Today marks the 25th anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley.
I’m too young to remember Elvis when he broke on the scene (almost 50 years ago!) but my mom isn’t. When we got the news (I was 10 years old and living in Wilmette, IL at the time) mom took out those old LPs and we played them until our ears bled. Truly, having a mother who understands rock and roll music is a blessing for a young man.
Then I largely forgot about it. Elvis was just one more oldguy[sup]TM[/sup] in the rock patheon.
Then, in 1984 I was taking the bus down Rockville Pike in Rockville, MD. With me were my thoughts and my trusty walkman. I was listening to DC101, the local rock station, and the evening guy (it was dark out…must have been evening) came on and said he wanted to break format and he played ‘Jailhouse Rock’.
It hit me like a brick between the eyes. Even though the song isn’t really a great example of songwriting (it’s really a piece of simple pop format) the enthusiasm that Elvis put into it captured me there just below Viers Mill Road. I got off about a mile later, hit the Kemp Mill Music store and bought the 45 they had in the ‘oldies’ bin.
I took it home and played it over and over for more than an hour. Given how short the thing is I must have played it 30 times in a row. Mom came in and asked me what I was doing and I told her what had happened. She told me she was glad I’d had the experience and the same thing happed to her 30 years earlier. Then she told me about trying to convince her high school band teacher (in rural Michigan…hello Bronson!) that they should play ‘Heartbreak Hotel’. Mom even said she’d worked out the lead so she could play it on flute.
Since then, it’s not like Elvis has been a prime mover in my life. But he’s respected in my house (by me, at least). Elvis, Chuck Berry, Little Richard…all of them are welcome on the radio.
Mom and I have visited Graceland and toured all the Elvis stuff in Memphis. It was a good pilgrimage, highlighted by one very late night where we’d been bumming around and stopped to get gas. I finished pumping, went in to pay and get something (I’ve forgotten what) and when I left the building I saw it. Across the street was a small building, surrounded by other small buildings in the walk-up brownstone format, that had, over the door, “Sun Records”. Unknown to me I was pumping gas across the street from where Elvis recorded some of the greatest music of the rock and roll era. Mom and I just pulled the car up, sat on the curb, and talked about rock and roll for half an hour. We walked up to the window but it was closed so we just stood there. It was worth it, every moment.
So, Elvis, for all the music, thanks. For the joy in performance, thanks. And for the bond between mother and son, thanks again.
