There are two enduring images of Elvis Presley. One presents him as he first appeared
on the national scene in 1956, an explosive entertainer, who never stood still,
gyrated across stages and television screens, scared the wits out of middle
America, and drew its kids to him like a modern-day Pied Piper. The second image captures him during his
final years, decked out in a variety of jumpsuits (although he sometimes wore
two-piece suit costumes), when he spent most of his time touring and playing
Vegas, and decreasing time in the recording studio.
There is, of course, a third stereotype that really has no
specific physical form, but stands in as the straw man representing Elvis’
years in Hollywood. Although his film career
began with promise, these were mostly lean years during which Presley’s image
suffered under the weight of formulaic, lightweight musicals with increasingly
banal scripts, and throwaway songs. They made money for several years and Elvis’
manager, Colonel Tom Parker, maximized profits by combining filming with
soundtrack recordings, to the near-exclusion of other recording sessions that
might have produced more memorable music.
As it was, while the nation moved to the rebellious music of 1960s rock,
Elvis was doing the Clam. This celluloid
image of the King has escaped the stereotyping of the other two, perhaps
because Elvis snapped out of it so powerfully in his 1968 “Comeback” television
special, Elvis, which was seen as his film career was wheezing
to a close and, itself, became perhaps the most iconic moment of the King's career, powerfully preserving him in a leather-and-sweat image.
The two surviving images of the early and late Elvis eras were
crystalized by the U.S. Postal Service, which issued an Elvis commemorative
postage stamp in 1992. The Postal Service created two prospective stamp
designs: one portraying a youthful Elvis, circa 1956, created by Mark Stutzman,
the other in his later jumpsuit persona, painted by John Berkey. The public was
asked to vote for the stamp it most preferred, something the Postal Service had
never done before and Stutzman’s early Elvis won, hands down.
Of the two iconic images, the older Elvis has taken a sort
of beating by stereotype over the years.
Far too many Elvis Impersonators have appeared in jumpsuit costumes, creating a caricature of Elvis. The image is associated with his last days, which
found him well past his prime, overweight, often singing badly, morphing into a kind of self-parody through repetitious concerts. It is true that Elvis slouched into
increasingly identical performances, doing many of the same
songs and even repeating the same moves on stage, year after year. It is a shame that this image is so pervasive
among those unfamiliar with the full breadth of the King’s
career because Elvis also
had some memorable moments in that jumpsuit. They became increasingly rare, but they were
there.
By all accounts, verified in surviving film
footage, his return to the concert stage in 1969 was as impressive, energetic,
and unforgettable as his earliest performances in the 1950s. Two documentary concert films, That’s the Way It Is and Elvis on Tour preserved his electricity
on stage in 1970 and 1972 respectively, and also convey the powerful bond that
existed between him and his loyal fans.
Footage of his triumphant return to New York in 1972 at Madison Square
Garden adds to that record, as do many hours of home movie footage shot by fans
and a slew of live concert recordings. There
are plenty of those because the Colonel again sought to maximize profits by
combining Elvis’ live shows with the recordings he was contractually obligated
to deliver to RCA Records. It was
cheaper and easier to record the concerts at a minimal increased cost and
fulfill both the concert dates and the required recordings, just as he did with Elvis’ films and accompanying soundtrack albums. Eventually, the strategy became a necessity
when Elvis proved reluctant to go anywhere near a recording studio and the
Colonel was left little alternative.
As illness and drug abuse set in, there was no telling how
well or poorly Elvis might perform on a given evening, but in the final years
he rarely approached the heights he had once reached. Nonetheless, he still had his moments, like
the New Year’s Eve show in Pittsburgh in 1976 and even in the final days of his
career in mid-1977. Television cameras
captured him during two June 1977 shows, which were a decidedly mixed bag and
were used to compile the posthumous TV special Elvis in Concert. It was no easy
task coming up with sufficiently decent material to fill the one-hour TV time
slot, which had to be padded with considerable interview footage with Presley
fans and scenes of merchandising around the arenas. Yet Elvis still delivered one of his most
memorable performances when he sang “Unchained Melody,” accompanied only by his
own piano playing. By then, he was a shadow
of the powerful performer he had once been, his voice was weak at times, he
struggled for breath, sweated profusely, but pushed through it with all that he
had left, bringing the crowd to its feet for the lengthiest applause of the evening.
Unfortunately, the number was cut from
the TV broadcast.
Like Glen D. Hardin, Elvis' pianist and arranger during most of the concert
years, I am an “early Elvis” fan. I grew
up on Elvis' music, movies, and TV appearances of that era, when everything he did seemed
like magic and the road ahead seemed filled with promise for him. But I have learned to appreciate his later career
as well, despite its tragedy and shortcomings, and some of the work he turned out during those years.
