This month marks the 30th Anniversary of the death of Elvis Presley. Of course, when I say “death” I am referring to his “continued death” as opposed to the “permanent death” the rest of us will experience. As Elvis Week in Memphis commences, the worshipers gather to wrestle him from the grave once again and watch the undead Elvis headline the “Greatest Show on Earth”. (Now owned by the same company that brings you “American Idol”) Each year the celebrations swell to colossal proportions to remind us that Elvis will never be forgotten. But there is a reason why Disneyland eventually buried the Captain EO attraction. Careers and people die.
I am not suggesting for a second that the King of Rock and Roll should be forgotten. We’ve ALL had our Elvis moments. I’ve met Priscilla on the set of Naked Gun 33 1/3. I worked on an Elvis Impersonator documentary, where Korean Elvis and Alien Elvis discussed the legitimacy of “fake” sideburns. I have been to the Holy Graceland 3 times. I visited his birth home in Tupelo, only to be kicked out for trespassing by a polite yet brutally firm Southern docent. I have stood in the Palm Springs mansion bedroom where he and Ann Margaret had 1960’s sexy people sex. To get the feel of Elvis, I have prepared fried peanut butter banana sandwiches from his official cookbook and then choked on the idea of eating the chunky snack. I even own a jumpsuit and wig for those “perfect” social occasions.
What I am saying is rein it in. Don’t let Elvis Week (with it’s fresh Corporate backing) become the gold standard for American Pop Icon Freak Show Extravaganza. At this rate singing monkeys in Elvis suits will become cliché’. Just take it down a few levels somewhere between Star Trek Convention and “my potato chip is shaped like Elvis”. You want to remember the King? Just look at your mother. To paraphrase Comedian Adam Ferrara, “My mother is at that age where women start to dress like Elvis. A lot of sequins, jumpsuit looking things, the hip is bad so she swivels when she walks and she spends a lot of time in Vegas!”
So the next time your aging Mom whirls thru the door with her gyrating unstable pelvis, shimmering jumpsuit, WWF belt and oversized sunglasses…THAT is your Elvis moment.
May the REAL Elvis finally rest in peace.
JPC
