My friend Wendy leads The Palm Desert Strummers who make beautiful ukulele music near the mid-century modern capital of the world: Palm Springs. Folks drive north, south, east, west from their desert abodes to play with this group. Snowbirds fly in for the winter, escaping the ice and cold of their homelands.
Last week they did one of the coolest gigs ever. And it has everything to do with Elvis.
Yes, THAT Elvis. The guy who would have turned eighty-one years old this month. IF he was still around to blow out the candles. Where was the gig? The Elvis Honeymoon Hideaway.
No kidding.
Apparently this is where Elvis and his bride Priscilla got “up close and personal.” Baby Lisa Marie was born exactly nine months later. You gotta love math.
Of course The Palm Desert Strummers play Elvis songs and are joined by an Elvis impersonator. Is it any wonder that Elvis has made more money as a dead person than an alive one? It’s like he’s still here. And in this case looking especially boyish and rosy-cheeked.
There is a reason I am bringing this up. I have my own Elvis story too…
I am packing up after a gig at an average retirement home in Los Angeles. There is a kind, portly fellow visiting a friend that day and he stays for the show. Afterwards this man offers to load my gear into the car. He has a warm southern drawl, rich with natural resonance that’s sweet like honey. He is what chivalry sounds like…
“What do you do for a living?” I chirp.
“I’m an Elvis impersonator.”
Oh really…
“How’d you get to be an Elvis impersonator?” That’s a good question, huh. I mean do you wake up one morning and realize you look and sound like the guy. AND have the marketing chops to book gigs and get paid for singing “Hound Dog,” swiveling your hips and flirting with the ladies?
He tells me that he sang in Elvis’s backup group. This was towards the end of Elvis’s career when the singer was rotund, sick and his vocal chops were chipped away. According to “Mr. Chivalry” some nights Elvis couldn’t even sing. That’s when the backup guys vocalized his part for him.
So far so good. This story is within the realm of, let’s say, possibility. But just as he’s leaning into my car trunk to re-arrange the amp, he goes all loopy.
“You know Elvis is still alive…”
“Elvis is still alive???” I repeat the words like a parrot who has just been bopped on the head by a falling coconut. “Elvis is still alive?” I aaaawk. He tells me there are things people don’t know. Will never know. This man is very sincere. And serious. I get the impression that, in his opinion, Elvis wanted out of the celebrity life and the only way to do that was to fake his death.
Gee maybe there are flying saucers too. May I remind you that I did this retirement home gig some fifteen years ago, long after Elvis had left this mortal coil. Or so we think.
But I love stories, especially “what if” stories and I begin to construct my own novella about Elvis. And me:
Free at last now that the world is grieving his death, Elvis is taking on a new identity. Like he’s in a witness protection program or something. He begins a second career working in the garden department of my local Home Depot. This is his new normal. One day I mosey in looking for a houseplant that will survive. In spite of me. And there he is. An older fellow, kind of marshmellowy-looking, receding hairline. He leads me to a perfect pothos hanging in a planter and says “how about this one.” I swear his voice can melt snow.
All right. Elvis probably died when Elvis died, but I chew on this story now and then, especially in January when I’m doing Elvis songs in my shows too. Stories can be so captivating. Soothing. They might even compel us to consider the impossible. Or at least the improbable. Isn’t there a brush stroke of imagination, magical thinking even, in the stories we tell ourselves? And others?
_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _
Well here’s another story and I’m sticking to it!
The Palm Desert Strummers have invited me to do a ukulele workshop in the land of Honeymoon Elvis, Tuesday, January 26, 2016. I did a workshop last year and let me tell you it feels mighty fine to be invited to do another one. Isn’t this something that makes our day? Being invited BACK. Whatever IT is. I’m doing my “Let’s Arrange A Song” class, but with two new songs. The workshop is totally different this year. We’ll play different strums, finger picking patterns and even try a little chord melody. There is something for both beginners and intermediate players.
I’ll also offer private lessons Wednesday morning, Jan 27 in Palm Desert. Maybe I’ll have time to swing by The Elvis Honeymoon Hideaway and marvel, one more time, how the currents of life move us in the most mysterious ways.
Cali Rose
From S.C.
Loved your Elvis stories. Brought back a memory of when my friend, Jean, and I went to an Elvis concert. She was a FAN — oh my God, was she ever — and she begged me to go with her. I think we were well into graying adulthood at that point, except that she tinted her hair and I didn’t give a damn. So, off we went, with her in a state of near hysteria as we awaited his appearance. And then there he was, onstage, glittery costume, flared pants — and stout. From the front you couldn’t really tell but when he turned sideways, oh, my . . . But the voice! Yes, still Elvis, although he periodically got tired and just lay down on the stage, still holding his hand mic and singing. Memorable.
When he finished he had a supply of silky scarves that he slid across his neck so that a trace of holy perspiration would adhere before passing them out to the rabid fans. Needless to say, Jean raced to up the stage like a whippet in heat and snagged one. As I said, memorable . . .
Cali Rose
From N.F.
Greatly enjoyed your Elvis blog. Lived in westchester for many years and my back yard neighbor came out onto the stoop and announced that it was raining because Elvis died today. She was very obese. She then proceeded that afternoon to get into a terrible auto wreck which required the jaws of life. As she related the story
of her rescue she told us that Elvis was watching over her during the whole ordeal. She prayed to Elvis during the rescue extraction because she thought she was slowly bleeding to death as warm blood was running down her head to her torso. When the firemen finally got to her she was relieved to learn that the ooze was the gallon of chocolate ice cream she purchased for dinner that evening and not oozing blood. I remember the memorial candles she lined up on the stoop for days after elvis’ s death–you know the big ones you get in the tall frosted glass holders with Jesus, Mary or whoever surrounded by crosses and prayers. We had a pet parakeet named Elvis but my brothers girlfriend was allergic to it so it went to the great beyond. As it turned out, so did brothers girlfriend.
Virginia (Ginny) Stone
I am very happy you will be Palm Desert to teach and talk and laugh.
God Bless you,
Ginny