July 12th - Graceland
Sep. 19th, 2010 09:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camrogers
The night before visitng Memphis, we sat for twenty minutes in the parking lot of a Sonic in Oxford, Mississippi. Thick humidity. I had the window down. In the greenery and from the gloomed-out surrounds came the songs of crickets, cicadas and peepers. Not for the first time the place made me think of Cairns. On the clipped green lawns of plantation houses a few blocks away select pieces of wooden furniture stood arranged at carefully chosen points, ghostly dim in the distance. The next morning we'd wake and I'd ride shotgun, scribbling all this stuff down while April drove us toward Memphis listening to The Black Keys.
Sun Studio was our first stop. I'm still looking into whether or not I can repost that article here since it was bought by The Age, but I daresay it'll be back up before long.
We crossed the Tallahatchee River, rain spattering the windshield, crawling in horizontal streaks across the passenger-side window. Made me think of the kind of art projects preschoolers do with ink and a drinking straw. Made me think of Billy Connolly talking about his work on The Big Man with Liam Neeson, the cliche of a face behind a rain-hit window, drops like tears and all that.
Graceland was the single most touristy thing I did in the entire time I was traveling.
I grew up with Elvis. In our household he was the second-ranking musician behind Slim Dusty. To this day I can't listen to either of them without a faint sense of panic, before I remind myself that I'm 38, everything's okay and I did make it to the end credits of Escape from Fucking Queensland.
For as long as I can remember Elvis nostalgia was a thing steeped in melancholy and sadness; a sadness unrecognised by the people who practice that nostalgia. And I think that veneration of this dead man is a very different thing depending on whether you're a man or a woman. A longing for the unattainable. For men it's a desire for virility, admiration and above all, to be remembered. For women it's a desire for big-assed romance, cliched and turbocharged. The kind of romantic ideal that falls apart if you think about it too much. An impossible dream, pretty much, for all concerned.
I understand the point-of-view of people who were at just the right age when rock 'n' roll broke. Hell, I wish I was one of those people. Being a teenager in a world of Acker Bilk that suddenly got turned on to leather jackets, fast cars and overdriven electric guitars? Holy shit. That must have felt like a jailbreak. I understand how something that massive dropping onto your head is going to imprint. How you'll keep referring back to this perfect thrumming thing, like a lodestone, for the rest of your life.
But...
When I was a kid, even at age 8, Mum's likeing/love of Elvis raised questions I couldn't answer. "Don't you love Dad?" I could see the girl she used to be inside the woman before me, and wondered if this meant she wouldn't be here if she had a choice. The relationship women have with the Elvis memory is the same relationship, I believe, they probably have with romance novels.
And my mother read a lot of romance novels.
I've never encountered a wealthy, well-to-do woman who had the same affection for the Elvis memory that women from lower income brackets do. But I have met wealthy male Elvis fans. I think that's key. For women I think he embodies what they believe would mend their lack. For men I believe he's a role model. Something to aspire to. WWED? TCB.
Which brings me to Graceland Too and the man who built, lives in and curates it. That's the next article. But take a look at the shots from inside Graceland itself. It'll serve as a kind of comparison to what comes next.
Living Room.
His parents' bedroom, ground floor.
Dining Room. ( It occurs to me that these shots are slightly off-kilter. Didn't notice that before.)
Kitchen.
Something April said that I have to agree with is that Graceland is, by 2010 standards at least, a little unspectacular. The kitchen and 'jungle room' really brought that home. The place reminds me of the kinds of homes I was taken to as a small child. The homes of friends who threw parties and barbecues. I can still feel woolen shagpile beneath my hands as I wondered when the hell I got to get out of there. Brown and avocado, man. And burnt orange. Who ever thought that was a good idea?
The famous 'jungle room'.
From Wikipedia: "... which features an indoor waterfall, among other modifications. In February and October 1976, the Jungle Room was converted into a recording studio, where Presley recorded the bulk of his final two albums, From Elvis Presley Boulevard, Memphis, Tennessee and Moody Blue; these were his final known recordings in a studio setting."
Apparently the deep green shag, water feature, animal skulls and monkey statues were quite the novelty at the time.
Elvis' fusebox. Is it just me or did men of a certain generation all have the same handwriting?
TV Room. Apparently Elvis heard the President kept up to date on world goings on by watching three TVs at once. So he did the same thing.
Bar, adjacent to TV room.
Pool Room. A hellacious amount of material went into lining the walls and ceiling. I saw this abomination, immediately thought of
drwally, and bought him a postcard saying so.
Garage/Office.
Elvis fan art.
Presley family graveside.
An entire family, buried by the pool (topmost). In my opinion, weird. Actually, this photo captures how I feel about the whole place: that being there is intrusive. It's not some spectacular monument, it's some dead guy's house and every day legions of strangers tramp through and gawk. While I was standing at the graveside a family came by: a woman in a tracksuit, husband in a wheelchair, and two kids.
Son: "Did people die under there?"
Mother: "Yes they did, honey."
Father: "Did you photograph all the graves?"
Mother: (sadly) "Yeah, honey, I got 'em all."
That mix of melancholy, nostalgia and that sense of intrusion... made me want to split pretty quickly. Which we did shortly after.
The full Graceland Flickr set is here.
rufus' far more comprehensive Flickr set of both Sun Studio and Graceland can be found here.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-19 12:59 pm (UTC)You didn't take any Slim on tour? That'd've been great.
Admittedly, I was lucky enough not to grow up anywhere but FNQ, but Slim reminds me of D&D games.
Trufax.
It would also be ideal if you took 'Wide Open Road' by The Triffids.
I am sure it is REQUIRED by Australian law.
We were an Elvis family, mostly. I have seen more Elvis movies than I care to.
The Beatles and the Stones were verbotten.
Sadly, Abba and the Bee Gees weren't.
Fucking disco.
Being a teenager in a world of Acker Bilk
Oh. We had Nana and Demis and James FUCKING Last. And Clayderman.
That was bad too.
But God had already given rock and roll to me. Sadly, also disco.
But a world of bland... Just lunch with the family these days can be painful on a musical score.
(Aside: who was the guy who played the pan pipes? Or the Irish dudes? You must remember those "K-Tel" all stars. Oh, and Tony Barber.)
TCB.
I hate I know what that is without the link.
His parents' bedroom is pretty tame. Is that carpet in the kitchen?
I don't know where I saw it, but I am sure we discussed it on LJ years ago, but there was an abandoned tacky house ... Mike Tyson? MC Hammer. Oy. Too much money, too few mouths.
That Panda is cute. I wonder if Elvis and Priscilla decorated it themselves. It looks... lived in. Not BH&G awful.
What are peepers?
no subject
Date: 2010-09-19 03:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-19 03:14 pm (UTC)http://retardzone.com/2008/09/23/abandoned-mike-tyson-mansion-in-ohio/
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 01:31 am (UTC)I'd forgotten Richard Clayderman. Jesus. I think that guy still performs.
And peepers are frogs. :)
The 'lived in' thing is part of why it felt wrong being there. It's just some dude's house.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 01:36 am (UTC)Yeah, I think he does.
Aha.
A dude some people think is akin to God.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 01:42 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 08:32 pm (UTC)The kitchen is indeed carpeted. Horribly, horribly carpeted.
The pool room still gives me vertigo.
As I recall, they said the chair with the panda in it was Lisa Marie's favorite. Apparently, she's fearless.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-20 11:25 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-21 12:30 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-21 03:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-09-21 12:33 pm (UTC)