Eugene Havens

That I never saw Elvis Costello play live, in his prime, was one of life’s little regrets. My last best chance was in San Francisco in the late 1990s during his cabaret tour with pianist Steve Nieve. I had asked a friend to go with me. He shot me down cold. “Elvis Costello? He’s a lightweight.” This friend judged music by its importance, you see, and Elvis Costello was no Bob Dylan.

Not being committed enough to go alone, I skipped the show. Years later, I moved to a rural town far from the draw of sophisticate music. I had been a longtime fan of Elvis Costello’s lyrical mayhem from my creative-driven New York days. Now, he was getting on in years and had battled cancer. I imagined touring would not be in his future. I would be wrong. Surprisingly, I would get to see him in a town quite nearby.

Elvis was on a new tour that started in warmup towns, one of which was two-plus hours away. Any concern about what he had left in the tank was forgotten. I bought tickets. Then, I noticed Elvis wasn’t billed as the main act. Instead, the headliner was Daryl Hall, a singer I was not moved to see live.

In my mind, the concert had gone from a throwback night with an aging great to a senior citizen tour. But was it a fair take?

I had nothing against Daryl Hall other than his stardom coincided with my restless youth. His smooth Top 40 style didn’t fit the tastes of a teenager drawn to nonlinear bands like Talking Heads. Hall and Oates were likely young guys in the 1980s, but their sound was your parents’ music, a familiar soul-pop that served as a sequel to overplayed oldies such as “My Girl” and “Sunshine on a Cloudy Day,” the wallpaper music that was popping up in television commercials. Hall and Oates were the ultimate crowd-pleasers, with songs you would hear in hair salons, dentist offices, and grocery stores. My exposure was as a captive in the backseat of the car. Hall and Oates’s hits were intentionally trite catchphrases and expressions (“I Can’t Go For That (No Can Do),” “You Make My Dreams Come True,” “Out of Touch”) that tricked you into thinking you knew the song by the title alone.

Thankfully, the commercial 80s were long gone, but Daryl stuck around due to his throwback show, “Daryl’s House.” In a weird way, like my grandparents had Lawrence Welk, today’s boomers have “Daryl’s House,” where aging musicians play their old hits while pretending forty years haven’t gone by.

I caught a couple of episodes of “Daryl’s House” on YouTube, and there was a macabre appeal. Could major recording stars who were now senior citizens approximate their younger selves? Would their shopworn classics still resonate when performed by singers with older voices? It was no one’s fault for aging, but carrying on an entertainment career into your seventies could be perilous to your dignity. Cary Grant had retired at age 62 for a reason.

That reason became apparent when an artist stayed in the public eye. At “Daryl’s House,” many name-brand musicians did an admirable job, but no one was in prime shape. It was a walk down memory lane with a bit of a limp.

Turning off a cringy TV show was easy. Now, I was driving for two and a half hours, and from tickets to gas to an overnight stay, I was paying a steep price to see the nostalgia I tried to avoid. For anyone with a goal to keep growing, nostalgia was a word with baggage, a veritable four-letter word for some of us. Nostalgia was about looking over your shoulder, indulging in the comfortable past. In a small way, it was a pastime for quitters.

Only I had to understand that Daryl Hall was a necessary part of the bill for Elvis to tour in small-town America. Elvis had been a new-wave sensation in the 1980s, part of a post-punk British sound that included Squeeze and Joe Jackson. Elvis separated himself from his peers by writing hundreds of songs and releasing dozens of albums. Now, he was a legend. In America, though, he was an eclectic mystery outside of New York and LA. In the 2020s, Elvis was dimly remembered for his cameo in the Austin Powers movie or as the guy who sang “Pump It Up.” Elvis needed a headliner to open the wallets of American fans.

If the pairing with Daryl Hall made financial sense, it lacked a certain artistic harmony. Attracting the nostalgia dollar seemed to require forcing musicians together. A few years prior, the songwriter from the 90s powerhouse Oasis, Noel Gallagher, toured the States to support the 90s alt-rock group Smashing Pumpkins. Gallagher sang Beatles-inspired tunes, while Billy Corgan dabbled in Black Sabbath riffs, moods you didn’t necessarily want to hear on the same night. In a similar way, Daryl and Elvis had clashing musical personalities. The tour’s promotional material tried to unite them by noting how Daryl guested on Elvis’s song, “You’re Not the Only Flame,” back in the 80s. It was a stretch. Elvis was as famous for his uncompromising artistic choices as Daryl was famous for feel-good songs that courted attention. It was hard to imagine a concertgoer wanting to see both guys.

What united them was age. Elvis was 69. Daryl was 77. I remembered their music from the 80s as if it were yesterday, but usually, entertainers retired instead of dating you with their continued visibility. With Elvis and Daryl performing back to back, it would be hard to miss how old they were and, by connection, how old I was getting! It wasn’t a fact I needed to be reminded of. While it was likely my last chance to see Elvis live, I wondered if Cary Grant was right. Should either of these legends be out there?

In a humorous start to the show, Elvis appeared every bit as a senior citizen by taking the stage promptly at 6 pm. Cue the jokes about wanting to get to bed early. Likely, the prompt start was required by the outdoor venue. We arrived thirty minutes late and missed Elvis performing early-era hits “Pump It Up” and “Watching the Detectives.” We caught the tail end of “(The Angels Wanna Wear My) Red Shoes.” The show was full of his early material in a surprising surrender to crowd sentiment. More than most, Elvis’s long career is filled with deep cuts.

Elvis’s singing voice is unmistakable, an expressive baritone that he famously wrings emotion out of. Even at age 69, it sounded very familiar. Without a lot of high notes to worry about reaching in his back catalog (save a 1998 Burt Bacharach collaboration that pushed his voice to the limit), Elvis could comfortably sing his songs live. And yet, his other unique vocal style, a sometimes-rapid fire delivery, felt labored. Elvis often wrote songs as if paid by the word. He could appear to be a novelist stuck in a musician’s body. Combined with a fast tempo, his lyrics were often tongue-twisters. It was part of Elvis’s urban appeal, singing clever phrases at fast paces. It was only natural he would struggle here. The cadence was a bit off, and Elvis often sang behind the beat. For once, he sounded as tired as a normal singer of his material might be.

Elvis’s set was heavy on early Attractions-era classics. Perhaps reckoning he was far from home in a rural American town, Elvis sought a point of connection with an unfamiliar audience. It would have been like a lot of musicians to play later-era songs that are clearly more interesting to a musician, even if the audience is left feeling lost. Favoring newer material could have disguised his age a bit more. Elvis’s 2022 album The Boy Named If does a good job of showcasing his mature skills without putting him in unflattering positions. On stage, the older songs aged Elvis a bit more. His fans remember his whip-smart delivery, endless energy, and rail-thin physique from the 80s and 90s, and we equate these songs with that image. At 69, Elvis appeared in a baggy suit and moved gingerly around the stage. On an acoustic number, “Everybody’s Cryin’ Mercy,” he sat down.

It’s a testament to his artistry that we miss the spoils of Elvis’s youth. His intelligence and talent flattered fans, making us feel we had those qualities by recognizing them. For city dwellers, we lived vicariously through his tales of dashing rogues chasing high-class beauties who sought the financial security of older gentlemen over the love they were offered. Elvis chronicled the petty strivings of city life, its greed, and vanities while also making the pursuit sound like a lot of fun. Now, in baggy clothes and signature dapper hat, Elvis looked like a vagabond who had left the city’s games for parts unknown.

After eleven songs, five of which we missed due to the prompt start, Elvis was gone. It makes one understand those who follow a musician from town to town. One glimpse wasn’t enough. Now, we watched as roadies changed the stage equipment for Daryl Hall. We listened to pre-show music Daryl selected to set the mood, Motown songs like “My Girl” and “Sunshine On a Cloudy Day.”

If singing were an Olympic sport, Daryl Hall’s back catalog included some difficult personal bests. He was never a soaring, showy singer. His voice was soulful, approachable, even intimate. He could transition from low to high or to falsetto in a moment. What Daryl Hall lacked in showmanship, a la Steve Perry, he made up for in confidence and an effortless delivery.

It would be difficult to have that voice taken from you. At Daryl Hall’s age, it was all but a given. A 77-year-old singer can’t recreate a 35-year-old’s voice. The effortless changes in pitch, the heights, and the falsetto all are denied an elderly man.

On that basis, should Daryl Hall have been up there? Probably, no. He couldn’t sing the old Hall and Oates songs properly. And yet, since we were already in our seats, we stayed for the show. And what we saw was that despite the deficiencies of age, there were other ways to get things done. The bottom line is entertainment.

Most of the crowd appeared to be there for Daryl. They didn’t care about declining vocal range. They heard the songs they came to hear, played by a top-notch band. They saw Daryl at the microphone, looking approximately like himself from the 80s, and they accepted what he could do. The sound and presentation were as professional as you could want. The bass player, drummer, guitarist, keyboardist, and horn player made the Motown genre feel fresher than expected. The only thing bringing everyone back into the here and now was Daryl’s lack of range.

It was like watching a streaming show and having it buffer every five to ten seconds. Daryl would approach a familiar soaring vocal and have to sidestep it with a lower pitch or speak-sing it. He had to sing around the parts he couldn’t hit anymore every few moments. After a while, one got used to it. You knew you wouldn’t hear the phrases you had committed to memory. It was a compromise you learned to accept as the show went on.

For Elvis, the concert was another day at the office. He has long been in command of his career. With nothing left to prove, Elvis plays on for the love of music, of touring, and likely of connecting with an audience. He plays like others play golf.

The energy from Daryl was different. He did have something to prove. After the headlines made in his falling out with John Oates, it’s clear Daryl Hall wants to establish himself as a solo artist. More audaciously, he seems to want to be remembered that way. A guy with six number-one songs as a member of a duo wants to have his obituary written primarily as a solo act like Elvis. It means a lot of work ahead. This tour seemed to be a start.

As found in the program notes for the concert, “Daryl has a lot left to give.”

Daryl debuted a new single at our show, “Can’t Say No To You.” It could have charted with Hall and Oates back in the day, another smooth, familiar song you feel you’ve heard before. In 2024, with the bottom having fallen out of music due to streaming’s dominance, it’s hard for anyone but a young female singer to get traction. Daryl Hall will likely find this out fast. Were he to reunite with John Oates once again, they could ride off into the sunset playing to packed arenas, voice or no voice. It’s the strict rule of nostalgia. It rewards what you’ve already done and, possibly, no longer benefit from. Daryl will try to overcome it, while Elvis ignores it. Both continue to make their living as musicians at advanced ages. The market still wants more.