spooky Girlfriend" and conjures a late-'60s rock vibe with catchy guitar riffs and old-style keyboards in "Tear Off Your Own Head (It's a Doll Revolution)" and "Daddy Can I Turn This?" And if that weren't enough he graces us with a playful nod to Tom Waits in the horn-and-piano-inflected "Episode of Blonde."
Lyrically, he hasn't lost his touch. With an army of metaphors lined up in oblique formation, Costello aims his guns at love, life and society — and comes out fighting for women too. His satiric take on the whore/Madonna complex ("I want to paint you with glitter and dirt/ picture you with innocence and hurt") is typically bittersweet; sensitivity and self-deprecation peer through the sarcasm. Also still wonderfully present is Costello's charismatic, raspy ire, driven to full effect in the lame-excuse rant "Alibi" and its salient surrender, "If I've done something wrong there's no 'ifs and buts'/ 'Cos I love you just as much as I hate your guts."
Vocally, he's at his best, ranging from his signature talky style to hushed tones, cathartic wails and emotional vibrattos. He shows off his full range in the opener "45" and belts out passionately like a bluesy madman in the song about his marriage, "15 Petals."
Yes, thank Heaven, "God's Comic" is back. With cleverness, sincerity and musical ingenuity, he gives us so much. Let's just hope we mere mortals can take it all in (Island).
—Julie Garisto 
Wilco
Yankee Hotel Foxtrot
When, after lengthy deliberation, Warner Bros. Records dropped Wilco from its roster early last year, the label offered up the hoariest cliche in the excuse book — that it didn't hear a single on the new record, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot. Funny, then, that directly following the opening Pavement-esque marathon of "I am Trying to Break Your Heart" comes "Kamera," an immediately memory-adhesive mix of acoustic-driven, summery porch-pop shuffle and lyrical catharsis. It's a prime example of the band's singular, slightly countrified light-and-dark pop ambition, and is catchier than a lot of their previous fare; in short, it's the perfect Wilco single.
The "there's no hit here" rationalization has meant the end of countless trend-chasers, producers' pets and novelty acts. In the past, however, groups of Wilco's pedigree and reputation were generally left alone to pursue their visions, please their huge cult followings and send critics scurrying after new superlatives. But it seems the recent across-the-board drop in CD sales has industry execs mistaking quality cuts for fat to be trimmed. And when Jeff Tweedy and company took Yankee Hotel Foxtrot directly to the people by streaming the entire album from their Web site, it ended up on a buttload of year-end Top 10 lists without having seen physical form. (Ironically enough, the band eventually signed with Nonesuch, an imprint owned by the Warner Music Group conglomerate.)
The new disc lightens up a bit on both the heart of darkness and lush production prevalent on Summerteeth. Tweedy's lyrical shadows have lightened somewhat, for the most part more melancholy than cynical. In the wonderfully quirky "Heavy Metal Drummer," he pines for simpler days; on "Kamera," he metaphorically contemplates detachment. Tracks like "War on War" and "Ashes of American Flags" belie a murkier disenchantment, yet "I'm The Man Who Loves You" and "Reservations" ("I've got reservations about so many things/ but not about you") contrast the pitfalls of relationship communications with a redeeming beauty.
The band's increasingly eclectic approach to instrumentation and arrangement hits its stride here. Songs are driven by organ, piano, or acoustic guitar, and sparsely adorned with melodious percussion or incidental, yet fitting, sound manipulation. There's nary an electric guitar to be heard. The aching "Radio Cure" and earnest "Jesus Etc." provide standout diversions from Wilco's instantly recognizable accomplished-pop milieu; the excellent "Pot Kettle Black" (another obvious quality single) and "Poor Places" are what fans have come to expect, only better. That insinuating sense of sameness that occasionally crept into Being There and the middle of Summerteeth never rears its head — every track sets itself apart, yet adds to the sum.
As a whole, Yankee Hotel Foxtrot isn't quite perfect. Those still holding out for a cut or two that harks back to Uncle Tupelo's more upbeat, fuzz-toned moments can go ahead and give up the ghost. The disc rarely reaches cruising speed, instead content with refining a gorgeous mid-tempo dynamic. There's also a sense of removal, that while they're sharing, they're not quite sharing everything. But it's far better than good. Certainly good enough, anyway, for fans to justifiably wonder exactly what the hell Warner Brothers could've possibly been thinking. (Nonesuch)
—Scott Harrell
This article appears in May 2-8, 2002.