'Tis the season, not for gift-giving, which is still two months away -- belying the sudden proliferation of store decorations designed to delude cautious shoppers into believing that indeed time is already running short -- but for masquerade, our once-a-year exercise in self-concealment, gamesmanship, and reinvention.Who among us has not yearned for a secret identity, if not in recent years, certainly in childhood, when we disguised ourselves in the colorful garb of our favorite cowboy or superhero? I remember donning silvery six-shooters (with smoking caps), checkered bandanas, red and blue tights, and the signature cape, which, if one could only run fast enough with his arms and fists extended, should have effortlessly propelled him onward and upward, "faster than a speeding bullet." In fact, is it not Clark Kent's magical transformation from mild-mannered reporter to Man of Steel that is his most intriguing attribute?
Having outgrown Hopalong Cassidy and Superman -- although I suspect the latter has outgrown me, since I prefer the lead-footed, slightly-bulging, black-and-white George Reeves version to a svelte, boyish Brandon Routh/Christopher Reeve -- I now have a more adult costume stashed away in my closet, ready to extract at any appropriate (or inappropriate) moment, which, as fate would have it, presented itself two weeks ago -- a pre-Halloween treat, if you will.
Seeking exposure for the United Way and hoping to raise a little money, our CEO, Marie M., recruited thirty unsuspecting celebrities (at least they were after it was all over) to perform in costume as popular (for the over-fifty crowd, that is) rock-and-roll personalities -- the Drifters, Gladys Knight and the Pips, the Temptations, the Supremes, the Blues Brothers, the Village People, to name a few. Thankfully, no live singing was required -- only lip-synching, some primitive choreography, and enough talent to model with grace and brazenness sequined aqua-green dresses, shimmering salmon-pink sport jackets, needle-point high heels, and fancy fedoras. And, as much as they may claim to deny it, most participants so reveled in their role-playing and the ridicule heaped upon them by their comrades that they are planning a reunion and possible reprise -- further evidence of the undeniable allure of the masquerade.
Of course, what pantheon of rock-and-roll legends would be complete without an appearance by the King, of whom I have in recent years, partly by accident, partly by design, earned the dubious reputation of being an admirer, which entails, among other eccentricities, proudly possessing the requisite star-studded jumpsuit, complete with cape, wig, shades, necklace, and heavily medallioned belt, as well as hosting a theme party featuring a houseful of borrowed memorabilia, samples of authentic Elvis cuisine, and the sighting of an accomplished impersonator.
I bought the outfit online six or seven years ago, when a friend who knew of my budding interest in Elvis Presley asked me to join another cast of bogus rock and rollers assembled to roast a retiring public school official. The only equipment it lacked was a pair of white boots, which I unearthed amidst a riot of furnishings in the basement of the since-demolished Fine Arts Center. Actually the boots were black, but had been hastily coated with a thin layer of white paint, just enough to get the message across. While I thought they added to the costume's credibility, my wife held a different opinion, and surreptitiously trashed them a few months ago, leaving me no choice but to cram my feet into two lady's black and white saddle oxfords I picked up at a Goodwill store, or, better yet, into a pair of Uggs blue suede boots I borrowed from a female friend for Elvis's most recent gig.
If the latter were a little snug, they certainly fit the song I chose to perform, the same one I lip-synched years earlier in my Elvis debut: Blue Suede Shoes. It's well-known, short, and composed of simple repetitive lyrics, which even this musical simpleton can absorb in a quick study. The familiar YouTube video shows a youthful, casually-dressed Elvis strolling on stage, guitar in hand, looking around innocently before launching into an energetic, hip-swiveling rendition -- not easily replicated by a sixty-something, rhythmically-challenged, tone-deaf novice.
I have worn my Elvis outfit probably half a dozen times -- to a couple of costume parties, to a dinner party at which the suggested attire was "retro sixties," and most recently to a friend's theme party as a pale, non-singing substitute for the impersonator who failed to show. But surely the most memorable occasion was at a Schewel Furniture sales meeting held at the Roanoke Civic Center in February 2006.
The objective of the meeting -- which includes motivational skits, speeches, videos, and prize money -- is to build excitement and enthusiasm for a company-wide mattress contest. And my corporate staff believes that there is no better way to accomplish that than for my employees to see the boss make a fool of himself.
I am the opening act. Six hundred curious souls -- some of whom have come from as far away as two hundred miles -- sit in restless anticipation, not knowing what to expect, other than, from past experience, some lame attempt at humor. The lights dim. The curtain lifts. The music starts quietly and gradually increases in intensity until the ponderous tones of 2001: A Space Odyssey reverberate through the auditorium. Suddenly, a spotlight pierces the darkness, revealing a slight figure, draped in white, crouching in the center of the stage, his back to the audience. He rises slowly, turns around, a microphone tightly clenched in his fist, and, after a brief pause, to the accompaniment of muffled expressions of shock and awe, breaks out into Blue Suede Shoes. Long live the King. Elvis is in the building.
I became interested in Elvis Presley late in life, about twelve years ago, and it is an attachment that can only be characterized as improbable. While I must confess to listening intermittently to the soft, soporific sounds of the oldies "Love" station on XM radio -- between doses of news and sports talk -- I am not music fan. Contemporary music -- anything from the past twenty years -- is a mystery to me, and while I vaguely recall a few artists or songs from my high school and college years, once I have exhausted the Beatles, the Supremes, the Four Tops, and the Beach Boys, I am like a castaway adrift in an endless sea of silence.
As for Elvis Presley, until recently my feelings mirrored those of Erika Doss in her book Elvis Culture: "I hardly thought of him before and certainly had not grown up an Elvis fan . . . I put him in the past tense: fifties, fat, finished, forgotten." (Doss, p.22)
Of course, he had sung Hound Dog and Don't Be Cruel as a young man, and gone on to make a series of popular movies, notable mostly for their redundancy. His famous 1968 Comeback Special and Aloha from Hawaii concerts hardly pricked my consciousness, other than evoking a hazy image of the jumpsuit and cape he wore for the rest of his career. While millions were mourning his tragic demise, I barely noticed and regretted only its untimeliness.
In the years since his death, if I had been aware of Elvis Presley at all, it would have been as much of America perceives him: a weird icon, perhaps a t-shirt, a black velvet wall hanging, a commemorative dinner plate, the inspiration for numerous caricatures, impersonators, or imitators, the idol of thousands of devoted or misguided fans, or "the subject of a handful of TV movies: just one more confused star, an ordinary boy with a bit of talent and a lot of nerve who lost his way." (Griel Marcus, Dead Elvis, p.33)
All that changed for me when I stumbled across a book in the library entitled Last Train to Memphis: the Rise of Elvis Presley by Peter Guralnik. It's a remarkable, mesmerizing tale, five hundred pages that cover principally five years, 1954 through 1958, almost a day-by-day chronicle of the young singer's meteoric rise to fame and fortune: his initial recordings at Sam Phillips's Sun Records studio in Memphis; his early barnstorming days in the Southeast as a rockabilly singer, where he drew increasingly large and adoring crowds; his seduction by Colonel Tom Parker, who managed his transition to national rock-and-roll star and negotiated his contract with RCA; his television appearances on Stage Show, Milton Berle, and The Ed Sullivan Show, which showcased not only his musical talent but also his provocative performing style; his four early films, including Love Me Tender and Jailhouse Rock, which shaped his star image; and finally his induction into the Army and the death of his beloved mother, Gladys. He was the most famous man in America, and he was not yet twenty-four years old.
While I was captivated by the rags-to-riches story of Elvis Presley's origins and early career, what struck me upon reflection as even more fascinating was the unique immortality of Elvis Presley, his continuing presence in contemporary society, his problematic persistence as a mythical figure transcending race, gender, age, socio-economics, and nationality. Who can deny that Elvis lives on in many forms and manifestations, that the King is everywhere and that he is constantly reestablishing his claim to royalty?
Frank Sinatra said: "I'm just a singer. Elvis was the embodiment of the whole American culture." John Lennon said: "Before Elvis, there was nothing." Ronald Reagan said: "Elvis epitomized America. There will never be anyone like him." Margaret Thatcher said: "I loved his music because he was my generation. But then again, Elvis was everyone's generation and always will be." Leonard Bernstein called him: "The greatest cultural force in the twentieth century."
Elvis's record sales are in excess of one billion globally, more than anyone else in recorded history. Elvis still holds the record for the most chart singles, the most top ten singles, and the most weeks at number one. With the 2002 release of A Little Less Conversation -- a remix from the 1968 Presley film Live A Little, Love A Little -- Elvis passed the Beatles for the most number one hits.
More than 600,000 people travel to Graceland every year, making it the second-most visited home in the United States, behind only the White House. Nearly one-half of those visitors are under thirty-five.
Every year thousands of acolytes descend on Memphis to celebrate Elvis Week and observe a candlelight vigil on his death day, August 16th. On a typical year, 5000 participate; on an anniversary year, 25,000; on the twenty-fifth anniversary of Elvis's death, 70,000 showed up.
More than 3500 Elvis impersonators are officially licensed to perform in the United States. The total number of Elvis impersonators is estimated at over 20,000.
Elvis is the only performer to have been inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame, the Country Music Hall Of Fame, and the Gospel Hall of Fame. His three Grammy awards were for gospel recordings.
There have been over 1400 books published about Elvis.
The National Archives has more than nine million photographs of Elvis Presley. The one of Richard Nixon shaking hands with him after appointing him an honorary member of the Narcotics Bureau (a copy of which hangs in my office) is the most requested.
Elvis can be sighted in six hundred fan clubs worldwide, two hundred in the United States, varying in size from a handful to the 1200 members of the Elvis Presley Burning Love Fan Club.
Paul McLeod and his son, Elvis Presley McLeod, call themselves the world's number one Elvis fans. In their 1853 white clapboard antebellum home in Holly Springs, Mississippi, named Graceland Too, they have amassed, they claim, ten million items of Elvis Presley memorabilia. They have also assembled the world's largest Elvis archives, filling more than 1000 notebooks with 40,000 newspaper clippings and collecting 11,000 video tapes and audio cassettes. (Doss, pp.33-40)
Dazzled by such testimonials and statistics, one is prompted to ask: What accounts for the implausible posthumous career of Elvis Presley, a man more revered in death than he was in life? Is there an intellectual explanation for this peculiar phenomenon? Drawing on the book, Elvis after Elvis: The Posthumous Career of a Living Legend, by Gilbert Rodman, let me try to answer that question.
First, Rodman claims that Elvis's Memphis home, Graceland -- today "the object of veneration for thousands of fans who visit every year, or wish they could" (Doss, p.86) -- "gave his stardom a highly visible, physical anchor in the real world." (Rodman, p.99)
"It has been linked in the public eye with him from the day he bought it in 1957 until the day he died . . . and beyond. From almost the first moment of his stardom, Elvis was associated with a very specific site on a map (not just a region or city, but an actual street address) in a way that no other star ever was -- or has been since . . . thus transforming his home into a publicly visible site of pilgrimmage and congregation." (Rodman, p.102)
Elvis's decision to remain in Memphis, as opposed to other stars who took up residence in Hollywood or New York City, enhanced his non-pretentious, regular-folks character -- a factor in broadening his appeal. As the only fish in a small pond, it placed him on a more prominent pedestal than he would have occupied in those other cities. And the visibility of his home and its central geographic location made it more accessible to fans and tourists than it would otherwise have been. (Rodman, p.106)
Graceland is the major force promoting and preserving Elvis's deification. "It serves as the destination for a holy pilgrimage, a sacred place that the true Elvis devotee is compelled to experience firsthand." (Rodman, p.116) Graceland is usually its visitors' sole destination, and many try to time their visits to coincide with Elvis holy days -- his birthday and his death day -- behavior which marks them as true pilgrims rather than mere tourists. (Rodman, p.118)
The holiness of Graceland is reinforced -- even defined -- by what Elvis fans do there. Besides walking through his house, gazing at his possessions, mourning at his grave site, even taking a piece of dirt home with them (Doss, p.89), many will participate in an Elvis-inspired ritual (Rodman, p.117) and leave gifts and offerings -- flowers, pictures, photographs, dolls, records, handwritten messages -- at the grave site or along the wall bordering the Graceland property. (Doss, p.99)
Whereas other fan communities must meet at convention centers or ballparks on specific dates, Graceland is a "real world site where Elvis fans can congregate and come to have a sense of themselves as a community with a stable, permanent existence . . . and where they are free to express their fanaticism without fear of embarrassment." (Rodman, pp. 120-128)
If Graceland has helped keep Elvis alive today, so have the multiple mythical images that inform our perception of him: his racial image, his sexual image, and his image as the embodiment of the American dream. What is most compelling about these images is the dual nature of each one -- black and white, male and female, communal and individualistic -- and how Elvis possesses the unique ability to encompass these dualities simultaneously. (Rodman, pp. 41-42)
Elvis's early career reflects a deep, intentional identification with black culture. He consciously courted black music, black musicians, and black audiences. His liberal borrowings from what the recording industry called "race music" -- rhythm and blues, black gospel, and soul -- set his popularity in motion. He created recording opportunities for many black musicians, such as Little Richard, who said years later: "I thank the Lord for sending Elvis to open the door so I could walk down the road." (Doss, pp.170-174)
By contemporary standards, Elvis "was doing something daring and dangerous . . . He was actively engaged in race mixing . . . He proved that black and white tendencies could coexist and that the product of this coexistence was not just palatable, but thrilling." (Rodman, p.50)
Counterpoint to the myth of Elvis as a figure of integration is the current myth of Elvis as a white hero, exemplified by his fan base, which is not only white but tends to see him as all-white: the Southern separatist, the all-American soldier, the country rocker, the Las Vegas showman dressed up in a white jumpsuit. (Doll, p.196) Little Richard inadvertently reveals the flip side of the coin (and his own contradictory feelings) when he says: "I know they called him the King of Rock and Roll, but if he is, who crowned him -- and why was I not invited? How can a white boy be the King of Rock and Roll?" (Rodman, p.49)
Rodman argues that "both myths are now active in the terrain of U.S. culture and have been since the early stage of Elvis's career . . . That is not to say that both are equally true, but only that they both work . . . for different audiences and different contexts. Each interpretation of Elvis's racial politics explains in part his cultural significance." (Rodman, p.56)
Similarly contributing to the Elvis mystique is a dual gender identification.
On the surface, Elvis appears to be an icon of masculine sexuality, "the man who brought overt, blatant, vulgar sexual frenzy to the popular arts in America . . . an incredibly virile superstud whom women were powerless to resist." (Rodman. p.56)
But critics have identified another side to Elvis's sexual image, that of the "teddy bear." Linda Rae Pratt claims that to women, Elvis projects "a quality of tenderness, vulnerability, and romantic emotion." (Rodman, p.60) His feminine side is clearly manifested in his early body movements and in his later style of dress.
He was the first male star to display his body as an overt sexual object, to become, like female performers, sexualized. (Rodman, p.67) Later, his costumes and face and eye treatment became obviously androgynous. "He wore ruffled pink shirts and black pants with pink stripes, deliberately choosing girl colors . . . He painted himself in black mascara and royal blue eye shadow . . . He had his nose fixed, spent hours doing his hair, and courted fashion designers to dress him up in glamorous gold lame tuxedos or fringed and jeweled jumpsuits." (Doss, p.127)
While Elvis Presley is the most widely impersonated celebrity in history, the adjective most commonly attached to the noun "impersonation" is female, and, "like a woman, Elvis is a marketed body, exhibited, put on display." (Rodman, p.70)
Few other celebrities have crossed the boundary of gender identification like Elvis has.
The third mythical image which is useful in understanding Elvis's posthumous career is the one that views him as the representative of a bicameral American dream, the two versions of which, the communal and the individualistic, in some respects stand in contradiction to each other, but which are both reflected in his unlikely ascent from the obscurity of a Memphis machinist's shop to fame and fortune.
The first version posits "a collective dream of America rooted in notions of community and based on hopes for upward mobility, equality, and freedom for broad segments of the population." (Rodman, p.83) Thus, social critics Greil Marcus and Dave Marsh ask us to imagine Elvis as shaping and invigorating this conception of the dream by inventing not only himself but a whole new community -- black and white, rich and poor, urban and country, and democratic -- to listen to and accept his music.
"When he sings American triolgy . . . the divisions America shares are smoothed away . . . The version of the American dream that is Elvis's performance is blown up . . . to contain more history, more people, more hopes." (Greil Marcus, Mystery Train, pp.124-125)
Thus Elvis, the poor, rural, white, working-class Southerner, becomes a source of racial and social enlightenment, a civil rights pioneer, building a better world for all of us. ( Chadwick, p.xiv)
But he also built a better world for himself -- and in doing so represents the other version of the American dream, the one rooted in notions of individualism, where upward mobility is the domain of the chosen few with talent and brains. And Elvis is "the classic American success story, rising from a two-room Tupelo shack to a marble-pillared mansion on a hill." (Rodman, pp.83-84)
Elvis stands in stark contrast to liberal and conservative politicians and commentators who see these two Americas as incompatible, who claim that a choice must be made between a Martin Luther King vision of an egalitarian and harmonious America and an individualistic one based on self-interest, crass commercialism, greed, and personal financial security.
"Elvis persists as a powerful symbol for anyone who's ever wanted a better life. He produced more music, sold more records, filled more auditoriums than the privileged. But he shut no door behind him. He allowed us all to think that he belonged exclusively to each one of us . . . His life was a statement that it is possible to come from nowhere, to make the big time, and still be true to who you are." (Chadwick, p. 236)
Elvis's continuing presence in contemporary society can be further explained by the far-reaching impact he had on U.S. popular culture.
In an obituary for Rolling Stone magazine in 1977, Dave Marsh wrote: "If an individual of our time can be said to have changed the world, Elvis is the one. In his wake more than the music is different. Nothing and no one looks or sounds the same. His music was the most liberating event of our era because it taught us new possibilities of feeling and perception, new modes of action and appearance, and because it reminded us not only of his greatness but of our own potential. If those things were not already so well integrated into our lives that they have become commonplace, it would be simpler to explain how astonishing a feat Elvis Presley's advent really was." (Rodman, p.157)
In 1956, when Elvis burst upon the scene, rock and roll was perceived as a threat to mainstream U.S. culture; now it is the essence of that culture, and used to sell everything from automobiles to raisins. (Rodman, p.167) Rodman argues that the centrality of rock and roll music in our lives is attributable to Elvis Presley; only he had the charisma, ambition, determination, talent, and instinctive media savvy "to transform the fifties musical genres, attitudes, and social practices into a coherent cultural formation." (Rodman, p.160)
Elvis created and symbolized a revolutionary message for his generation, and then bequeathed it to its successors: to embrace freedom, to treasure innocence, to evince a sense of humor, to laugh at, even mock, oneself.
Elvis taught audiences to question authority and, at times, to rebel against all forms of restraint. His costumes, his movements, and his facial expressions said to his fans that they were free to act and think and move in unconventional ways.
Finally, he called a new community into existence -- "a community centered around rock and roll" -- a youth community that would prove to have "the power to initiate far-reaching social changes . . . the anti-war movement, the second wave of the civil rights movement, feminism, the higher consciousness movement." (Rodman, pp.162-163)
In the words of Carl Perkins: "He never died and he never will. You don't change as much of the world as Elvis Presley changed it -- hair styles, clothes, moods, looks, sideburns. He cut a path through this world; he's going to be history, and he should be." (Rodman, p.162)
In a 1991 novel called Dixieanna Moon by William Price Fox, a young New Yorker and an old southern hustler join forces to stage the ultimate revival show. One night, driving through the South, they pick up an old Sun single on the radio. "Wonder what he was like," says the New Yorker. "He won't like anyone," replies his companion. "You start trying to compare Elvis to something and you can forget it . . . All you can do with a talent that big and that different is sort of point at it when you see it going by and maybe listen for the ricochet." Writes Greil Marcus, "We are the ricochet." (Marcus, Dead Elvis, p.39)
REFERENCES
Chadwick, Vernon, ed. In Search of Elvis: Music, Race, Art, Religion. Boulder, Colorado: Westview Press, 1997.
Doll, Susan. Understanding Elvis: Southern Roots vs. Star Image. New York: Garland Publishing Inc., 1998.
Doss, Erika Lee. Elvis Culture: Fans, Faith, and Image. Lawrence, Kansas: University Press of Kansas, 1999.
Guralnik, Peter. Last Train to Memphis: The Rise of Elvis Presley. Boston: Little Brown and Company, 1994.
Marcus, Greil. Dead Elvis: A Chronicle of a Cultural Obsession. New York: Doubleday, 1991.
Marcus, Greil. Mystery Train: Images of America in Rock and Roll Music. New York: Penguin Books, 1977.
Rodman, Gilbert. Elvis After Elvis: The Posthumous Career of a Living Legend. London: Routledge, 1996.
