The Dawn of the Age of Elvis

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Sixty years ago today, 19–year–old Elvis Presley recorded "That's All Right (Mama)" at Sun Studio in Memphis.

It was the first commercial recording of Presley's career, and it launched him to superstardom.

There are stories of some noteworthy recordings that were made at Sun Studio, which opened 4½ years before Elvis recorded "That's All Right (Mama)" there and changed everything for himself and the studio, but the studio struggled at first, and, apparently, it would record anything in its early years.

In fact, the studio's slogan was "We Record Anything, Anywhere, Anytime." That included recording special events like weddings and baptisms and graduations, and anyone could walk in off the street and make a record — for a fee. That's what Elvis did.

It wasn't his first #1 hit — that was "Heartbreak Hotel" about 18 months later. In fact, it wasn't even the first recording he made at Sun. But it was released a couple of weeks later and went on to become a reasonably big regional hit.

Elvis was really before my time. In fact, I have rarely owned an Elvis album in my life.

I have to give all credit for my first such purchase to my friend Brady, who shared with me his recording of Elvis' Sun sessions — and told me a bit about Elvis' history with Sun. Until that time, I don't think I had heard "That's All Right (Mama)" — or "Blue Moon of Kentucky," the other noteworthy song he recorded 60 years ago.

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But I liked them well enough that I went out to get a copy of that record.

It was in August 1953 when Elvis, a recent high school graduate, first walked through the doors of Sun Studio and met a receptionist, who asked him about his musical style. What kind of music did he play? "I sing all kinds," he replied. The receptionist repeatedly asked him who he sounded like. "I don't sound like nobody," he kept saying.

On that occasion, he recorded two songs ("My Happiness" and "That's When Your Heartaches Begin"). The receptionist made a note that he was a "good ballad singer."

Nothing came of it. Nor did anything come from a second session in January 1954, when Elvis recorded "I'll Never Stand In Your Way" and "It Wouldn't Be the Same Without You."

Sam Phillips, the original owner of the studio, was looking for a white singer who sound like he was black; he thought such a performer would be a huge success. He invited Elvis to record some songs on this night in 1954, but the session yielded little until near the end. Elvis started playing "That's All Right (Mama)," a hyped–up version of a 1949 blues number by Arthur Crudup, and the studio musicians who had been working with him that night joined in.

Phillips asked them to start over, and he recorded what they played. It wound up being the demo that he shopped around to local DJs and led to a single that was released on July 19, 1954 — with "Blue Moon of Kentucky," originally a Bill Monroe bluegrass tune that Presley gave a rock 'n' roll makeover, on the B side.

And the rest was rock 'n' roll history.

When Elvis Died

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Most of the time, it is my policy to write in my blogs about anniversaries that end in a five or a zero.

Nevertheless, I always write about the anniversary of Elvis Presley's death. Every year.

I'm not sure why that is so — except for the obvious reason, that Elvis truly is one of the undisputed superstars of rock 'n' roll. Even now, more than three decades after his death.

And that is clearly the case this week as his fans are gathering in Memphis to commemorate this milestone 35th anniversary of his death.

The Washington Post reports that Presley's ex, Priscilla, and their daughter, Lisa Marie, unexpectedly joined fans at the Graceland mansion for a candlelight vigil on the eve of the anniversary.

Elvis' heyday was really before my time, but his presence was constant when I was growing up, overshadowing everything else even if Elvis wasn't pushing a new record at the time. Bob Dylan, the Beatles, the Rolling Stones — along with others — took over the weekly top spot in record sales, but Elvis was always there, always the standard against which others were judged.

No one — except perhaps those closest to him who knew of his dependence on drugs — could have expected him to die at the age of 42.

When he died on this day in 1977, the outpouring of grief I witnessed was unlike anything I had ever seen and was really matched by only a few celebrities since — John Lennon, Princess Diana, Michael Jackson.

(It could truthfully be said, though, that John Lennon, Princess Diana and Michael Jackson died due to the actions of others — whereas Elvis brought about his own death. It almost certainly wasn't intentional, but it is an important distinction between Elvis and those other three.)

In many ways, the grieving never stopped. Maybe it was a sense of unfulfilled potential — even though Elvis had a couple of decades to make his mark whereas people like Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix and Janis Joplin had only a handful of years.

There are probably people out there who make their livings impersonating Morrison, Hendrix and Joplin — but there are many, many more who impersonate Elvis and make pretty good livings at it, too.

I have often wondered, in fact, if many of those "Elvis sightings" — you know, reports of seeing Elvis in convenience stores and walking along roads — were not hallucinations but rather sightings of Elvis impersonators.

The real thing, of course, is always with us in recordings and movies — and you can see the King in some of his better movies today on Turner Classic Movies.

The Death of the King

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I was about to begin my senior year in high school when Elvis Presley died on this day in 1977.

In fact, I remember that we had a special assembly of the members of the senior class at the high school in my hometown that day. Seems to me the assembly was in the late morning, and it ran for about an hour or so, but I could be a little off on that.

At any rate, Elvis hadn't died when I left my house that day, but he was gone by the time I got home. Now, how long it took me to get home, I couldn't tell you. See, in those days, I was dating a girl who was a year behind me in school — but her family was hosting a foreign exchange student who happened to be in the senior class. So I took the exchange student to the assembly for the seniors and introduced her to people until her head was reeling.

Then we returned to my girlfriend's home, where we found my girlfriend, her mother, her sister and her brother watching TV. Until that time, I had seldom seen a family that enjoyed TV as much as that one did, but watching TV in the middle of a summer weekday was really unusual for them. Ordinarily, weekday television meant game shows in the mornings and soap operas in the afternoons.

But I was a teenage boy who was in love. I was blind to just about everything around me. So I didn't give it much thought at first. I just focused my attention on my heart's beloved. But my attention soon shifted.

In 1977, we didn't have cable TV. We just had the three traditional networks — and each one was zeroed in on those almost iconic gates on Presley's property, waiting for the hearse carrying the King's body to emerge.

It was "breaking news" long before 24–hour news networks popularized the phrase. To that point in my life, there had been relatively few events that had been considered so important that all three networks covered them live — the Apollo 11 moon landing (and the launches of the manned space missions that preceded it), the departure of President Nixon (and the Senate and House hearings that preceded it) and (although I was too young to remember it at the time) the John F. Kennedy assassination.

I don't know how long I stayed at my girlfriend's home that afternoon. None of us could have been called Elvis fans, but we watched the news reporters, who rapidly ran out of "news" to report and descended on the crowd outside Graceland's gates, asking insipid questions. At some point, I left.

When I got home that afternoon, a similar scene greeted me. My mother was watching the news reports, and the screen showed the streets of Memphis lined with people of all ages, all colors. Mom wasn't close to being an Elvis fan, but she was transfixed by what was happening.

I don't remember anything special about the weather on the day Elvis died. I guess it must have been hot. It was mid–August, after all, and Elvis was in Memphis, which is about two hours due east of the Arkansas town where I grew up. I don't recall any heat records being set in the summer of 1977, but it would be a safe bet to presume that it was hot on that day — simply because it always is.

It probably wasn't as hot as it has been lately — and I'm not going to suggest that it's been nearly as hot as it was in the summer of 1998 or the granddaddy of hot summers, the summer of 1980 — but it's been hot enough.

Christopher Blank of the Memphis Commercial Appeal reports that a candlelight vigil proceeded as planned last night in spite of a heat index of 118 degrees.

The vigil drew 15,000 people. The P.R. director for Elvis Presley Enterprises said that was a typical turnout for the vigil.

Not bad, you say?

Well, to put it in perspective, Graceland attracts about 600,000 visitors every year. I don't know if it is open every day, but let's say it is closed on Sundays. That would mean that average daily attendance is about 1,900 people. If it is only open on weekdays, average daily attendance would be nearly 2,300.

And if it is open every single day — except Christmas, New Year's and Thanksgiving — daily attendance would be around 1,600.

The big events — the anniversaries of his birth (in January) and his death — could be expected to bring in more visitors than usual.

But does that explain why a candlelight vigil on a blisteringly hot summer night in Memphis lured seven times the typical daily attendance for the 33rd anniversary of Elvis' death?

In many ways, Elvis is receding into cultural history. His death may always be shrouded in mystery, but, if there is still a sizable contingent of folks who think Elvis faked his own death, they haven't been reporting many "sightings" in recent years.

I guess, if Elvis did fake his death, he's getting a little old to be wandering along highways and stopping in at convenience stores.

But his popularity endures. All you have to do is look at Graceland on a hot August night.