Tuffy’s Refrigerator Logic

No small part of Elvis Costello’s rebellious period aged as gracefully as the man himself (just ask his first and second wives about the time the gems on their hands started to glow).  “I Want You” sends you ’round Dark Pl. via Spooky Ln. and across The Line Blvd. when you’re 19 because that rage still causes your toes to tingle.

At a certain age, that rage seeps from your system and you’re mostly left with a vague Ghost O’Marley sense of indigestion and a minor ocular muscle sprain from the eyerolling at the dumbass drama queen of a boy carrying on about the woman who found her good taste in men a bit late but not too much so.

At that point (or right around the time you see Elvis Costello whip through a 90-minute set with no encores to hurry to the next gig), you have a bit more trouble tapping into whatever drew you into a teenage riot lo those many years ago.

Fiona Apple helped revive the song awhile back when VH1 (remember when they appealed to old people?) hooked Fiona up with Elvis (much to Diana Krall’s consternation; she’s seen this film from the other side of the camera) to recall Sinead O’Connor’s service to Prince on “Nothing Compares 2 U”.

She finds a second reading of the song that, frankly, the song doesn’t deserve and chills you to those now-numb toes.  You’re pretty sure that you should, you know, call into VH1 and get someone to take that nice Apple girl home to make sure nothing felonious happens and everyone’s rabbits stay unboiled.

But we’re not here to laud the song or the singer.  We’re here to talk about the little boy who’s fucked.

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