While we were passing we thought we'd drop in on Elvis (From Watford Observer)

While we were passing we thought we'd drop in on Elvis

7:17am Friday 11th December 2009

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WE were warned that visiting Elvis Presley’s Graceland home in Memphis would be a disappointment. The house is surprisingly small, the interior decoration and furniture garish and the house is surrounding by fast food outlets and tacky souvenir stalls, we were told.

For many Elvis was an overweight, sweating has-been encaqsed in a white cat suit, performing in Las Vegas concerts between making trashy, predictable films of little musical and dramatic merit. The image is a reality but is as far removed from what Presley meant to me and many of my age, as is the vision of Muhammad Ali shuffling round as if barely aware of what is going on, removed from the montage of memories of the young, brilliantly athletic Cassius Clay.

You cannot transport people back to May 1956, when Pat Boone was warbling I’ll be home; Perry Como was extolling Hot Diggity; Winifred Atwell was grinning with tombstone teeth while playing Poor People of Paris and other similar items such as Happy Whistler dominated the charts.

Against such a background, hearing a voice boom out of Radio Luxembourg uttering “Well since my baby left me” in a style previously unknown to us was the musical equivalent of being transported to the moon. Within a week I was word-perfect on Heartbreak Hotel, Blue Suede Shoes and was solid gone when one got to the second guitar break in Hound Dog.

Popular music has known many changes of direction but none equal to those times. It was a culture shock that took us from How Much Is That Doggy In The Window to hearing Elvis shout out “You aint nothin’ but a Hound Dog”. Both songs had elements of melody, lyrics and were dog-related but there the similarity ended.

As my own particular favourite, Buddy Holly, modestly observed: “Without Elvis none of us would have made it ”, for Elvis blazed a unique trail and no amount of footage of that bloated man in a Las Vegas cat-suit can change the fact.

For all that, I did not travel to Memphis in order to see Graceland. Much higher up on the list of priorities was Beale Street, birthplace of the blues. And what a pleasant surprise it was, as we came across the two-arched bridge, nicknamed Dolly Parton for some reason, and arrived in central Memphis, close to the Peabody Hotel, where the famous ducks have been commuting up and down from the penthouse to the fountain pond in the lobby since 1927.

Everything we wanted to see was within a square mile, easily accessible and the traffic was modest to light. Beale Street was full of atmosphere with live acts at every bar and restaurant. That in itself was worth the price of the flights.

Sam Phillips’ famous Sun Record studio, where Presley, Jerry Lee Lewis, Carl Perkins and Roy Orbison recorded, was a fascinating visit, redolent with the 1950’s, yet still functioning as a studio. The balcony where Martin Luther King was shot, replete with wreath, was a sombre reminder of another cultural journey and, on reflection, we could have spent another day in Memphis, for the buildings seemed to leak music.

Contrary to expectations, Graceland is not surrounded by fast food outlets and the souvenir shops are housed in tasteful buildings. Yes Graceland is smaller than you would expect for a multi-millionaire’s home, but for all that, it has three levels and three sets of stairs to the top floor.

The one thing that struck is that it was homely and for a family that lived in a wooden shed the size of a garage, I should imagine it retained a degree of intimacy. Yes the decorations are not to my taste – shag pile carpet on the walls has never appealed to me - but then they are in keeping with 1970’s décor and each room has its own harmony.

I did find it strange we were not allowed upstairs for how many stately homes limit visitors to one floor, but later, at a motel, an American inquired: “Did you see the crapper where he kicked his clogs”. It had never crossed my mind until then but immediately I understood why the area was out of bounds.

I should imagine Presley devotees could spend hours watching the excerpts from newsreel, film and concert which accompany the various displays in the outbuildings. I was glad that most featured the man at his peak and not the parody.

Even the grave, set amidst those of his immediate family, was tastefully restrained American.

While in Memphis, we thought it a pity not to see Graceland. We are glad we did because it was a far more conservative experience than we expected. But walking in Memphis’s Beale Street was the highlight of an absorbing city.

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