Out just months after Trust and, in a reminder of his productivity, seven months before Imperial Bedroom, Almost Blue was Costello’s first try at demolishing a half-decade of sturdy broadsides. The weirdness is the point. A country covers album, by Elvis Costello, produced by Country Music Hall of Famer Billy Sherrill. Costello deserves credit for introducing George Jones and Hank Williams to incredulous rock fans, even if his takes on Merle Haggard and Gram Parsons are the only tracks worth revisiting; on the former, he finds a casual humility that pairs well with the self-effacement on which he relied on his earlier material when he needed an escape hatch.
The first side of Imperial Bedroom promised a definitive break from the holding pattern. As Costello whisper-croons doomy pronouncements like, “This battle with the bottle is nothing so novel,” and, in a nod to Lowe’s only American hit, “Do you have to be so cruel to be callous,” Bruce’s bass throbs like an excited artery and Pete’s cymbals hiss their contempt. “Tears Before Bedtime,” the least impressive song here, plays around with Nieve’s kitschy organ runs and a double-tracked Costello, whose character projects the exhaustion of a man caught in embarrassing scenarios before and ready to endure them again.
The ambling gait of “Shabby Doll” signals the change in intention and direction. On the page the lyrics look like he’s taking aim at another target unworthy of scorn, like a sequel to “This Year’s Girl” or “Possession,” but Costello, in conversation with Nieve’s piano line, spits out each line like poisoned candy; on other occasions, he sings like Emerick is moving cue cards out of sight. An uncomfortable performance; is he deconstructing an affect? The answer comes with “The Long Honeymoon.” Sung with a warmth Costello had never before approximated, this elegant chanson examines a woman trapped in a loveless marriage; Nieve’s accordion deepens the pathos of Costello’s chorus melody, embedding “The Long Honeymoon” in a chansonniere tradition without diminishing the sorrow.
Beatlelolatry suffuses a pair of tracks that are not so much songs as compositions. Bookended by his shrieking, harshly strummed guitar, “Man Out of Time” is pieced together like Paul McCartney’s Abbey Road sequence (McCartney and producer George Martin were next door recording what turned into Tug of War, also released in ’82). It changes chords and time signatures for the sake of menaced ardor: a stiletto hidden in a pillow. What the hell Costello’s on about is anyone’s guess; the Attractions, in swirl mode, put a dour Costello on the defensive. “…And in Every Home,” anchored to a 40-piece orchestra in full “Penny Lane” mode conducted by Nieve, gives a big kiss to rococo-pop, which, given how the lyric is yet another sneer at a woman who’s “35 going on 17,” makes for tangy ear candy, an expert attempt at distraction, or both.
