January 8, 1935—The two-room house in Tupelo, Miss., where Elvis Presley was born was a far cry from his later mansion Graceland, but there was an element of “Heartbreak Hotel” in how he came into the world: His twin, Jesse Garon, was stillborn, leaving Elvis in later years to wonder how he came to survive—and how he could console his beloved mother for her lost child.
Let’s get this straight right now, okay? When it comes to music, there is only one king—the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Elvis.
Pharmacological abuse and Lisa aside, Michael Jackson had nothing in common with the man who stunned a nation with his appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show. “The King of Pop” was a title self-administered and, therefore, illegitimate.
Just as there’s only one King, there’s only one Elvis (sorry, Mr. Costello—you can go back to being Declan McManus), even though you might have heard over the years about the “French Elvis” (the recently ailing Johnny Hallyday), the “Welsh Elvis” (Tom Jones, in his younger, pelvis-swinging days), and the “Jewish Elvis” (Neil Diamond).
(The Irish, with our creative, charming audacity, have done all these groups one better—or, at least, one female of Irish descent has. “Elvis could have been Irish, yes, he could,” wrote Mary Ellen Sweeney a couple of years ago on the blog BellaOnline. “With his blue-black hair and bedroom eyes, he could have passed for ‘Black Irish’ any day of the week.”)
(By the way, kudos to Bruce Springsteen for his appellation, “The Boss.” That nickname, be it noted, enjoys two advantages over Michael Jackson’s: a) it echoes the earlier title—pays tribute to it, even—but strikes out in another direction, as Springsteen did with his music; and b) it derived from other people—his E Street “Band of Brothers,” asking him in their younger days when they’d get paid—rather than his own hype.)
Look, I could repeat for you all kinds of facts about Elvis (his gold records, his sexual conquests, his clothing, his wonderful ’68 comeback special, his strange strange strange Oval Office meeting with Richard Nixon), but why bother? You should know this by now. If you don’t, ask yourself: what rock you’ve been living under all these years?
Instead, for a minute, I thought I’d consider a somewhat more obscure aspect of the Elvis legend: his appearance on U.S. postal stamps.
I was interested in stamps when I was a kid for about a year or so. I’m not sure why I didn't become a fanatical philatelist, because as hobbies go, this one is pretty benign. It doesn’t encourage dreams of being a master of the universe, the way that, say, numismatics does. You actually have a chance to learn a great deal about U.S. and world history, art and geography.
On this date 17 years ago, on what would have been his 58th birthday, a special ceremony was held in Graceland, marking the issuance of a 29-cent stamp honoring The King—the inaugural issue in its Legends of American Music series, which would later include the likes of Hank Williams, Bing Crosby, and Louis Armstrong.
In an unusual move—an uncharacteristic stroke of vision, or at least marketing genius, anyway—the U.S. Postal Service asked the public to vote on which image they wanted: Elvis ca. 1956—a.k.a. “the young Elvis”—vs. Elvis in a 1970s, Vegas-style jumpsuit—the “old” Elvis.
Even Bill Clinton, a fan so avid that his Secret Service code name was Elvis, weighed in. I am not a fan of his Oval Office misbehavior, but I would be the last to gainsay the Man From Hope’s sense of public opinion. He—like myself—sided with the 75% of the vote that went for the young Elvis.
That image is okay, so far as it goes, showing Elvis with a tie and collar open, along with a yellow jacket.
But another Elvis image appeals to me more. I’m thinking of The King in a black leather jacket—the kind he wore on his Comeback Special (see the accompanying photo). Take a look at the image accompanying this post and see what I mean. Sleek, dangerous even, right?
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Far more than Brando in The Wild One, this is the American Rebel, the one who turned the music business upside down in the Fifties.
John Lennon probably had the best way with words of any of the Beatles, and I think he summed up the seismic impact of the King better than anyone: “Before Elvis there was nothing.”
Let’s get this straight right now, okay? When it comes to music, there is only one king—the King of Rock ‘n’ Roll, Elvis.
Pharmacological abuse and Lisa aside, Michael Jackson had nothing in common with the man who stunned a nation with his appearances on the Ed Sullivan Show. “The King of Pop” was a title self-administered and, therefore, illegitimate.
Just as there’s only one King, there’s only one Elvis (sorry, Mr. Costello—you can go back to being Declan McManus), even though you might have heard over the years about the “French Elvis” (the recently ailing Johnny Hallyday), the “Welsh Elvis” (Tom Jones, in his younger, pelvis-swinging days), and the “Jewish Elvis” (Neil Diamond).
(The Irish, with our creative, charming audacity, have done all these groups one better—or, at least, one female of Irish descent has. “Elvis could have been Irish, yes, he could,” wrote Mary Ellen Sweeney a couple of years ago on the blog BellaOnline. “With his blue-black hair and bedroom eyes, he could have passed for ‘Black Irish’ any day of the week.”)
(By the way, kudos to Bruce Springsteen for his appellation, “The Boss.” That nickname, be it noted, enjoys two advantages over Michael Jackson’s: a) it echoes the earlier title—pays tribute to it, even—but strikes out in another direction, as Springsteen did with his music; and b) it derived from other people—his E Street “Band of Brothers,” asking him in their younger days when they’d get paid—rather than his own hype.)
Look, I could repeat for you all kinds of facts about Elvis (his gold records, his sexual conquests, his clothing, his wonderful ’68 comeback special, his strange strange strange Oval Office meeting with Richard Nixon), but why bother? You should know this by now. If you don’t, ask yourself: what rock you’ve been living under all these years?
Instead, for a minute, I thought I’d consider a somewhat more obscure aspect of the Elvis legend: his appearance on U.S. postal stamps.
I was interested in stamps when I was a kid for about a year or so. I’m not sure why I didn't become a fanatical philatelist, because as hobbies go, this one is pretty benign. It doesn’t encourage dreams of being a master of the universe, the way that, say, numismatics does. You actually have a chance to learn a great deal about U.S. and world history, art and geography.
On this date 17 years ago, on what would have been his 58th birthday, a special ceremony was held in Graceland, marking the issuance of a 29-cent stamp honoring The King—the inaugural issue in its Legends of American Music series, which would later include the likes of Hank Williams, Bing Crosby, and Louis Armstrong.
In an unusual move—an uncharacteristic stroke of vision, or at least marketing genius, anyway—the U.S. Postal Service asked the public to vote on which image they wanted: Elvis ca. 1956—a.k.a. “the young Elvis”—vs. Elvis in a 1970s, Vegas-style jumpsuit—the “old” Elvis.
Even Bill Clinton, a fan so avid that his Secret Service code name was Elvis, weighed in. I am not a fan of his Oval Office misbehavior, but I would be the last to gainsay the Man From Hope’s sense of public opinion. He—like myself—sided with the 75% of the vote that went for the young Elvis.
That image is okay, so far as it goes, showing Elvis with a tie and collar open, along with a yellow jacket.
But another Elvis image appeals to me more. I’m thinking of The King in a black leather jacket—the kind he wore on his Comeback Special (see the accompanying photo). Take a look at the image accompanying this post and see what I mean. Sleek, dangerous even, right?
Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Far more than Brando in The Wild One, this is the American Rebel, the one who turned the music business upside down in the Fifties.
John Lennon probably had the best way with words of any of the Beatles, and I think he summed up the seismic impact of the King better than anyone: “Before Elvis there was nothing.”
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