Almanac Music: Elvis – One (Virtual) Night With You

 

by Andy Doherty

 

One of my greatest regrets is never getting the chance to see Elvis live in concert. He up and died on me before I was old enough to get to America. I fell in love with Elvis as a ten year old when I spotted a heap of Elvis posters on my mate’s sister’s bedroom wall.  Every time I went there I asked if I could look at the posters and eventually she said I could have them. I carefully transported the posters to my bedroom wall. Now I was a true Elvis fan … and I’d never even heard one of his songs.

All that changed in January 1973 when he strutted on to our little B&W screen for the TV special Aloha from Hawaii, the concert televised via satellite around the world and watched by more than a billion people.  There he was, resplendent in white jumpsuit, belting out all these songs I didn’t know. This ten year old was hooked. He did a song called ‘Suspicious Minds’, legs apart, body shaking, lights flashing. How I wanted to be Elvis Presley!

And soon I was. Standing in front of Mum’s bedroom mirror with the Aloha from Hawaii double album blaring, hair slicked back, collar up, a spoon with some wool tied to the end for a microphone, doing the moves, just like Elvis. And so it went for the next 27 years. I may have lost the spoon, had four kids and grown up a little, but when no one’s looking and the music’s going, I’m still Elvis.

In 2000 I finally had my chance to see Elvis in concert. Well, something pretty darn close. ‘Elvis on a giant screen backed live by members of his original band!’  A virtual concert, said to be just like the real thing. I booked my ticket for $70.00. It was only $10.00 to get into his last concert and he was alive, but I would have paid $200.00.

 The night arrived and off I went, on my own, to lose myself in the ‘Elvis Experience’. 

In the foyer I get myself a beer. I’m shocked to realize I’m about the youngest person here.  Most of the men are fifty plus and overweight and the women are a lot older than in my Elvis concerts on video. Funny how time slips away. I realize if Elvis was alive he’d be sixty-four. These people have grown up.  Elvis never did.

The doors open. This is it, an Elvis concert at last! I buy another beer to settle the nerves, quickly drink it and then I’m in. On the way to my seat I overhear a guy telling an usher that he went to a real Elvis concert in ’75. I ask about it and he tells me how fantastic it was, how there was an electricity, an energy, in the place. I ask if the highlight was ‘American Trilogy’ (I heard somewhere that when the song reaches its crescendo, people rise off their seats in unison, such is the energy created by Elvis and his band). He doesn’t disappoint me, saying that’s exactly what happened. I’m excited now and willing to talk to my new Elvis friends. I pass one of the road crew and ask how he’s enjoying the tour and does he know where the band is staying? He says he’s having a great time and the band are staying at The Hyatt. Thanks mate. I find my seat, forty rows back, directly in front of the stage. I’m pretty happy.

There’s a forty-plus Indian couple to my right and a middle-aged couple with their ten year old daughter to my left. Some more sixty-somethings in front with their forty-something kids and some nice looking forty-something girls behind. Elvis attracts all ages. I make small talk with the Indians and admire the huge Elvis signs each side of the stage. I stare blankly at the enormous see-through curtain in front of the drums and silent guitars. Suddenly the lights dim, a half roar goes up around the auditorium, I whistle (a bit too loudly for the woman in front) and then it starts. The deep sound of Glen Hardin’s piano coming at me in the darkness, signalling the beginning of ‘Also SprachZarathustra’.  My heart’s pounding. I can’t believe it’s happening. Trumpets, drum roll, lights and there’s Elvis! Strutting in colour, on the big screen, just like he did 26 years ago. I don’t know where to look. In between screaming and watching Elvis, I spot Ronnie Tutt on the drums, James Burton on guitar, Jerry Scheff on bass, Glen Hardin on piano, The Sweet Inspirations on backing vocals and up the back, Joe Guercio conducting. I need to settle down a bit. The lady in front doesn’t like me. I’m too loud, but I don’t care. I’ve been waiting all my life for this.

I hardly hear ‘See See Rider’, but have settled down for ‘Burning Love’, one of my favourites. I know I’m singing too loudly. People are looking at me. The song finishes, I whistle, the lady in front blocks her ears. I want to get closer. On each side of Elvis are two smaller screens showing the band playing and the audience up front. I need to get there, up close. I tell myself to settle down.

I do just that, taking it all in, looking at the people around me, wondering why they’re not getting into it like me. The good looking forty-somethings behind me are dancing sitting down. Get up, I tell them, but they just smile and wave. The show goes on, all the songs I want to hear. I stare at the band members on stage. They knew Elvis! They played with Elvis.

‘In the Ghetto’ begins and there’s a montage of Elvis as a kid, growing into a young man. When ‘Bridge Over Troubled Water’ starts I quieten down. I feel sad all of a sudden. The tears well up and start rolling down my cheeks. Elvis is dead. Suddenly I’m back in 1973, a kid without a care in the world. The tears won’t stop, Mum loved this song. She died seven months ago but I know she’s with me tonight. I hope no one can see me crying but at the same time I don’t care. The song ends, the lights come up. Intermission.

On the way out I speak to one of the sixty-somethings and her daughter. Having a good time, I ask. Oh yes, we sure are and so are you love.

I grab a couple of beers. I’m loving this. I know the magic’s not there, how can it be? The star’s been dead for 23 years, but I’m going to enjoy this for what it is.

After the break, ‘If You’re Looking for Trouble’ blasts out from the giant screen. I’m not, but people are dancing in front of the stage. Bugger this. I walk down the aisle but the security guard tells me to get back to my seat. How come they’re allowed? Sit down or you’ll be out. I watch the big screen. Elvis is singing ‘All Shook Up’ and I know how he feels. I’m the only one singing, the forty-somethings are still dancing on their bums and the people up front are swaying in front of the stage. They’re young and good looking. Ring-ins, I decide. What about the true Elvis fan, stuck in the bleachers?

I see a different security guard. This is my chance. March down like you own the joint. He grabs my arm and tells me in no uncertain terms to get back to my seat. Defeated, I start to head back as Elvis sings ‘Teddy Bear’. Just at that moment the choir, not needed for the faster songs, dances past me in a conga line. Without thinking I jump in, grab someone’s hips and dance down to the front.

‘The Wonder of You’ begins as I push my way through the ring-ins and plant myself centre stage. I’m so excited I start yelling to Jerry Scheff, “JERRY, I LOVE YA, JERRY, WHOOOH”.  He waves to me, he knows what I’m about. “JAMES, JAMES BURTON. HEY JAMES, I LOVE YA”.  He nods his head towards me.  Hey, I’m making contact, this is great.  “RONNIE, RONNIE TUTT, I LOVE YA SON”.  It’s no use, he can’t hear me over the drums. I wave and blow kisses to The Sweet Inspirations. One of them waves back. People are looking at me. I watch Joe Guercio conduct. I yell but he can’t hear me. Glen’s over there on the piano, doing his thing.  

I’m in Elvis Heaven and then ‘Suspicious Minds’ starts up. It doesn’t get any better than this. I’ve got my collar up once again, doing all the moves. I look up and see myself on the screen next to Elvis! I’m aware of a camera beside me. I’m performing to 10,000 people and loving every second of it, just like in Mum’s mirror all those years ago. I get someone to take a photo of me. ‘American Trilogy’ is in full swing. I’m transfixed, singing every word with Elvis. Once again I appear beside him on the screen, my arms outstretched, my love for him complete. Nothing else matters.

The concert finishes and the band reach down to shake hands. I grab Jerry’s and kiss it. Thanks for making a young boy’s dream come true, I tell him. He smiles. I don’t want to let his hand go, but he pulls it free. I grab Glen’s hand and kiss it. Ronnie Tutt comes down. I try to kiss his hand but he won’t let me. How about a drumstick, Ronnie, I yell. He goes behind his drums and throws one in my direction. I walk out, drumstick safely in my pocket. Three people tell me they loved my dancing on the big screen. I buy an Elvis hat, an Elvis in Concert CD, a program and an Elvis teddy bear for my daughter. Then I’m off to The Hyatt.

I plant myself at the bar and wait. I drink a beer. How come I’m the only groupie? I look up and there’s Joe Guercio ordering a drink right beside me. “Joe, can you sign my hat? Joe, what was Elvis like?” “He was a great guy”. “Joe, what was the best concert he ever did?”  “It’s hard to say, he did so many”. Thanks, Joe. 

Then I spot Glen Hardin. “Glen, thanks for making all my dreams come true. Can you sign my hat?” “Sure thing”. “What’s the best concert he ever did? Oh, I’d have to say Hawaii”. Thanks Glen. I spot the roadie from before the show. I buy him a drink, thank him for the inside information and ask after Ronnie Tutt. He won’t be down for a drink. He goes to bed early. He recently had bypass surgery, but I need my drumstick signed. I go to the hotel phone and ask for Mr Ron Tutt’s room. His wife answers. I ask for Ronnie. Sorry, he’s in bed. I explain about my drumstick and how I used to love watching Ronnie play, how he always looked like he was having so much fun and could he please sign my drumstick? She tells me to hang on a minute, I’ll go ask him. She comes back and says Ronnie remembers me and she’ll be down in a minute. She takes my drumstick up and gets it signed. When she gives it to me I shake her hand and tell her to tell Ronnie he just made a young boy’s dream come true. Back in the bar I see The Sweet Inspirations. They all sign my hat. Jerry Scheff doesn’t come down and won’t answer his phone.

I’m just about to go when the roadie points out James Burton sitting at a table. I go over. “James, great show”. “Thanks. Could you please sign my hat?” “Sure”. “What was the best concert Elvis ever did”? “Probably Aloha from Hawaii”.  Thanks James, thanks for making a young boy’s dream come true … 

I’m just about all Elvised out when the taxi pulls up outside my house. It’s 4.00am and I’m a little bit emotionally exhausted. What to do? Catch a few hours sleep before the kids wake up, or keep the night going? Another beer maybe. There’s a bungalow out the back with a mirror. All I need is my Aloha from Hawaii CD and a spoon. Five minutes later, I’m standing in front of the mirror, collar up, with the sound of Glen Hardin’s piano coming at me from the darkness.  

Andy Doherty 2000

 

 

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