Elvis Presley

Songs crafted with the intent of pleasing the general audience, they’re called pop music. Music scholars claim that pop music developed during the mid-50s. It’s been more than fifty years since. In that length of time, innumerous pop songs have been written, and yet, as hard as hordes of musicians try cement themselves the spots of being pop culture’s permanent leading forces of influence, only a scant few have succeeded: Elvis Presley, The Beatles, and Michael Jackson. Try to think of the 50s, you think of Elvis; 60s to 70s, The Beatles; 80s to 90s, Michael Jackson. I think it’s fair to say that we are still in search of a modern pop music icon who would define the era from 00s-onwards, and that’s also quite a reason that in Michael Jackson’s final years, a lot of people clamored for a comeback, nevermind that his life was still enshrouded in controversy. His death only further proves the point that musicians like him, The Beatles, and Elvis achieve mythological statuses; like the gods, their works are immortal, in which the deaths of their creators will not lessen the marks they left on the landscape of pop, which entails much of the whole world.

Strange then, that while it’s agreed that Michael Jackson is a master performer, and that while the media eulogizes about The Beatles at least once every year (frankly I’m sick of the eulogizing), people have more divided opinions about Elvis Presley. If you don’t believe this, bring him up the next time you speak with rock enthusiasts. Tell them of his 1984 induction in Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame, and I assure you the conversation will not go by without incident. With him, people are more inclined to doubt his skills as a musician, or, especially, his songs’ legitimacy of being classified as rock. Some go as far as to doubt his death (dead people don’t sweat, Elvis is alive!).

So, what’s my take? First, the 1994 Rock N’ Roll Hall of Fame. I think he deserves to be on it. Now hold your phone for a sec, will you? Most of those who’ll disagree with that statement weren’t alive during the time when Elvis broke through in the music industry anyway (ok, so wasn’t I), so it’s easy to overlook the songs from that decade, but listen: Before all the Bruce Springsteen anthems, before all the hair metal bands, before all the “depression” music that “speaks to teenagers”, Elvis’ songs were what rock music sounded like. Fats Domino, Chuck Berry, Jerry Lee Lewis, Little Richard and Buddy Holly, people agree that they are performers of rock. Elvis’ music has the same style, so shouldn’t he be considered rock too?

What about the fact that Elvis did not write his own music? I don’t see why that invalidates someone’s status as a rock performer. Plenty of early rock musicians made covers. The Rolling Stones spent their formative years interpreting blues standards. Were they rock? Hell, yeah. I’d also like to point out that in the time when people expected musicians to be smooth, suave and squeaky-clean, Elvis was an iconoclast by selling himself through his sex appeal. It may sound laughable now, because he is quite a sellout (trying too hard to please the mass market by appearing in movies despite lacking the acting chops) but without him, music wouldn’t veer to the counterculture, nor will live theatrics earn acceptance.

But fine. I’m not gonna force everyone to agree with me about Elvis, so I’ll end this discussion by pointing out that The Beatles were big Elvis-heads, even admitting that he’s their major inspiration. So if you maintain Elvis’s claim to rock as a fallacy, then please debate the same thing about The Beatles too. Not to mention Deep Purple, Bob Dylan, and loads more. With that out of the way, I’m sure you want to hear me extol Elvis’ skills as a musician, right?

Well, no, that’s not happening. This will vex you after I spent a few paragraphs passionately defending Elvis, but I’m not a big fan of him or his music. Too many people, when writing, slide so leisurely into their own comfort zone without acknowledging the opposing views. I try to be different; in the case of talking about Elvis, what you just saw was me recognizing his influence to many generations. But recognition != admiration. So while I give him credit, unlike those who think that discrediting him increases their self-worth, I’ll leave it at that. I would be lying if I said that Elvis’s songs are of any importance to my life, that they will stop me dead in my tracks so that I could absorb their every intricacy. Sure, I don’t outright dislike them, but whenever they play, I rarely pay attention. They’re kind of just there. Listening to all three albums included in 1001 albums catalog did nothing to change my attitude towards Elvis’s body of work. I’ll get into that right now.

Elvis Presley

Blue Suede Shoe (Elvis Presley)

If one is to judge the validity of the 1001 list based on how much copies of the albums were sold, Elvis Presley’s self-titled debut album is among the least contentious entries of the list (and also, that indie records have no business being there. By the way, I don’t support the notion that the quality of any works of art should be defined by the dollars they earned). That seems to be what the writers evidently suggested when they included it in the list despite saying that it’s “inconsistent”. I might be an oddball, but I liked this more than the other two, more critically-acclaimed Elvis albums in the list. Consistency may be a problem, but I preferred that it’s “rawer” compared to his later albums, which I think are sanitized to be more appealing, yet less exciting. There are a few songs here that everyone knows – Blue Suede Shoe, Tutti Frutti – but Hound Dog is nowhere to be heard here, at least in the album’s earlier issues. Nevertheless, if you can imagine those three songs stretched into the traditional album length of 12 tracks, you’ll have a good idea how the rest of the album sounds. There are a few ballads, however.

Elvis is Back!

Fever (Elvis Presley)

Elvis’s comeback album. At the time leading to the release of this album, he served in the military for two years, leading to his absence from the music industry. Hard to believe it now, but back then, musicians rapidly record new singles, so it was a big deal to be gone for two years. As for the content of this album, it still sounds quite like the first, with plenty of hip-swinging tracks and some ballads in between. This sounds cleaner, though, but that’s also why I found it less compelling. There are a few tracks that I liked more than anything found in the first, but they’re not so good or so plentiful as to offset my indifference to the rest. Fever is golden, Elvis sounds great when he’s singing low notes. I also liked The Girl of My Best Friend. A lot of the remaining tracks are still as tacky as most of anything from the first album.

From Elvis In Memphis

In The Ghetto (Elvis Presley)

Although Elvis grew up in Memphis, he spent long times in his recording career away from the city (and despite it being known for housing many recording studios). He was tired from traveling and making all the derivative movies, so he went back to Memphis to play the kinds of music that he grew up with: namely gospel and country. From the Wearin’ That Loved On Look, the first track of the album, he began with the line “I had to leave town for a little while”. It’s a straightforward love song, yet I can’t help thinking that there’s a hidden attack on the direction Memphis’ recording studio took since he’s left. Histories aside, Elvis sounds quite different in this album. In the past, when Elvis hits high pitch, I find his voice irritating because it always sounds like he’s going to crack. He seemed to have refined his high pitch here, however, so he sounded natural in any songs here, high or low pitch. (skip his “Hey Jude” in the latter 2-CD set reissue, though, because it sets his voice back 10 years) There’s also a change in the music style he’s using. Here, it’s mostly slow, country-sounding ballads, with only one up tempo “pelvis-movable” song, the supremely awful Power of My Love. Eeech, don’t get me started on that! So yeah, it’s interesting to see Elvis get away from his formula, but the result is still less than thrilling because the songs just blend. The one standout track is In The Ghetto, a song about growing up in the poor.

Frank Sinatra

I feel sorry for Frank Sinatra. How many times must he has turned in his grave for the way karaoke singers, to this day, continue to slaughter My Way? More than once I’ve seen reports about KTV bar brawls, or even murders, and the interviewed investigation personnel always jokes that an out-of-tune singing of My Way must’ve instigated the crime. Funny the torments that a song about dying with dignity can cause.

Because of that song, though, and the way he’s often portrayed by the media, I long had this notion that Frank Sinatra is the imago of a gentleman. Whenever I’m set to do a task, usually a daunting one, I tell myself to do it the Frankie way: forceful, manly (but not rough as macho is often attributed to), and with style – perhaps, suave as his singing voice. Strange, then, that for too long it was precisely all my flattering impressions of him that deterred me from ever listening to any of his albums. I believed he was too perfect, and I don’t want to listen to music from any musicians who is flawless. Further, I just didn’t like My Way, Strangers In The Night, or anything by him that is favored by karaokes. I’ve ignored him until two years ago, when I bought his Come Fly With Me and Come Dance With Me albums, just to be able to form substantiated opinions about Frankie’s work. Later on I got In The Wee Small Hours and Songs for Swingin’ Lovers, because those two consistently pop up in best albums of all time lists, including the one in 1001 Albums You Must Hear Before You Die. It was only in In The Wee Small Hours that I got to see Frankie as someone who dares show that he is vulnerable like all the rest of us.

02 - Mood Indigo (Frank Sinatra)

In The Wee Small Hours is Frank Sinatra’s comeback, years after his singing career was on a standstill. His first under Capitol Records (after leaving Columbia Records), it was notable for being, allegedly, a reflection of his widely publicized marriage with Ava Gardner. It’s a sad record, and feels like watching someone mourn. Frankie isn’t a composer. He doesn’t even write the lyrics of his songs. All he does most times is interpret American standards. Yet, his delivery in every tracks here is done with a sincerity that make them sound like they are written just so that they can be sung by him. The accompanying instruments are used sparely, as if to accentuate his gloom, like he was inviting only those who care about him to stay and hear of his troubles, while shooing all the rest who flock to him only when they’re in a party mood. It’s nearing dawn, the bar is getting empty, and he is sitting at a bar counter, staring at his glass of beer, babbling all his troubles out and drinking as if the alcohol will obfuscate all his bitter memories and make him forget all the tears streaming down his eyes.

04 - You Brought A New Kind Of Love To Me (Frank Sinatra)

A year after In The Wee Small Hours, he seems to have picked himself up again and, in Songs for Swingin’ Lovers, return to the up-tempo swing that he is so commonly associated with. I have to admit, I find him far less entertaining in this light than how he is when he’s depressed and blue (he would revisited that mood later in Only The Lonely). Often, swing music with any kind of vocalist frustrate me, in that I try to like them, but couldn’t. Maybe I’m missing the point of swing music, but I can’t stand the pomp of their arrangements, like every minute of the songs have to be smothered with 5 or more brasses (at least half of the tracks from Come Dance With Me is like that). Not with Songs for Swingin’ Lovers though, because I liked it quite a bit, and found it very memorable. I appreciate it for being quite restrained, without losing anything that makes swing music fitting for when I’m dancing with a partner held by her waist. Some tracks are louder than others, but there are always build-ups or slow-downs, giving them rooms for anyone, performers and listeners alike, to breathe.

03 - Change Partners (Frank Sinatra & Tom Jobim)

The last Sinatra album that made it to 1001 Albums is Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim. I don’t speak Portuguese, and have never gone to Brazil – though it’s in my wish list to go there – but I’m not ignorant about Brazilian music. In fact, I know quite a bit about Bossa Nova, and Francis Albert Sinatra & Antonio Carlos Jobim is not what I’ll consider a very good Bossa Nova album. A lot of folks say that the decline of Bossa Nova came as a result of it losing its cultural identity by pandering to American mass market. This album is a strong argument for that. Many jazz musicians banked on the popularity of Bossa Nova during the late 60s, but Frank Sinatra’s effort stand as being among the worst I’ve heard simply because it sounds like the epitome of quick cash-in. It really could’ve become a truly great Bossa Nova album, since Frank took the efforts to persuade Antonio Carlos Jobim, widely regarded as the father of Bossa Nova, to work with him. Alas, they didn’t complement well because they probably didn’t understand each other’s style. Frank sounds lazy here, without the fire in his earlier works; Jobim couldn’t write a more pedestrian arrangement in his sleep. The result is a collection unoffensive, but ultimately forgettable, songs. Why is it even in 1001 albums list?