"Before Elvis, there was nothing"–John Lennon

He was basically a dim trucker from Memphis, his voice a divine musical gift, but his insight into his own prowess shaky at best. He changed the world, but probably without having a clue as to how or why. He could be a perfectionist in the studio while completely unaware of the actual quality of the material he was supplied with.

At the same time, it’s in the really bad material that we’ll find the key to Elvis’ monumental success–that abstract yet abundant "feeling." Always present, always inspiring, everywhere. Even in his most embarrassing numbers from the ’50s, there’s a purely physical, sexually-charged presence that had previously only been heard (and recorded) in black music. Elvis had listened. And learned.

If you could be a black man on Beale Street in Memphis for one Saturday night, you’d never want to be white again, Rufus Thomas had said. And Elvis could dig it.

Sounds of the South

He had grown up in Memphis, having been only thirteen when his family left Tupelo and moved into a two room flat at 572 Poplar Avenue in one of the city’s more rundown neighbourhoods. For a number of years, his overprotective mama would walk him to and from school, leaving him with little chance to experience the city’s intense nightlife. But Elvis listened to the radio.

By the late ’40s, Rufus "Bear Cat" Thomas was the DJ of the local WDIA station, and, by 1950, Howlin’ Wolf had a daily show on one of the competing stations where he’d lay on electrified blues between commercials for fertilizer. Country stars like Hank Williams, Lefty Frizzell, and Billy Monroe reached Elvis through the ether. He heard new, hot pieces of wax climbing the local charts, like Muddy Waters’ "Rolling Stone," Arthur "Big Boy" Crudup’s "My Baby Left Me," and, later, Elmore James’ "Dust My Broom.

A couple of years later Elvis spent all his dough on clothes at the Lansky Brothers on Beale Street, which denoted the border of the city’s toughest parts. B. B. King later recalled how he’d often bump into the teenage Elvis at Lansky’s, a favourite joint among musicians, and pimps with a penchant for extravagant clothing. Elvis was an oddity, not merely because he dressed like a pimp, but rather because he fit in among all the other odd characters on Beale Street and soaked up all the impressions like a sponge.

His musical magnitude and importance lies in the fact that he went on to kick the white audience’s door open to an entirely new and more exciting musical world. The black one. Throughout the ’50s and the ’60s, black music was a constant presence in his recordings–from "Lawdy Miss Clawdy" and "One Night" to "I Feel So Bad" to "Reconsider Baby" to "Witchcraft."

Then he kinda lost the thread. The reasons are so disappointing that I won’t bother getting into them here. Let’s just say that for every new movie, the music grew even more embarrassing, while the style and substance were gradually rubbed out.

American Recordings

The contrast to this downward spiral was his surprising creative comeback towards the end of the ’60s. The TV show in ’68, the return to the stage, the singles "In the Ghetto" and "Suspicious Minds," and, not least of all, the album From Elvis in Memphis. None of his other albums are as convincing a tribute to the black–and white–musical traditions of the South.

The album was recorded in Chips Moman’s American Studios at 827 Thomas Street, in one of Memphis’ rundown, poor, and—you guessed it—black ’hoods. Moman, the studio, and its band were fantastically successful at the time–between November 1967 and January 1971 they put more than 120 recordings in the US charts. One week there were 28 songs recorded at American simultaneously on Billboard–all with the help of the same musicians.

There was contemporary adult with Neil Diamond and Dionne Warwick, soul with Joe Simon, Joe Tex, and Wilson Pickett, and hits like "Angel of the Morning" by Merrilee Rush, "Sweet Inspiration" by The Sweet Inspirations, and "Born a Woman" by Sandy Posey. The Box Tops alone managed ten hits during this period. "Son of a Preacher Man" gave Dusty Springfield a second breakthrough and the album that accompanied it, Dusty in Memphis is still considered one of the best pop albums ever recorded.

American Studios were caught up in all this success when one of Elvis’ cohorts called up and inquired, with just a couple of days notice, if they’d be able to fit him in. Moman cancelled a number of planned sessions and accepted. For him, the sessions with Elvis were both a challenge and a privilege.

The result of the session is impressive, not just musically by quantitatively. During 12days–starting at eight every evening and continuing until the sun rose–some thirty tracks were recorded. All were not great–Moman never got the total creative control he desired–but 12 of the best ended up on the finished album.

Swan songs

Elvis played high stakes from the start, as though he wanted to avenge the wasted years, the embarrassing movies, and past sleepwalks through various studios, with a passion and an engagement that hadn’t been present in his vocals for many years. It sounds as though he actually cared once more about what the listeners would think.

He doesn’t sound as restless as did in the ’50s; the feverish impatience is gone from his voice, as is the wild hunger that drove the Sun-sessions with unbridled fury. Instead, there’s a maturity that had previously been hidden or subdued. There’s life, emotion, hope, and despair. He mixes soul, blues, and country in a fashion that erases the boundaries between the different genres instinctively and with considerably eases, as though he wasn’t even aware of it.

The choice of material is excellent and the performance is saturated with soul. "Any Day Now" had originally been recorded in 1962 by Chuck Jackson, but Elvis probably picked the track from Percy Sledge, who recorded it mere months before. Sledge countered by picking up "True Love Travels on a Gravel Road" from Elvis, but the latter’s versions of both tracks trump the former’s. Whether Elvis trumps Jerry Butler’s version of "Only the Strong Survive" is mostly a matter of personal opinion–but he gets pretty darn close. Hank Snow’s "I’m Movin’ On" has never quite achieved the same swing as it does here, not even in the hands of Ray Charles.

"Long Black Limousine" had been recorded by the country legend Rose Maddox and was a minor hit for the country singer Jody Miller in 1968, but it sounds as though Elvis based his take on the black vocalist O. C. Smith’s version. It’s one of the most polished recordings from the Memphis sessions, striking a perfect balance between brass, backing singers, guitar and rhythm section. One can easily tell that this was one of the recordings that Elvis and Moman spent the most time on, as Elvis’ completes the balance of its various parts with equally balanced vocals–telling, without exaggeration, the story of the country girl who runs away to the city and promises to come back in a big car. She does. In a big, black hearse.

The highpoint of these sessions must be Elvis’ take on Eddy Arnold’s old country hit "I’ll Hold You in My Heart (’til I Can Hold You in My Arms)," with the track reduced to its bare bones, a couple of simple phrases repeated to almost hypnotic effect, with Elvis himself at the piano. He had never sang so well in his life before. He would never sing so well again.

Complements

Elvis Presley Elvis is Back, 1960, RCA LSP 2231

Sam Cooke The Wonderful World of Sam Cooke, 1960, Keen 86106

The The Hanky Panky, 1995, Epic 478139 0