Monday, August 09, 2004

I've never claimed to be much of an Elvis fan. Glittery white suits and bushy sideburns don't do much for me. I can't sing any of his songs and can only name you the big ones. Heartbreak hotel, Blue suede shoes, Jailhouse rock.
Still, my Mom, on one of her library excursions, picked up a movie on his life and performances. It was well watching it that I learned to make a distinction between the young Elvis and old Elvis. The pre-married pre-army Elvis was the one with the young face, jean jacket, and black Elvis-hair falling over his eyes while strumming a guitar and shocking the world with his moves. The after-divorce, addicted-to-prescription drugs is the older Elvis with the oversized gold belt and bellbottoms.
My point is the younger Elvis doesn't necessarily go along with the whole Elvis stigma. He still has the Elvis hair but I never saw him in anything overly gold. And is the Elvis hair all that bad? It probably has something to do with my whole attraction to the fifties, but I don't find it revolting.
And on his music, if you happen to like old rock it's o.k. It's beyond my parents age, more my grandparents. The whole beginning of rock and roll. Before the Beatles, U2, Pink Floyd, or Bob Dylan. The last music frontier. And I suppose he led it.
But I still like Buddy Holly better.

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