lvis Costello has been developing a supplementary career to being “Elvis Costello” since his collaboration with the Brodsky Quartet fifteen years ago. Piano Jazz, an album co-credited to pianist and radio host Marian McPartland, is the latest entry in his non-rock and roll discography, consisting of interpretations of standards with a couple numbers from Costello’s own songbook.

Originally recorded for McPartland’s NPR radio show, the episode is reproduced in its entirety so that songs are separate from conversation. Intelligent conversation, yes, but most will want to keep the remote handy after the first listen. In strong voice with the small backing of piano and acoustic bass (with the occasional guitar), Costello uses more range than he allows himself in his own lyrically anchored songs. In doing so, he proves himself to be one of the more expressive singers around, free of melismatic acrobatics and, fortunately, scatting. Unlike the schlocky smirk of Rod Stewart’s recent sojourn into Tin Pan Alley, Costello and McPartland play these songs without condescension.

Most of the songs selected have turned up in previous Costello versions, usually ending up on the bonus discs of Rhino’s reissues. Those earlier versions of “My Funny Valentine” (from the Armed Forces-era) and “The Very Thought of You” (from Kojak Variety) were smothered by limp production, but these renderings have a professional casualness that is not nearly as distracting. “Gloomy Sunday,” which McPartland claims to be “one of the more miserable songs I know,” is not too different from the Trust version. A turn on “At Last,” famously done by Etta James (and infamously by numerous American Idol warblers) trades its slow burn for more consistency with the rest of these “blue ballads,” as Costello calls them. There are two Costello originals as well. The seemingly ubiquitous “Almost Blue,” a ringer for jazzists due to its Costello-acknowledged indebtedness to “The Thrill is Gone.” The other Costello original, “In The Mood Again” is one of the better songs from the overly-maligned North album.

There is a unified playing to all of these songs, mostly consisting of a gentle swinging nature. McPartland, who has been playing since 1937, has a tasteful and light touch on the piano and these songs, though worn by time somewhat, are not stuffy. This is not Bill Evans and Tony Bennett by any means, but these songs are performed without the nostalgic illusions induced by Michel Buble.

The division of the songs by conversation is inconvenient. The album is probably half-talk but Costello is fortunately in a good mood. McPartland, as an interviewer, leads Costello through his early musical history and influence of his parents, a musician and a record seller, on his expansive tastes. Some of this is rerun news for Costello obsessives but it does show how far back both jazz and rock and roll have been running parallel in Costello’s mind. This is probably an inessential pick-up for most, but for MacManus historians there is some value in hearing the early inspirations that have remained a foundational basis of Costello’s work. Costello has proven over time that his non-rock and roll projects are not lunges for artistic legitimacy by an indulged dilettante, but thoughtful attempts to push his artistic impulses beyond convention. And it’s much better than Rod Stewart’s American Songbook Vol. 74.