Jeff and Elvis, 4 Ever

It was Top 40 radio that introduced me to Elvis Costello.

That's ironic not only because Costello and Top 40 radio were rarely friends in the US, but also because the tracks and albums of his I've embraced the most wholeheartedly are the ones that never found purchase in the mainstream.

I was ten years old. The song was Veronica. I didn't understand the song beyond the driving, poppy beat and the voice that sounded nothing like a voice that should be, given my limited musical understanding, on the radio, and I was captivated by the difference. I waited and waited to hear the song again, and then used a tape recorder held in front of MTV to make a copy of the audio.

It's not surprising, then, that Spike was the first CD I bought with my own money. I'd purchased a few tapes, sure - albums like Thriller, that I'm not disappointed in picking, and No Jacket Required, which - well, the less said about that, the better. I'd just gotten a Discman for Christmas, and Spike got the most rotation out of the half dozen or so shiny silver discs I owned.

The music...challenged me. Most of it wasn't the polished-yet-snarling McCartney pop that had lured me in. But it was great. I needed to absorb it to understand its nuances - which was something I'd never had to do with music before. My parents have never been what I'd call 'music people' and my sister was a disciple of the sort of pop-packaged dreck that dominated (and still dominates) most every corporate-owned radio station. It was a religious experience.

From Spike, I kept buying EC's new releases - Mighty Like A Rose, Brutal Youth (my perennial favorite), Kojak Variety and All This Useless Beauty. I saw Elvis in NYC when he toured in support of Beauty; I don't remember it in any real detail, the way that you might not remember any details after meeting God.

It wasn't until then that I delved into the pre-Spike catalog and discovered how wonderful and different and angry and cruel and righteous it was. The visceral power that raw, underproduced talent has in its earliest work, I'd never experienced it with Costello before, and so My Aim Is True and This Year's Model were like a gut-punch from an angel. As it stands, my entire perspective on the artist is backwards, and I think it helps me be more of an ecumenist about his catalog - especially the divisive, experimental music he made during the mid-80s.

For better or for worse, I've continued to be an Elvis devotee for two decades. I've seen him in concert twice, own virtually every album of his, and can recite most of the lyrics from memory. I've devoted an uncomfortable amount of my brain to Elvis Costello, and I have no regrets about it.

It's fitting that Poisoned Letter launches on Elvis's birthday (he's 54) - I have to credit him with waking my younger self up to what music could be when it didn't give a shit about being popular and just cared about being good.

Except for Goodbye Cruel World. That's kind of terrible.