John Whitehead's Commentary
In Elvis We Trust: The King at 70
The recent observance of what would have been Elvis Presley's 70th birthday is an indicator of how strongly we tend to mythologize pop idols. In an age where innocence has been lost and there are few pop figures worth idolizing, it is easy to see why the image of Elvis is so engrained. With his wiggling hips, jet black hair and mumbling delivery, Elvis became the vanguard of change.
Presley's rise to icon was meteoric. But the Elvis revolution was largely accidental. Elvis was, in the words of author David Halberstam, "an innately young man who arrived at the right place at the right time."
Two forces forged the image of Elvis. One was movies. James Dean fascinated Presley, and his film Rebel Without A Cause was one of Presley's favorites. As Presley told an interviewer: "I've made a study of poor James Dean. I've made a study of myself, and I know why girls, at least the young'uns, go for us. We're sullen, we're broodin', we're something of a menace. I don't understand it exactly, but that's what the girls like in men. I don't know anything about Hollywood, but I know you can't be sexy if you smile. You can't be a rebel if you grin."
The other force, of course, was music, which symbolized a reconciliation of white and black cultures. Sam Phillips, a Memphis recording man and an enthusiast of black music, had long been looking for someone like Elvis--"a white boy," as Phillips said, "who could sing like a black boy and catch the beat of black music." Phillips immediately liked Presley's early greaser style and recorded him on his now-legendary Sun label.
Raw and untamed, Presley's 1954-55 tracks for Sun were some of his best. His first recordings were "That's All Right, Mama" by black bluesman Arthur Crudup and "Blue Moon of Kentucky" by bluegrass singer Bill Monroe. Country music, blended with black blues, appealed to American popular culture. When Presley's songs were played on a local Memphis station, they were an immediate success. Elvis was what the nation wanted--a white boy to explode into the black beat and capture it for the whites.
The crossover, led by Bill Haley, Chuck Berry and Little Richard, was in full force. Parents and ministers might have disapproved of the beat or disliked their children listening to "black music," but their disapproval only added to Presley's popularity and made him more of a hero among the young.
Moreover, in the new subculture of rock 'n' roll, the important authority figures were no longer statesmen or parents but disc jockeys who reaffirmed the right to youthful independence and guided teenagers to their new rock heroes. For the first time in American life, teenagers became a separate defined culture and Elvis was the first beneficiary.
As Presley conquered the South with regional appearances, he perfected his act by including gyrations similar to the movements of gospel singers he had seen in church. The crowds loved it. From then on, it became part of his act and the teenage girls started to maul him.
Ed Sullivan reached the height of his power in 1956, and his television show mesmerized America. Sullivan did not like rockers in general and initially said that he wanted nothing to do with Presley because his act was too sexually suggestive. However, he changed his mind after being beaten in the ratings for the first time ever by Steve Allen when Presley appeared on Allen's show. Sullivan signed Elvis for three shows for $50,000--an unprecedented figure. On the first show, the producers intentionally shot Presley from the waist up. After the third show, Sullivan told the audience that Presley was a "real decent, fine boy."
Sullivan's statement resembled the generous speech of a man receiving a surrender. In reality, Sullivan himself had surrendered to market economics. It augured a profound change in American taste. "In the past," writes Halberstam, "whites had picked up on black jazz, but that had largely been done by the elite. This was different; this was a visceral, democratic response by the masses. It was also a critical movement for the whole society: The old order had been challenged and had not held. New forces were at work, driven by technology. The young did not have to listen to their parents anymore."
Presley soon became a film star. Once an usher in a Memphis movie theater, he made over thirty Hollywood films (mostly very bad, with a few exceptions). By the late 1960s, most observers considered Elvis outdated. However, the classic 1968 Singer television special for NBC proved that Presley could still perform.
In the mid-1970s, Presley's comeback was an established fact. However, his 1972 divorce traumatized him, bringing violent mood swings. Elvis also ate voraciously, consuming a dozen cheeseburgers and a pound of bacon at a time, literally ballooning to about 250 pounds.
Elvis also cancelled appearances. And after hints of drug dependence circulated, he secluded himself in Graceland or his Palm Springs home. His death in August of 1977 shocked and saddened his fans worldwide.
Like his idol James Dean, Elvis' afterlife has become stronger than his existence. Elvisism began shortly after his death and has now become, in essence, a religion. Thousands of people still believe Presley is alive.
Avid fans have even created an Elvis calendar year. Those who live by the Elvis year mark, among others, such days as his birthday (January 8) and the holiest of holy days, the day Elvis died (August 16).
August 16 is the climax of Elvis Week in Memphis, when disciples gather to remember "the king." Many of the fans impersonate Elvis. Jane and Michael Stern's book on pop culture describes the event on Elvis Presley Boulevard: "A hundred or more impersonators among them will begin to sneer like he did, and pose with their capes spread, and gyrate their hips and sing 'Heartbreak Hotel.' Suddenly, for a moment, it is easy to believe that whether or not he is dead, Elvis is, like God, everywhere."
Presley's rise to icon was meteoric. But the Elvis revolution was largely accidental. Elvis was, in the words of author David Halberstam, "an innately young man who arrived at the right place at the right time."
Two forces forged the image of Elvis. One was movies. James Dean fascinated Presley, and his film Rebel Without A Cause was one of Presley's favorites. As Presley told an interviewer: "I've made a study of poor James Dean. I've made a study of myself, and I know why girls, at least the young'uns, go for us. We're sullen, we're broodin', we're something of a menace. I don't understand it exactly, but that's what the girls like in men. I don't know anything about Hollywood, but I know you can't be sexy if you smile. You can't be a rebel if you grin."
The other force, of course, was music, which symbolized a reconciliation of white and black cultures. Sam Phillips, a Memphis recording man and an enthusiast of black music, had long been looking for someone like Elvis--"a white boy," as Phillips said, "who could sing like a black boy and catch the beat of black music." Phillips immediately liked Presley's early greaser style and recorded him on his now-legendary Sun label.
Raw and untamed, Presley's 1954-55 tracks for Sun were some of his best. His first recordings were "That's All Right, Mama" by black bluesman Arthur Crudup and "Blue Moon of Kentucky" by bluegrass singer Bill Monroe. Country music, blended with black blues, appealed to American popular culture. When Presley's songs were played on a local Memphis station, they were an immediate success. Elvis was what the nation wanted--a white boy to explode into the black beat and capture it for the whites.
The crossover, led by Bill Haley, Chuck Berry and Little Richard, was in full force. Parents and ministers might have disapproved of the beat or disliked their children listening to "black music," but their disapproval only added to Presley's popularity and made him more of a hero among the young.
Moreover, in the new subculture of rock 'n' roll, the important authority figures were no longer statesmen or parents but disc jockeys who reaffirmed the right to youthful independence and guided teenagers to their new rock heroes. For the first time in American life, teenagers became a separate defined culture and Elvis was the first beneficiary.
As Presley conquered the South with regional appearances, he perfected his act by including gyrations similar to the movements of gospel singers he had seen in church. The crowds loved it. From then on, it became part of his act and the teenage girls started to maul him.
Ed Sullivan reached the height of his power in 1956, and his television show mesmerized America. Sullivan did not like rockers in general and initially said that he wanted nothing to do with Presley because his act was too sexually suggestive. However, he changed his mind after being beaten in the ratings for the first time ever by Steve Allen when Presley appeared on Allen's show. Sullivan signed Elvis for three shows for $50,000--an unprecedented figure. On the first show, the producers intentionally shot Presley from the waist up. After the third show, Sullivan told the audience that Presley was a "real decent, fine boy."
Sullivan's statement resembled the generous speech of a man receiving a surrender. In reality, Sullivan himself had surrendered to market economics. It augured a profound change in American taste. "In the past," writes Halberstam, "whites had picked up on black jazz, but that had largely been done by the elite. This was different; this was a visceral, democratic response by the masses. It was also a critical movement for the whole society: The old order had been challenged and had not held. New forces were at work, driven by technology. The young did not have to listen to their parents anymore."
Presley soon became a film star. Once an usher in a Memphis movie theater, he made over thirty Hollywood films (mostly very bad, with a few exceptions). By the late 1960s, most observers considered Elvis outdated. However, the classic 1968 Singer television special for NBC proved that Presley could still perform.
In the mid-1970s, Presley's comeback was an established fact. However, his 1972 divorce traumatized him, bringing violent mood swings. Elvis also ate voraciously, consuming a dozen cheeseburgers and a pound of bacon at a time, literally ballooning to about 250 pounds.
Elvis also cancelled appearances. And after hints of drug dependence circulated, he secluded himself in Graceland or his Palm Springs home. His death in August of 1977 shocked and saddened his fans worldwide.
Like his idol James Dean, Elvis' afterlife has become stronger than his existence. Elvisism began shortly after his death and has now become, in essence, a religion. Thousands of people still believe Presley is alive.
Avid fans have even created an Elvis calendar year. Those who live by the Elvis year mark, among others, such days as his birthday (January 8) and the holiest of holy days, the day Elvis died (August 16).
August 16 is the climax of Elvis Week in Memphis, when disciples gather to remember "the king." Many of the fans impersonate Elvis. Jane and Michael Stern's book on pop culture describes the event on Elvis Presley Boulevard: "A hundred or more impersonators among them will begin to sneer like he did, and pose with their capes spread, and gyrate their hips and sing 'Heartbreak Hotel.' Suddenly, for a moment, it is easy to believe that whether or not he is dead, Elvis is, like God, everywhere."
ABOUT JOHN W. WHITEHEAD
Constitutional attorney and author John W. Whitehead is founder and president of The Rutherford Institute. His most recent books are the best-selling Battlefield America: The War on the American People, the award-winning A Government of Wolves: The Emerging American Police State, and a debut dystopian fiction novel, The Erik Blair Diaries. Whitehead can be contacted at staff@rutherford.org. Nisha Whitehead is the Executive Director of The Rutherford Institute. Information about The Rutherford Institute is available at www.rutherford.org.
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