Spike is a much better record than I ever thought. I threw an old tape of it in a boom-box last night while I was doing the dishes and was overwhelmed by the off-beat beauty that lies on this watershed record.
Don’t get me wrong, I don’t think that Spike is the great achievement of Elvis Costello’s career, or even one of the best but I do think it contains a great cross-section of his finest writing. It’s on this record were he finally puts the old Attractions formula to rest, lays out what would be his approach to working with Burt Bacharach eight years later, and more than anything, gave him the well-formed yet off-beat compositional album that he had been trying to achieve since Imperial Bedroom. I really think that Spike has been belatedly ignored as result of it’s timely sound, and it’s obtuse lyrics. Elvis is nearly always at his best when he’s living right inside your ear, as opposed to just behind the band. Spike isn’t quite as personal an album I think we come to expect from God’s Comic. There’s a lot to be said about these songs, but since I’m forced to go collect my laundry, this will have to do for now.
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