Patsy Crawford scribbling away
Before he became fat and drug-raddled, wore jewel-encrusted capes and surrounded himself with freeloaders at Graceland, Elvis Presley was a hell of a rock singer.
I was reminded of this when switching TV channels the other night and coming across him in a movie.
Time, uppers, downers and the rancid Tom Parker had yet to leave their grubby paw-prints on him.
For anyone who thinks of Elvis only in terms of a lardy entertainer in Las Vegas it might pay to look deeper. Peter Guralnick’s excellent biography would be a start.
In Last Train to Memphis, Guralnick paints a picture of a scrawny kid who came out of Tupelo, Mississippi and blew away pretty well everything that had gone before.
And back then it wasn’t just Elvis on stage in one-horse towns.
On any given evening it could be Elvis, Carl Perkins, Johnny Cash, B B King, Little Richard and Jerry Lee Lewis.
Another night, another performance, another leap into a Cadillac as big as a log truck and off through the darkness to the next town.
The Elvis almost everyone connects with is the syrupy crooner in satin flares.
But was a time he wore cuffed trousers and a shirt, grabbed the classic Bill Monroe number Blue Moon of Kentucky and turned it into a pounding rock song.
How exciting those concerts must have been.
So a group of us are rattling through the US in a bus a few years ago and stopped overnight in Las Vegas.
We did the usual rounds, played the machines, lined up for the cholesterol-laden buffet at Caesars Palace, then for a bit of a giggle four passengers decided to renew their vows in the Elvis wedding chapel.
Away we all sped to the tiny chapel. The two couples rolled in dressed in on-the-road duds, as were we all, but the women had managed to secure a bit of net veiling and a small bouquet.
Then to the strains of I Can’t Help Falling in Love with You, the Elvis entered the room.
He was a vision in white satin, glittery costume jewellery and quiffed hair-do and had the voice to go with it.
Expecting a laugh we waited for him to mouth the usual sugary platitudes but no, he delivered a touching speech about love and sticking together.
It was quite moving.
We asked ourselves when was the tacky part of the evening going to start.
As it turned out it was right after the vows had been exchanged.
On came the music full pelt and ear-splitting and the Elvis waded into Viva Las Vegas.
Away we all went, bellowing the song, waving our arms and jumping up and down like a mob of demented Jordan De Goeys in a Manhattan night club.
I’ve no idea what the entertainment at the couples’ actual wedding was like but I’ll bet it wasn’t as much fun as it was that night in the Las Vegas chapel.
Bright light city sure set our souls, sure set our souls on fire.
