Elvis Presley, Words & Music: 10^th Anniversary Commemorative Album (1987)

This was the first album – compilation – by Elvis Presley that I ever heard. You see my mum is a huge Elvis fan. Still is. Always was. So much so that her and my dad still have a petty wee argument where dad will only ever admit that Elvis was “a good singer”, he then dismisses him for being thick and “not a musician” and “a terrible actor” and my mum laughs and says that dad is jealous. And in a way he is. He’s jealous of my mum’s love of Elvis – because he can’t fathom it. He can’t see beyond the teen-girl crush. And though that’s what drives my mother’s love of Elvis she has an understanding of him at his best and worst. She can see the wood, having been attracted to the trees. Dad has his Beatles and that’s cut and dry. The world admires them as writers and singers. As players. As a band. As studio innovators. But Elvis was more than a hair-do and hips. Even if it was the hair-do and hips that (first) meant he was anything. So, anyway, I bought this album for my mum for Christmas. I was ten years old. I have only just noticed in writing this that it was released the year I bought it and that it was subtitled: 10^th Anniversary Commemorative Album. So it was the first set of Elvis songs I heard. I knew a few of the big, big hits: Hound Dog and That’s All Right Mama and Are You Lonesome Tonight and All Shook Up and all the usual things (that I don’t need to link to for you). But this was also my introduction to a few songs (like G.I. Blues and Wooden Heart). It’s an interesting compilation and arguably one that still works. But the real reason I’ve kept it is for the story. Not the story of mum and dad’s on/off argument – one that is nowhere near as severe as I may have made it sound but it has certainly got longevity. It’s been going now for 20 years as far as I can remember. And probably a bit longer before that. Though, come to think of it, maybe their Elvis argument started when this album came in to the house? Anyway, the real story of this album is that the very day I handed it over, the Christmas Day which was at the end of 1987; we were all around at our house in the evening, my grandparents and some cousins and aunties and uncles and friends. It had been the usual lunch earlier in the day and this was a Christmas Day night spectacular. The adults getting on the booze. Quart bottles etc. The kids on Soda-Stream. There was a spa pool, classily hidden from view by a Ponga fence. And a Para pool too! So the stereo is going and people are having a good time. And so on. Then my mum decides she wants to give this Elvis record a spin you see. It had been played at least three times earlier in the day but it was such a novelty. It was the first Elvis Presley my mum had had on vinyl since she was a kid collecting the singles. And so she puts on the Words & Music LP and people are digging Jailhouse Rock and Guitar Man. But one man wasn’t digging any of this guitar carry on. My grandfather had, within seconds of the needle dropping, stood, collected his things, his present from us (a big tri-pillow). And he just stormed out. No way was he having Elvis. No way. He left his wife (my grandmother) in the house to chatter or whatever. And after a few minutes when the realisation kicked in that he wasn’t coming back we went out to check where he was. He was in his car in the driveway – reading a book. He wasn’t expecting my grandmother to follow. He wasn’t angry with anyone enjoying themselves. He was just not going to sit around while Elvis played. No way. No chance. He was in to classical music only. Well, some Charley Pride too on the odd occasion. But Elvis? Hell no. No Elvis. No Beatles. Rock’n’roll had, we later figured, threatened his core values and all but stolen his son from him. (My dad played bass in a band, a Beatles-styled violin bass). I still think about that – often when Elvis plays, and whenever I so much as look at the cover to this album. It’s a magical moment for me. It’s as if that was the day I learned to appreciate Elvis. And learned the stroppy, silly power of intolerance. In a way I thought my grandfather was a stupid old fool for not wanting to be part of the party. But in a way I respected the hell out of him for storming out. With his tri-pillow. Off to read his book.

Sample Track: Didja’ Ever

The Vinyl Countdown is a document of every LP I listen to, brand new discoveries and old-old favourites; extremely pre-loved, previously abandoned or with the shrink-wrap having just been removed it’s all here at The Vinyl Countdown