1978: Elvis Costello - This Year's Model
Is this project self-destructing? I'm not quite sure why that would matter. As long as it self-destructs in public, it will be fulfilling the missive of the project - which is to attempt to document a year of listening to 1970s albums. Since I stripped this project of rules from the beginning, even a week of empty entries would be faithful. I'm not saying that I intend to leave this hanging for weeks at a time - only that even that would be faithful.
Lemmi start with This Year's Model's cover. Here's a good question. Who is the subject of the cover? First glance suggests it is the man with the black sunglasses and the wiry frame - his hands splayed out, his head crooked to the side, his facial expression suggesting consternation. But the action he's engaged in (his aim is true) is photographing you, the listener. In fact, his left hand is splayed towards you, standing outside the album - and it's your picture. You're this year's model. Or maybe not. It's hard to ignore, in the face of the misogynistic content, that the term Model tends to refer to a very specific profession (think Mary Gaitskil's brilliant Veronica, or Plath's Belljar). Then there's the contradiction of the term "model" to the posture and composure of the photographer (who looks like he'd belong better at a prom, or a highschool).
"See her picture in a thousand places 'cause she's this year's girl / You think you all own little pieces of this year's girl," the implication of ownership has certain tones that the later line "'Cause you don't really give a damn about this year's girl" either compliments or absolutely negates. See, maybe you're wrong about Elvis Costello, because like the cover - it appears to be about him, but really turns out to be about you. It's a trick. You're watching him on the cover, and meanwhile he's taking a picture of you. Even songs that seem to be completely about him ("Little Triggers," his simultaneously catchiest song on the album, and most misogynistic) are a trick to switch perspective on your suddenly. It begins with him singing to a woman: "Little sniggers on your lips. / Little triggers in your grip. / Little triggers. My hand on your hip." but then shifts. "Thinkin' all about those censored sequences, / worryin' about the consequences, / waiting until I come to my senses. / Better put it all in present tenses." Of course, this could be a plead on his part to get the girl into bed. But it could easily be a plead to the listener to come to his own senses, and to stop trying to censor him.
This project is a lot like that album cover. It keeps deferring attention on the album, when really the subject is the project, or me, or you, the reader.