I was never an Elvis fan. Perhaps it was because I never grew up with him. I have stories related to Elvis - my best mate's Dad going off in the coroner's van to 'I Can't Help Falling In Love with You' or Dad as a young man playing sherades and frantically pointing at his actual blue suede shoes, and no one knowing what the song title was, or a mate's husband spending Sundays drinking whiskey and watching Elvis films whilst she barely managed three kids and the house being a pigsty, but listening to Elvis? No. Covers maybe - Nick Cave doing 'In the Ghetto' or Johnny Cash impersonating Elvis, I could get behind.
Still, there's songs that are related to Elvis I can get behind, like Graceland. There's something mythical about this mecca that Paul Simon, in his original version, manages to convey. It's less a story, though, about going to Elvis's home than it is about the journey to recover from heartbreak and loss and finding grace doing so. Probably even more poignant since JTE died of a drug overdose at 38. Dammit.
I shared some Richard Thompson songs the other day, and here's another one - about another journey to Graceland, and the madness of obsessive fandom.
Ah, they came in their thousands
from the whole human race
to pay their respects
at his last resting place
but blindly she knelt there
and she told him her dreams
and she thought that he answered
or that's how it seems
then they dragged her away
it was handcuffs this time
she said "my good man are you out of your mind?"
don't you know that we're married?
see, i'm wearing his ring.
from galway to graceland to be with the king.
i come from galway to graceland to be with the king.
This is probably my favourite though - Time the Revelator was such an amazing album. Dad introduced me to Gillian Welch and we even went and saw her live. It took me a while to listen to it again after he died but I'm glad I persisted - this album makes me happy. It's more of an ode to the man that almost makes me understand why people loved him so much.
Just a country boy that combed his hair
Put on the shirt his mother made
And he went on the air
And he shook it like a chorus girl
And he shook it like a Harlem queen
He shook it like a midnight rambler baby
Like you never seen
Never seen
Like you never seen
Never seen
And still, I suppose I can concede, listening now to Elvis's version of 'In the Ghetto', that he had something special.
