Humes Middle School in North Memphis will close at the end of this school year, in a last-minute decision by Memphis-Shelby County Schools. The closure coincides with the end of Humes' charter under the state's takeover district for low-performing schools. (Caroline Bauman / Chalkbeat)
The last-minute decision to shutter the nearly 100-year-old building, where a young Elvis Presley attended high school, is a change in plans since the fall, when teachers were told the school would stay open, said Bobby White, head of Frayser Community Schools, the charter company that runs Humes for the state’s Achievement School District.
“I just wish it had been sooner,” White said of the decision.
The school has long struggled with low enrollment. Students will be rezoned to Booker T. Washington, a grade 6-12 school three miles away in South Memphis, according to Memphis-Shelby County Schools documents.
The decision, shared with families and staff in recent days, happened with little to no public discussion in the community or by the school board. And the prospect of students having to shift to a faraway school has some education leaders concerned.
Humes is one of five Memphis schools that are reaching the end of their 10-year term this summer. Of the other four, one will remain open and operated by MSCS, one received approval to operate under another state-run charter district, and one will continue to operate as a charter school under MSCS.
The fourth, MLK College Prep High School, operated by the Frayser charter network, is also set to close in its current building, but families have received more regular communication from the Memphis district about the changes there. MLK is set to merge with Trezevant High in the fall while a new neighborhood high school is built.
Meanwhile, the Humes community has been waiting for clarity. Last summer, the Memphis district rejected White’s application to continue running the school under Frayser Community Schools.
“When you’re dealing with poor, marginalized folks,” White said, “you respect them enough to communicate with them as soon as possible, and think through things in a way where they’re going to be valued and respected, where you’re doing right by them.”
For Humes, conversations changed after the district faced renewed concerns about the physical condition of the building, which turns 100 years old next year. When another charter school inquired about leasing the building during a January board meeting, then interim Superintendent Toni Williams said the building had “major issues.”
Around that time, Chalkbeat reported that a draft plan for all district schools suggested that Humes would close. Still, the district hadn’t communicated any new plans to Humes teachers and families since an earlier fall meeting, said White.
MSCS did not respond to Chalkbeat’s inquiries in time for the publication of this story. During a meeting with board members Tuesday, Superintendent Marie Feagins said the district reviewed several factors including the capacity of the buildings. Feagins, who became district leader on April 1st, told board members she was under the impression the news about Humes had already been shared.
The building is on the National Register of Historic Places because of Presley, who graduated in 1953 from Humes when it was a high school.
But enrollment at Humes has remained low since even before it was taken over by the state. It can serve more than 1,300 students, but only 193 are enrolled. A previous charter operator, Gestalt Community Schools, also struggled with low enrollment at Humes.
White says the district’s plans to send students from Humes’ zone out of the neighborhood for middle school could result in lower enrollment at Manassas High School in North Memphis.
Memphis board members Stephanie Love, who has kept a focus on schools in the turnaround district, and Michelle McKissack, whose district includes Humes, Manassas, and Booker T. Washington, both said the board should revisit the district’s policy on school zoning.
“The culture in South Memphis and North Memphis is not the same,” Love said, adding that she understands why families and teachers could be upset by the last-minute closure.
In a letter to parents, Feagins suggested that they consider Cummings K-8 Optional School and Grandview Heights Middle School as alternatives to Booker T. Washington. White said some of the students have considered nearby charter school options as well, including KIPP Collegiate Middle or Frayser Community Schools’ Westside Middle.
The district is holding online meetings for family members on April 17th at 12:30 p.m. and 5 p.m. A community meeting will be held at 6 p.m. at the Porter-Leath location at 628 Alice Avenue.
Laura Testino covers Memphis-Shelby County Schools for Chalkbeat Tennessee. Reach Laura at LTestino@chalkbeat.org.
Chalkbeat is a nonprofit news site covering educational change in public schools.
There’s something about James D. Gish that evokes Elvis.
He gets that from people. But especially since he began playing the dashing love interest, Fiyero, in Wicked on Broadway. “I’ll slick my hair for this show,” says Gish, 28, who is appearing in the musical through April 21st at the Orpheum Theatre.
Offstage, Gish’s hair has resembled the pompadour Elvis sported in his early movies. “Not on purpose. It’s sort of the way my hair sits.”
He isn’t trying to emulate The King on or offstage. But, ironically, ever since Gish was a child, Elvis was part of his life. “My family are such obsessive Elvis fans. When I was growing up, I had a dog named Elvis. And after he passed away I had a dog named Presley.”
And, Gish says, “Let’s just say, the garage was full — every wall — [of] Elvis memorabilia that my parents, especially my father, collected over the years.”
His family still watches Elvis movies and “Elvis CDs are playing throughout the house.”
Images of Gish also are included at their home. If his face appears on a poster at a venue or if his name is printed anywhere, his dad wants it. It then gets added to the “Elvis and James D. Gish Shrine.”
His dad still calls him “Presley” or “Elvis.” As in “I’ll see you later, Elvis,” Gish says. Or “Oh, have a great night, Elvis.”
That actually translates to “rock star,” Gish says. “He’s very proud. And I’m very fortunate that he’s proud.”
Born in Las Vegas, Gish was raised in Bullhead City, Arizona. His family is related to the famous silent screen actresses Dorothy and Lillian Gish, he says. “I know that my grandmother knew Lillian quite well. She said she would always attend the family reunion. She passed away before I was born.”
But, for Gish, it was singing “as a very young kid” before acting, Gish says.
He reluctantly joined the choir in high school. Then the guy who was playing the Beast in the school production of Beauty and the Beast had to drop out. “He had issues with family, school, or something. And they asked me to do it. And I ended up falling in love with it.”
Gish’s first Memphis visit was with his parents when he was 20 to participate in the United Professional Theatre Auditions. “Of course, we toured Graceland and went to Sun Studio.”
Like other tourists, Gish’s dad paid to have his son make a little recording at Sun Studio. “Most people sing ‘Hound Dog’ or ‘Viva Las Vegas.’ And I, of course, sang ‘Music of the Night.’”
Gish remembers looking at his proud father. “You just see him crying. With his son singing show tunes at Sun Studio.”
In 2017, Gish recorded an EP, So in Love, which rose to number six on the iTunes Classical Chart. It was “sort of a mishmash of a few different genres.”
The EP included an Italian aria as well as “soaring symphonic arrangements” of show tunes. And, he says, “We took Elvis’ ‘Can’t Help Falling in Love’ and adapted it into an up-tempo swing jazz number like a big band.”
Gish toured with the EP off and on for about a year before focusing on acting. “I missed having a full cast around me.”
He majored in business at Arizona State University, but at night he would audition for the Phoenix Theatre Company. “I just kind of took to it like a fish to water. It just felt right.”
Gish eventually moved to New York. “There’s no book on how to become an actor in New York City.” It’s just “falling on your face until you start to crawl and then walk and then run.”
From a small role in Les Misérables, Gish went on to appear in leading roles in plays, including one of his best known — Fabrizio in The Light in the Piazza.
Gish landed the role of Fiyero in Wicked on Broadway. “I love Fiyero because you get to play two very different people in one night, which is really cool. It’s fun to come on stage and get to be a ‘big shot’ — this cocky little punk who thinks he’s God’s gift.”
Then, in the second act, Fiyero’s character changes and he becomes more human. “He comes to know empathy, sympathy, and caring for other people.”
As for roles he’d like to play some day, Gish says, “I would really like to play a very quirky awkward character who lacks all self-confidence. I think I would do a character like that justice. I never get the opportunity. I sort of just get typecast as a Fiyero. A lot of cocky jerks or leading man types.”
When he’s not on stage, Gish likes to write young adult fiction books. He hasn’t tried to publish any yet, but, he says he’s currently working on a “young adult fantasy novel” that is “almost a historical allegory with fantastical elements.”
For now, Gish is taking care of business pursuing his work in the theater. He’s happy “the cards have fallen the way they have.”
Elvis revisits his rock and roll side in the '68 Comeback Special (Courtesy of Elvis Presley’s Graceland)
Elvis Week, those days in August surrounding the anniversary of Elvis Presley’s death, is here again, with its unlikely mixture of celebration and mourning, and Elvis Presley’s Graceland once again rises to the occasion of this great gathering of pilgrims. Check their website for a massive smorgasbord of events to choose from, all compelling in their own way: an Elvis tribute artist contest; The Conversations on Elvis series, featuring those who knew Elvis best sharing memories and stories; and of course the annual candlelight vigil on the night he died, Tuesday, August 15th (a Monday in 1977, the year of his death). This year, the same day will feature another event of mourning in remembrance of Lisa Marie Presley.
Yet Elvis Week also features, through the wonders of cinema, two brilliant concert films from the singer’s career, and thus two chances to witness his artistry very much alive and in full bloom. Such moments of bearing witness to what Elvis hath wrought help one lean into the celebratory side of the moment.
The Elvis ’68 Comback Special 55th Anniversary Enhanced Screening on Monday, August 14th, features an NBC television program that aired in December 1968, later dubbed “The Comeback Special.” But while filmed for TV, the high production values of Singer Presents … Elvis make it worthy of the cinematic treatment, especially with such iconic moments as his appearance in black leather with his Sun Records band, or bedecked in white, standing before his name in blazing red lights. Here’s a rare chance to see this era-defining show on a larger-than-life screen.
The enhanced screening on Monday will include special guest appearances by Allan Blye (writer),Gene McAvoy(art director), Mike Deasy (guitarist), and Tanya Lemani George(dancer), not to mention video interviews with those who were there.
The ’68 Comeback Special features brilliant performances, but can such a carefully crafted television production capture the electricity of a live concert? That’s where the Elvis: Aloha from Hawaii 50th Anniversary Concert film on Wednesday, August 16th, comes in. Elvis Presley’s Graceland doesn’t mess around with 50th Anniversaries, and this celebration is preceded with Sony’s Q&A listening event and an “Aloha” luau dinner.
The film itself captures the singer’s groundbreaking Aloha from Hawaii Via Satellite concert, performed at the Honolulu International Center on January 14, 1973. Not including the short broadcast of “All You Need is Love” via satellite by The Beatles in 1967, Aloha from Hawaii was the first entertainment special by a solo artist to be broadcast live around the world.
That itself was a technological marvel at the time. This year, more such marvels will make it possible to see Elvis’ Aloha from Hawaii concert live on the big screen, featuring vocals by the king himself, backed by a live band on stage. That’s right, a live band will be matching Elvis’ voice beat for beat for the entire show. The night will also feature a guest appearance by original TCB Band member Glen Hardin.
And there you have it, two great ways to get your Elvis on. Now you can pay your respects in the most fundamental way possible — by listening to him sing.
Lisa Marie Presley, the only child of legendary singer Elvis Presley, died Thursday in a Los Angeles hospital at the age of 54. Press reports state that the cause of death was a cardiac arrest.
Lisa Marie’s mother, Priscilla Presley, issued the following statement: “It is with a heavy heart that I must share the devastating news that my beautiful daughter Lisa Marie has left us. She was the most passionate, strong and loving woman I have ever known.”
Presley was the mother of four children and was formerly married to Michael Jackson and Nicolas Cage. She had been in Memphis as recently as January 8th, to help commemorate her late father’s 88th birthday at Graceland.
Credit: Elvis Presley’s Graceland/Facebook
“Priscilla Presley and the Presley family are shocked and devastated by the tragic death of their beloved Lisa Marie,” Elvis Presley’s Graceland posted on Facebook. “They are profoundly grateful for the support, love and prayers of everyone, and ask for privacy during this very difficult time.”
Memphis Mayor Jim Strickland issued the following email: “I am saddened to learn of the untimely death of Lisa Marie Presley. She will always be beloved in Memphis, and my thoughts and prayers are with Priscilla and the Presley family during this difficult time. I share my condolences with everyone who knew and loved Lisa Marie.”
The Flyer will update this story as more details emerge.
Lisa Marie Presley, Priscilla Presley, Austin Butler, and Baz Luhrmann at the Memphis premiere of “Elvis” June 11th, 2022 at the Guest House at Graceland. (Michael Donahue)
U.S. Rep. Steve Cohen (D-Memphis) released the following statement:
“I am terribly saddened. She was much too young. She was just here in Memphis on Sunday for her father’s birthday and talked about how energizing it was to be among his fans.
“She looks so much like her father. I was pleased to see her Tuesday night on the Golden Globes where she saw her father’s bio-pic recognized.
“I remember 1977 when Elvis died and how I was affected. When he died, it was personal because we’d grown up with him. This is a sad day for Elvis fans, including myself. I extend my deepest condolences to Lisa Marie’s mother, Priscilla, and to her children.”
Bob Johnson, who coined
“Million Dollar Quartet” (left), with Sam Phillips, Elvis, and UPI’s Memphis bureau chief, Leo Soroka. (Photo: Courtesy The Phillips Archive)
It was sometime in early 1952 when Don Paull and the Canyon Caravan released their debut 78 rpm single “Too Little Lovin’,” a record destined to fall into obscurity not long after. It’s mainly notable for being the first release on a fledgling label that the world might still be celebrating now, 70 years later, if the music had borne any mark of distinction. But you can’t win them all, especially with what was presumably the standard-issue Western swing sound of the day. All that was memorable about that release was the label: Sun. And even that was a flop.
But wait, let’s rewind. A flop? As it turns out, there’s an alternative history here, in a tale filled with what celebrated author Peter Guralnick calls “the other directions that might have been taken.” While the tiny Sun label of Albuquerque, New Mexico, simply evaporated within a year’s time, another company of the same name released its first single, “Drivin’ Slow,” by 15-year-old “alto wizard” Johnny London. There were twin Suns, you might say, born in 1952, only one of which survived. Only one of which went on to change the world.
It’s no accident that that resonates with the mythology of Elvis Presley, of course, for the Memphis-based Sun Records kickstarted his global success; for many, that’s where the Sun Records story begins and ends. Yet there are whole worlds and many diverse roads, both taken and not taken, contained in the Sun story. That’s made abundantly clear in a new deluxe volume published by Weldon Owen International, The Birth of Rock ‘N’ Roll: The Illustrated Story of Sun Records and the 70 Recordings that Changed the World. Now, 70 years later, those diverse roads are what make the label’s story so compelling.
That those stories are foregrounded is a testament to the volume’s seriousness of purpose. While it strikes the eye as a lovely coffee table book, the glossy pages and beautifully rendered archival photographs are complemented by the first-class writing of both Guralnick, who penned the definitive biography of Sun founder Sam Phillips, and Colin Escott, best known for his 1991 history of Sun, Good Rockin’ Tonight. All photos and layouts aside, it is their words which elevate The Birth of Rock ‘N’ Roll above the typical coffee table fare.
As Guralnick notes, “I think the book is a tribute to Sam’s statement: ‘If you’re not having fun, it isn’t worth doing.’ For me, this was just a lot of fun. It was such a pleasure working with both Colin and Karyn Gerhard, who was the editor on it. It was really a challenge at times, just making the book live up to what it was about, through its content. I’ve written a lot about Sun and Sam over the years, and when Karyn called up about this initially, ‘No’ was on the tip of my tongue. But I listened to Karyn’s vision of the book and what it could be, and ‘No’ never came out. I just said, ‘Yes.’”
Junior Parker (Photo: Courtesy Showtime)“Mystery Train” Record Label (Photo: Courtesy The John Boija Collection)
Beyond the Hits
It’s fortuitous that such a book might appear now, as Sun turns 70, fast on the heels of Baz Luhrmann’s film Elvis, not to mention the 2017 Sun Records miniseries, for it radically reframes what really mattered about the indie label. “It’s focused, the book. It’s not just all over the place,” says Guralnick. “Colin and I clearly have written so much about so many of the subjects in the book, but just reading Colin’s accounts, to me, they’re fresh. He’s not just recapping what he’s said before. For both of us, the opportunity to write in a somewhat different context about something we’d both written about before afforded us with an opportunity to tell the story in a somewhat different way.”
For his part, Guralnick’s contribution tells the Sun Records story through 70 little slabs of wax: an historical-minded sampling of the singles that made Sun great. And, as the author emphasizes, each selection is notable for how it fleshes out our understanding of Sun, above and beyond any commercial or musical success it may or may not represent. “I tried to use these selections of the different records to tell the story of Sun in a different way,” he says. “They’re not always my favorite. There’s nothing there I would disown, but the point is that in choosing some of the records — whether it was a single by Charlie Feathers, which showed a different direction he might have gone in, or by the Brewsteraires or the Jones Brothers, which suggest yet another direction Sam might have gone in — I’m trying to show that no paths were prescribed and no paths were proscribed. His curiosity was wide-ranging.”
Indeed, specific stories aside, it is Sam Phillips’ curiosity and venturesome taste that are most striking when perusing the 70 singles, underscored by the many blues tracks on Sun, now regarded as legendary. The first four on the list were never Sun releases at all, yet are crucial to the story, starting with the game-changing “Rocket 88” by Jackie Brenston and His Delta Cats, whose guitar amp was damaged during the drive up from Clarksdale, Mississippi. As Guralnick writes, “When the incongruously dapper white man [Phillips] plugged it in and turned on the power, there was a loud buzzing noise … but Sam Phillips seemed strangely undaunted. He liked the sound, he said, it was original, it was different — which for him evidently was the hallmark of creativity.”
Joe Hill Louis (Photo: Courtesy The Sheldon Harris Collection, University of Mississippi Libraries)“Gotta Let You Go” Record Label (Photo: Courtesy The John Boija Collection)
It’s the Phillips
Phillips’ embrace of strangeness helped establish his Memphis Recording Service, opened in 1950, as a go-to source of unique tracks for other labels like Chess and Modern to release. Sun Records did not yet exist, but its reigning aesthetic was already in place, expressed in Phillips’ oft-quoted maxim, “If you are not doing something different, you are not doing anything at all.” It turned out that the Delta Cats’ guitar distortion, which has led many to name “Rocket 88” the “first rock-and-roll record,” was nothing new to Phillips by then. A year earlier, he had already put his faith in Joe Hill Louis, the one-man-band.
After recording Louis playing and singing “Gotta Let You Go” and “Boogie in the Park” in the summer of 1950, Phillips was moved to start his own label in partnership with the gonzo Memphis DJ, Dewey Phillips (no relation). Appropriately dubbed “It’s The Phillips,” the label went nowhere, but it did set the stage for Sun. Louis’ guitar sound added a greasy crunch to the instrument’s sound that was nigh-unprecedented, with the exception of John Lee Hooker’s 1948 release on Modern Records, “Boogie Chillen’.” Hooker’s single had become a guiding star of sorts for Phillips. It embodied the very strangeness that Phillips would end up chasing the rest of his life.
Regarding “Boogie Chillen’,” Guralnick notes today that “that record was so influential, on Sam and the whole history of Sun. I forget how many remakes of it there were [on Sun], maybe just two or three, but you also have Jerry Lee Lewis’ ‘Whole Lotta Twistin’,’ which is also a remake of John Lee Hooker’s tune.” Indeed, it was boogie and blues that defined the output of the Memphis Recording Service from the start, be it Howlin’ Wolf or B.B. King. It was only natural that Sam Phillips began to chafe at the limited possibilities of simply selling his masters to labels in other cities; serving as both their recording engineer and A&R man, it was his aesthetic that guided the whole process. He deserved a bigger slice, and a greater say in what was or was not released.
Thus was Sun Records born, as Escott limns in his pithy yet brief overview of the label’s history. And if the first release was an uncharacteristically jazzy blues by a teenage “alto wizard,” it was followed, (after a brief hiatus) in January of 1953 with a string of unpolished blues by the likes of Willie Nix, Walter Horton, Rufus Thomas Jr., D.A. Hunt, Memphis Ma Rainey, Jimmy DeBerry, and The Prisonaires. It was a mix of the soon-to-be famous with those consigned to obscurity, all benefiting from Sam Phillips’ ear for unique sounds.
An Open Door Policy
As Guralnick puts it, “Sam set the entire direction of everything that was going on there, until Jack Clement came in. He did everything himself, along with Marion Keisker’s assistance in every other aspect except the recording. She was invaluable, and someone he could lean on. But the point is, it was a one-man operation.” A crucial component of the operation was that man’s uniquely progressive vision.
Jerry Phillips, Sam’s youngest son, who oversees the living legacy of Sam Phillips Recording on Madison, reflects on his father’s character today. “Sam had an open door policy, particularly when he started out in 1950 with Black artists. You could walk in there and if he liked what he heard, he’d put a record out on you or lease your record to Chess or Modern or someone like that. He was looking for the talent, man. And he was looking for something different. He was a passionate guy who had to work really, really hard to record all those artists. While I was at home in bed or studying for school, he was up there in the studio, working his ass off with all these Black artists.”
Sam Phillips’ openness to Black music grew from a passionate love of the music itself, more than any sense that he could cash in on a particular sound. As Escott writes, “In 1952, R&B sales reportedly totaled less than kiddie discs. Phillips was chasing a tiny piece of a small market.” Yet, Guralnick writes a few pages later, “There was nothing, Sam felt, that could ‘tell the truth like the blues, something so absolutely true, so close to life’ that it just cut to the core of human experience.” The sincerity of those words was embodied in Phillips’ willingness to take a chance on a relative unknown named Chester Burnett, aka Howlin’ Wolf. Upon first hearing Wolf, Phillips thought, “My God, this is where the soul of man never dies.”
That contrasts starkly with a growing counter-narrative of today, which often paints Elvis, Phillips, or both as the villains in a reductionist cartoon of cultural theft from the African Americans whose music was deeply imprinted in the minds of both. In fact, though he surely hoped to profit from his work, Phillips’ deep appreciation of Black artists in their own right helped launch the music careers of many. According to Guralnick’s write-up of record number three, Wolf’s “Moanin’ At Midnight,” Phillips always believed that Wolf could have been, as Phillips put it, “the counterpart of Elvis — this guy would have been huge with white youngsters, along with Black.”
To Jerry Phillips, this makes sense if one considers how his father grew up, working on a farm in Alabama. “On the tenant farm they had both Black and white cotton pickers on there. He heard them all singing in the fields, and their hearts and souls coming up through that.” Furthermore, Sam was open to people of all classes as well as races. “Most all of the people who came through his studio, except maybe Elvis, but like Carl Perkins or Jerry Lee Lewis, were country people all the way. All those people were. There was nothing sophisticated about them at all, until you got to Charlie Rich, who was pretty much a jazz piano player, actually. That’s what he liked. Yet Sam would tell you that Howlin’ Wolf’s about as sophisticated as you can get.
“His daddy died when he was in 10th grade, and he had to quit school,” Jerry continues. “He never got a high school diploma. He had to go to work. I think he got a lot of his work ethic from having to do that. He wanted to be a criminal defense attorney, and he would have been a good one. He was always for the underdog. He was always for those people who didn’t stand a chance. That’s where his interest in recording Black artists came in. In my family, there wasn’t any racism. There just wasn’t.”
Furthermore, Sam Phillips cultivated a culture within the Sun Records organization that reflected his values. The favorite Sun song of longtime employee Marion Keisker, who put her heart and soul into the organization, was a blues track, “Time Has Made a Change.” Guralnick recalls, “She loved that Jimmy DeBerry song. While she was almost exclusively focused on Sam, who drew her in, it’s a tribute to her that she could be open. She was wide-open to issues of racial justice and to gender equity.”
Carrying the Torch
The rest of the Sun story is burned into our collective consciousness, of course, through countless mythologizing iterations of the Elvis Presley story, not to mention the birth of rock-and-roll and its country cousin, rockabilly. After the first 40 pages of the 70 singles, we finally come to Sun’s first release of a white artist, in early 1954, and of course the discovery of Presley that year. Even there, The Birth of Rock ‘N’ Roll has some surprises, as we learn that the biggest selling artist on Sun was not Elvis, but Carl Perkins’ “Blue Suede Shoes” in January of 1956. That, too, carried Phillips’ democratic ethos: It was the first song in history to top the country, R&B, and pop charts.
The label carried on for over a decade after those initial epochal hits by Perkins, Lewis, Johnny Cash, Roy Orbison, and others, finally being sold to Shelby Singleton in 1969. But, according to Jerry Phillips, the label’s continued legacy was still championed by the Phillips family. It was a labor of love. “I can’t leave my late brother Knox out of this,” he says. “When Sam sold Sun to Shelby Singleton, Knox picked the torch up and carried it on through, not letting people forget what Sun Records was. He was always on a crusade to keep people aware of Sun Records and its impact on the world. He was a real torch bearer for our family. And he’s the one who introduced Sam to Peter Guralnick. So we suggested that something Knox had written be used in the book [as the afterword]. Because we felt like Knox needed to be included. I was always the rebel of the family, and Knox was the one who was doing the heavy lifting.”
That heavy lifting has ensured Sun’s legacy, as the new book by Guralnick and Escott marks the Sun catalog once again finding a new home. “After 70 years, it just got bought again,” says Jerry in disbelief. “It sold once in 1969, and then got bought again last year by Primary Wave. Now they’re releasing a new compilation album once a month. That’s 70 years, and they’re treating it like it’s a brand-new product almost, you know? They’re looking at it like this stuff is just timeless. And it is. This new book, it’s educational. At one time, Sam Phillips was the hottest record producer in the world, when you think about it. And none of those artists sounded like each other.”
I love perfect imperfection, I really do. Perfect? That’s the devil. There’s too much powder and rouge around. People want the real thing. — Sam Phillips
As someone who grew up in the early 2000’s, I knew of Elvis in three distinct ways.
I knew that many of his songs had narrated a film, Lilo & Stitch, that was on constant replay in my house. On Full House, I knew that Graceland was the ideal location for Uncle Jesse’s dream wedding and that a convincing look-a-like had helped him learn the importance of family. An honorable mention is the memory of a nine-year-old me singing the lyrics “Elvis, Elvis let me be. Keep your pelvis far from me,” in my best Rizzo impression during recess. I knew of him in the ways that he influenced pop culture, but I never explored the oeuvre of Mr. Presley.
It wasn’t until a few weeks ago that I, like many other Gen Zers, began to feel responsible for his death. Yes, there are at least a handful of twenty-somethings who feel responsible for the death of a man who died years before we took our first breaths. Or, at least that’s what Colonel Tom Parker, played by Tom Hanks, led us to believe in Baz Luhrmann’s film, Elvis.
The feeling of being gaslit by the narrator is just one of many shared reactions to the film. During your nightly scroll on TikTok you’re bound to see videos set to Doja Cat’s “Vegas” sparking some type of conversation about the film or about Elvis himself. Clips of Austin Butler play simultaneously next to a video of Elvis, showing his arguably perfect impersonation. A few scrolls later, you’ll be led down a rabbit of Elvis’ entire filmography in three minutes or less.
“I think with the release of Elvis, we’ve definitely seen a resurgence in Elvis within pop culture recently, though his presence has been felt for much longer,” said Bobbi Miller, a pop culture expert and the host of “The Afternoon Special” on TikTok. There, she has a following of more than 366,700 as “your friend who knows just a little bit too much about pop culture.”
It’s important to note that there are devoted twenty-something Elvis fans whose entry to fandom happened prior to the film’s release.
“I was a fan before the movie and went into hiding upon its release,” Meghan Moody said while also explaining how her father was able to obtain a copy of Elvis’ high school graduation program for her.
While the film may serve as just another element in Elvis lore for longtime fans, it can be argued that the film has also opened the opportunity for a new generation to be exposed to the King of Rock, birthing a new era of Elvis fandom.
It can be hard to pinpoint exactly what “does it” for fans of the film. In a viral clip, Butler can be seen on stage teaching Jimmy Fallon how to “shake, rattle, and roll.” As he dances across the stage, you may wonder how big of a role that Butler’s performance plays into the like-ability of the icon.
“This is a tough one because Austin Butler’s performance really does question where Elvis stops and Austin Butler starts,” said Miller. “He really embodied the character. I do think it’s a mix of both, or more so, one dressed as the other … I think the voice he chose to use for Elvis and the general aura of the character is very alluring. This, coupled with the fact that the movie doesn’t go out of its way to show Butler as Elvis at his absolute lowest, or ugliest, might’ve aided in people falling for Butler as Elvis.”
Miller argues that the love for nostalgia can be a major contributor as well.
“It’s the nostalgia of it all,” she said. “I think before these biopics, Gen Z and Millennials are definitely aware of these stars, but biopics only heighten their awareness.
“More often than not, these biopics, similar to Elvis, don’t go out of their way to show these stars at their most awful. In fact, they often elicit sympathy in the audience. This isn’t always the case, but it definitely happens. However, I think it’s mostly nostalgia.”
Miller said Gen Zers and Millennials love to discover things from the past, and she believes that biopics are the perfect vehicle for this.
“Nostalgia will always be trendy,” Miller notes.
While Reddit threads are flooded with educational material for fans who came straight from the movie theater, and women promise to perfect their bouffant hairstyles for Halloween, it can definitely be argued that a new generation is discovering The King.
Celebrating Elvis, Jailhouse Rock style. (Photo courtesy Frank Murtaugh).
I miss Elvis Presley this time of year. The older I get — currently 53 — the younger Elvis was (42) when he died. So yes, Elvis Week grabs my heartstrings, from the tribute artists to the candlelight vigil, from the random t-shirts (Elvis with Bigfoot?) to the Elvis Presley 5K . . . a distance I’m rather certain the King never ran himself. There’s irony, of course, in “missing” Elvis Presley, as his presence — particularly in Memphis, Tennessee — couldn’t be greater, even if he were alive and well at age 87.
Elvis was a meteor. All of 23 years passed between the day he first walked into Sun Studio (in 1954) and the day he died at Graceland (in 1977). Compared with the performing and recording life span of the Rolling Stones, Bob Dylan, or even my band of choice, KISS, “the Elvis Presley years” were the entertainment equivalent of a novella: just enough of a teaser to make you want more story, more adventure, more thrills.
I grew up with an Elvis story, as my dad met him (in the basement of Katz Drug Store) in September 1956, just a few days after Presley’s appearance on The Ed Sullivan Show, among the moments that made this particular meteor soar. Dad was but 14 when they shook hands, Elvis only 21. When I first listened to Elvis songs as a child, I was listening to a King my dad knew. That’s the way I saw things.
August 16, 1977, is among the earliest days of my life I can distinctly remember. I was eight years old and my family had recently returned to the States after a year in Italy. We were visiting my grandmother — Dad’s mom — at her Central Gardens home when news broke, first that Elvis had been rushed to Baptist Memorial Hospital, then that the most famous man on the planet (maybe second to Muhammad Ali) had died. This was my first experience with death, someone I “knew” . . . dying. Even at a still-tender age, I knew 42 years was not a long life.
Elvis, of course, has lived beyond the dates on his famous tombstone. This summer’s most talked-about movie makes that quite clear. My daughter Elena is not a moviegoer, but she made time from a busy work schedule to see director Baz Luhrmann’s Elvis with me. (“Elena, you and Elvis are both from Memphis, and you both have five-letter names that start with E-L.” Eye roll.) My older daughter, Sofia, took a picture of Elvis with her to New England for four years of college, a photo that can now be found at her apartment in Honolulu. She’s also been spotted in a dress adorned with Elvis imagery from the movie Jailhouse Rock. Aloha from Hawaii, indeed.
The point is that Elvis has found life among multiple generations since 1977, and there’s no indication his popularity has plateaued. (Remember, Elvis Presley has now been gone longer than he lived.) The only candlelight vigil I’ve experienced in full — with Sofia in 2016 — was under a Biblical rainstorm. But nobody went home. The line didn’t move . . . until the Graceland gates were finally opened. We had our ponchos to stay somewhat dry, and a kind couple from Sweden lit our candles as we walked up the driveway to the meditation garden, to pay our respects. Sure, it was somber strolling past a man’s grave. But it was also, somehow, energizing. This one man, in merely 42 years, left a mark we choose to honor every August . . . deluge or dry.
I grew up loving “Hound Dog,” “Jailhouse Rock,” and “Burning Love.” But my favorite Elvis song has become “If I Can Dream.” “As long as a man has the strength to dream, He can redeem his soul and fly.” Elvis famously sang this during his ’68 Comeback Special, and I’m not sure his voice sounds more alive in any other recording. So yes, I miss Elvis this time of year. But when I find myself dreaming, as we all do, I often think of him. And that helps me fly.
One of the greatest ironies of Elvis Week in Memphis is that the joint most likely to conjure up the vibe of The King’s reign here is a place Elvis Presley almost never visited. But don’t think less of the place for it: That was just because it was a bar. “Priscilla [Presley] said Elvis and the Memphis Mafia never went there because Elvis didn’t like anybody drinking. He didn’t really go in there after the ’50s,” says the bar’s co-owner, singer/songwriter/guitarist Dale Watson.
Of course, that’s a dead giveaway that we’re talking about Hernando’s Hide-a-Way, just a mile or so up Elvis Presley Boulevard from Graceland. Since its soft reopening in late 2019, Watson has helped captain the club that was a legendary hangout for nearly every other Memphis musician except Elvis, and in so doing, has helped keep the spirit of Elvis alive there. That’s partly because, as Watson freely admits, “I’m such an Elvis fanatic.”
That will be most apparent on August 16th, the precise anniversary of The King’s death, when Watson takes to the Hernando’s stage to perform numbers from his 2014 album, Dalevis, as well as from a much earlier self-released EP of the same name. But don’t expect the singer to become a “tribute act”: Watson is an artist in his own right, and his Dalevis repertoire mainly consists of originals. “My Dalevis set consists of songs I’ve written that were inspired by Elvis. And then I mix in Elvis songs as well.” Indeed, the songwriter confesses, Elvis is never far away from his music. “On the new record that I just cut in Nashville, I recorded ‘Nothingville’. Remember that song? Most people don’t because it was done in passing on the ’68 special. It’s just a snippet in a medley, and it’s only on that NBC ‘Comeback Special’ album [the 1968 RCA LP, Elvis].”
No doubt that number will find its way into Watson’s set on the 16th, as well as other Presley tracks. Indeed, all of The King’s output falls neatly into what Watson calls the “Ameripolitan” sound. “The good thing about Ameripolitan is, it not only covers rockabilly and Elvis’ early stuff, but also the honky tonk stuff he did in the later years, like his country hits. There’s even some covers Elvis did that he made his own, that we play, too. Like ‘Good Time Charlie’s Got The Blues.’ His version is my favorite recording of that song.”
For Watson, that mix of genres is true to the spirit of this city. “Memphis in general fits that whole thing,” he says. “Memphis has it all. And of course during Elvis week, we’re going to be promoting Ameripolitan coming up in February.” That’s when Hernando’s will host the Ameripolitan Music Awards festival, devoted to “music with a prominent roots influence.”
In keeping with that aesthetic, Hernando’s other star on the 16th will be none other than Jason D. Williams. If Williams conjures strong echoes of Jerry Lee Lewis, he too is an artist in his own right. The way Watson sees it, the unique identity that he and Williams embody is the point. “John Lennon said that ‘One’s inability to imitate their influences, that’s where originality lies,’” quips Watson. “Even with these Elvis tribute acts, when they’re trying to imitate Elvis, they have their own originality in their inability to completely imitate him.”
Even those latter artists will have their moment at Hernando’s, when the club hosts “Images of the King,” a well-curated show of Elvis tribute acts, from Saturday, August 11th, until Monday, August 15th. But what cinches Hernando’s claim to the Presley vibe is Priscilla Presley’s fondness for the place, ever since she dropped by the club in 2020. “It was on his birthday,” Watson recalls. “She’s been there several times since. And she’s gonna try to come in there that Tuesday [August 16th]. Of course I’m sure with that Elvis movie, things have been kicked up a notch, a little bit like they used to be. She’s got to play it by ear. But she likes the place a lot and she told us that it gives her the vibe of old Memphis.”
Austin Butler’s performance as Elvis is electrifying.
The most insightful film I’ve ever seen about Elvis Presley is “The Singing Canary,” a five-minute experimental short by Memphis director Adam Remsen. It contains neither images of Elvis nor his music, only footage of astronauts and rocket launches. Remsen’s voice-over casts Elvis not as a singer or entertainer or idol, but as an explorer of new psychic spaces.
Yes, Elvis was supremely talented, superhumanly good looking, and unbelievably charismatic. But it was sheer luck that he came along at exactly the moment in history when a combination of rhythm and blues, amphetamines, and television could transform a penniless truck driver into the most famous person who had ever lived. “No one had ever been in his position before. He did the best he could,” said Remsen. “He was just living his life, making the best choices he could. As it happened, he was unprepared to make those choices, in one way or another.”
Who could have been prepared? The only people who had been as famous as Elvis circa 1957 were pharaohs. A decade later, The Beatles would express relief that, when they were thrown into the maelstrom of modern fame, at least they had one another. Elvis was alone, going through stuff no one in the entire 300,000-year history of Homo sapiens had ever gone through before. “He was the singing canary we sent into the gold mine. And when the singing stopped, we learned it was dangerous in there.”
The latest big screen attempt to tell The King’s story shares this view of Elvis as a martyr for the information age. Baz Luhrmann is one of a handful of directors with an instantly recognizable style. As technically exacting as he is bombastic, Luhrmann’s films are the closest thing we have to the lavish MGM musicals of Old Hollywood. Emotions are heightened, the cutting is frenetic, and realism is an afterthought. Music and montage are Luhrmann’s love language, and everything else is in service of maintaining the momentum. When he’s on his game, Luhrmann can sweep you up and transport you to another place like the tornado in The Wizard of Oz.
This film rises above the simple jukebox musical I feared we would get when I heard Luhrmann was taking on the story of The King. Credit for much of its success must go to Austin Butler, who has the unenviable task of trying to bring to life the most impersonated man in history. On the Louisiana Hayride and at the triumphant July 4, 1956, Russwood Park homecoming show, Butler is electrifying. He’s got the cheekbones, and he knows how to use them.
Austin Butler as Elvis Presley.
The racial politics of the era are never far from the surface. In Luhrmann’s vision, Elvis’ smoking-hot sexuality was what made him dangerous. But what scared The Establishment about this poor white kid singing Black music was not how he danced — it was that Elvis represented a crack in the South’s Jim Crow apartheid. He didn’t just laugh at the minstrel show; he identified with B.B. King, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, and Little Richard. Some of the white kids who followed him would go on to discover The Bar-Kays, Sam Cooke, and Aretha Franklin, and begin to think, “Hey, maybe these Black people are humans, just like me.”
But the protean summer of ’56, which has for so long formed the fetish of rock-and-roll, doesn’t interest Luhrmann as much as the Vegas era. It begins with an elaborate staging of the ’68 Comeback Special. Instead of focusing on the in-the-round jam session, which remains one of the greatest live musical performances ever put before a camera, Luhrmann finds meaning in Elvis’ selection of “If I Can Dream” as his closing number. Butler delivers the moment with maximum gravitas.
Col. Tom Parker (Tom Hanks) advises Elvis (Austin Butler).
Luhrmann’s most polarizing decision is to tell the story from Col. Tom Parker’s perspective — and not just because of Tom Hanks’ accent. Having the villain as the narrator is a very Shakespearean choice, intended to make Parker into Iago, a malignant influence confiding to us about the lies he’s whispering in the hero’s ear. Parker was the consummate confidence man and a natural-born carny barker. In the early days, he and Elvis were an unstoppable team. When Elvis was languishing in Vegas, it would have been better if he were alone. Parker gets the blame for Elvis sitting out the Civil Rights fights of the late ’60s and for missing opportunities to tour the world. He gets credit for the groundbreaking Aloha from Hawaii concert, the definitive document of Elvis’ late period. But Luhrmann declines to use the first satellite broadcast to a global audience of one billion as a climax, like Queen at Live Aid in Bohemian Rhapsody. As for Hanks’ performance as the shady Dutch immigrant, let’s just say that the veteran actor knows when to put the ham on the sandwich.
Elvis (Austin Bulter) and Priscilla (Olivia DeJonge).
The standouts in the sprawling supporting cast include Helen Thomson’s sad turn as the alcoholic Gladys and Olivia DeJonge’s uncanny Priscilla. The Power of the Dog’s Kodi Smit-McPhee gets a standout cameo as Jimmie Rodgers Snow, one of the first people to understand the depth of Elvis’ power. During the early film’s frequent digressions into the Beale Street music scene, Yola Quartey and Shonka Dukureh each get show-stopping moments as Sister Rosetta Tharpe and Big Mama Thornton.
Ultimately, your reaction to Elvis is going to depend on whether or not you can vibrate on Luhrmann’s frequency. I was a fan of the director’s early work, like Romeo + Juliet, but found The Great Gatsby off-putting and snoozed through Australia. Elvis is a return to the explosive Luhrmann of Moulin Rouge. He freely twists the songs, sometimes in ways that are insightful, and sometimes in ways that betray a lack of trust in the material, like using anachronistic hip-hop beats whenever we return to Beale. The film is massively overstuffed with striking images, but that kind of sounds like complaining because you have too many scoops of delicious ice cream. It’s understandable if you find the constant barrage of visual information disorienting or the constant dance on the edge of camp cloying. But when Elvis is on stage, and Luhrmann is on fire, you understand why The King will live forever.
Michael Donahue tries a Smoked BBQ Bologna sandwich at Tops Bar-B-Q. (Credit: Morgan Leslie)
I was having lunch with Elvis at a Tops Bar-B-Q on Summer Avenue when I noticed a sign announcing the restaurant’s new “Smoked BBQ Bologna.”
First of all, I wasn’t actually eating with Elvis, of course. I was dining at a booth beneath a photo of the King, who was wearing a shiny (silk?) jacket, black pants, loafers, and light-colored socks while kneeling in front of a pink Cadillac. The car actually had the letters “TCB,” which look like chrome, on the front. The license plate sign says “1957.”
When I eat at Tops, I think of growing up in the 1950s and smelling barbecue cooking in the pit when my family drove by a Tops location.
Over the years, Tops, which opened in 1952, has served its fantastic barbecue with sauce and slaw and its incredibly-good hamburgers. I remember when they began selling brisket sandwiches and ribs 17 years ago. They began selling turkey burgers, one of my all-time favorite fast food items, 10 years ago. I have it dressed like the hamburger with mayonnaise, ketchup, and mustard.
But a new food item at Tops is rare. Smoked BBQ Bologna is the first new Tops item in 10 years.
I talked to Tops Operations LLC vice-president Hunter Brown and CEO Randy Hough about the new Smoked BBQ Bologna sandwich, which launched in April — just in time for Tops’ 70th birthday..
Smoked BBQ Bologna Sandwich at Tops Bar-B-Que (Credit: Michael Donahue)
A barbecue bologna sandwich is “a Memphis staple,” Brown says. So, they decided Tops should have one. “We saw the need from our guests. And we heard their voice. When you hear so many guests give their thoughts and ask, ‘Why don’t you have something,’ you’ve got to pay attention. That’s why Tops has been successful for 70 years.”
“New items have been few and far between here at Tops,” Hough says. And, he adds, “We’ve been hesitant to add new things to our menu line.”
Their “focus is on barbecue and hamburgers” and they want to “stay true” to those items.
Hunter Brown and Randy Hough. (Credit: Lynn Hantz)
They cook their barbecue over a direct fire pit. “A lot of barbecue companies don’t do that. They use smokers instead.”
Tops also uses charcoal and hickory wood. “Everything you think about in your backyard with your charcoal grill.”
And, he says, “It takes a lot more dedication than to put it in the smoker, set the timer, and walk away.
“We still use a smaller smoker for other items, but not for our core barbecue. It’s cooked in our open fire pit. It takes time and skill to do that.”
They always wanted to do barbecue bologna, Brown says. “We decided to go ahead and test it with some people in the area. Some of our guests.”
They invited a focus group of their customers to try the barbecue bologna last February. People said, “Wow. This is one of the best we’ve had in the city.”
“We score it and season it with our rib rub and then we smoke it. After smoking it, we grill each one to order.”
They then put it on a bun and add their “famous slaw and our signature Tops barbecue sauce.”
They introduced the Smoked BBQ Bologna at their Southaven location. “It was a resounding success across the board.”
Tops’ Olive Branch, Mississippi location announced the new sandwich. (Credit: Michael Donahue)
I visited Tops the next day and tried a Smoked BBQ Bologna sandwich. It’s delicious.
I told Brown and Hough about smelling the barbecue when I drive past Tops. “It’s kind of like a billboard for us,” Brown says. “Cooking daily to have that smoke coming out. To have that rolling smoke. Even if you’re not on your way to Tops, it just lures you in.”
The aroma, which emanates from the chimney tops, “just gets you hungry,” Hough says. And, he adds, “You’re cooking them over an open fire with hickory wood and charcoal. And you’re going to get that kind of smell. Just like you would in the backyard.”
As for upcoming new items, Brown says, “We do have some thoughts.” But they don’t want to “take away from the burger and pork sandwiches.”
They’ve tried some items, which they tested internally or at other locations, that never made it out, Hough says. For example, they had a fried pie, made by a small business in Arkansas. But the pies caused operational issues.
Tops still carries its popular apple turnovers. “That’s a staple. Been with us for a long time. That is a guest favorite.”
Getting back to that guy named Elvis, Brown says the King was a customer at the Tops on Union. “We still today have the Elvis room in there.”
This photo of Elvis hangs in several Tops locations. (Courtesy Tops Bar-B-Q)
Elvis also ate at “Summer and National and Thomas as well, but Union was where he spent most of his time.”
George Montague, who was Tops general manager for 45 years, is a “big fan of Elvis.”
While they’ve got some photos of Elvis at Tops, none picture him holding a barbecue or hamburger, Brown says. “Every time I see him, he’s got a soda in his hand.” But he knows Elvis ate the food at Tops, too.
The late J. W. Lawson was founder and the late George Messick was the second generation owner of Tops, which now has 16 locations, and continues to grow.
All locations sell the new Smoked BBQ Bologna sandwich.
Says Brown: “It was originally intended to be a limited time offer, but the city of Memphis has voted with their feedback — and their stomachs. Smoked BBQ Bologna is here to stay.”
